She was quick with the arrangement, and in just a couple of minutes, the manager was at my door, with a lady behind him. The lady had his flat purse in her possession, maybe she was his assistant.
“I don’t like a lot about this room,” I said as I leaned at the doorpost, “The paint is faded and the remnant of it scrapes out like a parch of dried dust.”
He smiled. “Remember, we are not in a five-star hotel. This is a damn rural area school, and this space is managed by the principal himself.”
I shook my head. “I understand, but I prefer rug over plastic carpet, and I want good paint on this wall.”
“But…”
“But me no buts, Ambrose.” I snapped. “You have five hours.”
For the first time, I took charge of my own decision because I hated to be tossed around by the manager whom
