|Norman Bates (i_shower) wrote in we_coexist,|
@ 2011-02-07 13:15:00
|Entry tags:||harleen quinzel, norman bates|
Rentable Rooms Short Renters [Open]
It was lonely up at the Bates Motel.
Norman sat on the wooden-planked porch that stretched out across the twelve cabin motel. It was of the old fashioned variety, where one could easily pull their car up in front of the door to their room and walk on in, complete avoidance of other people. The only interaction (on paper) occurred when the guest signed in the guest book. Norman was never too particular about who his guests were or where they came from. He just liked to keep a log, for the sake of professionalism. And, in the off chance, that he might have to bill for damages. Occasionally, teenage kids would shack up at his motel -- yes, he knew exactly what they were doing -- and, occasionally, things would get broken. Norman didn't like it when people disrespected his establishment. It was a reputable business, after all. People didn't seem to appreciate all of the hard work that went into running a motel. Even a small motel required delicate care to the details.
The rooms were always clean. In fact, Norman washed all of the sheets on a weekly basis, regardless of whether the rooms had been occupied or not. He also had complimentary (motel personalized) stationary and pens placed in every room. Just in case somebody wanted to write home to their family, telling of their wonderful stay at the Bates Motel. (Hey, a guy could dream, couldn't he?) Why, even last summer, Norman had painted the outside of the motel. A very pale, pastel yellow color. Of course, he didn't realize that nobody else could tell what color it was. Because the Bates Motel (and the house atop the hill) were always pigmented in black and white.
But despite all of Norman's attempts at making the motel a more welcoming environment in The City, he still had no occupants. The light of the sign flashed Vacancy every ten seconds. (He left the light on during the daylight hours, too. Just in case.)
He sighed, swinging his legs beneath the bench he sat upon. The City was aglow in brightness. He could tell it was a busy day from the sounds of cars and traffic. But up at the motel, everything was quiet. Peaceful. Perhaps he shouldn't have complained so much? But it would have been nice to have some company.
Norman reached into a paper bag that sat on the bench beside him and took out a piece of candy corn, tossing it into his mouth. He wouldn't get upset. They would come. Eventually they would all come. Mother had promised him.
It was only a matter of time.