First thing most mornings, Hans Knopupik checked his phone for messages. This was his way of rationalizing to himself that he started work early. Nobody else really cared that much because he worked from home. Home was a smallish one bedroom condo on the lowest residential floor at the POP’s. It faced west, toward the city. He also liked to think that because he faced the city, he was somehow keeping in touch with it. In fact, all he could see of it was Prospect Ave., up it and down it, and a few older buildings across the street.
If he ever felt the need of a grander view, he took a ride up upstairs to the solarium and sat for awhile. The sun beat into his own unit windows so hard on sunny late afternoons that he had to close his shades anyway just to be able to see his computer screen. Sometimes on summer afternoons, to escape the brightness, he took his laptop out into the terrace facing the lake, where the building cast it’s deep shadows. Wandering around the building in this way, he got to meet a few more of the residents than he might normally have done working alone day after day in his unit. That nice lady Mrs. James, the association secretary, had taken an interest in him, chatted him up.
Hans had originally had a partner, Peter, when he moved into the condo but their arrangement hadn’t lasted very long. It was a small space to share, even with a lover, and there had been a lot of fights; silly fights, about the placement of shampoo in the shower, and really big fights, about commitment and seeing other guys. So Peter flung himself out of Hans’ life and home, went off in other directions (so he informed Hans) and rented someplace else. They still saw each other, very occasionally, but it was a relief to Hans that he no longer had to share his space. He vowed that his next relationship would be in a two bedroom, two bathroom unit at least. ‘2 BR/2 BA’, as he read in real estate ads.
Taking an afternoon break one day, he went out on the terrace and saw Mrs. James. She had dumped out the contents of a voluminous workbasket on a picnic table and was sorting out heaps of yarn. He went over to join her.
“Can’t possibly do this in my place,” she laughed, “way too much help from my cat.”
“When I was a boy, my mother used to have me help her to unwind skeins of yarn. I held out my arms, like this,” he demonstrated, stretching out his arms and hands, fingers together and thumbs up, “and she draped the skein around them. She taught me to rock my arms up and down. It was mesmerizing, watching the colors fly by, as she wrapped the yarn into balls.”
“I will certainly keep this in mind, Hans, if I ever need your services with that. Using the back of a chair to hold a skein is not nearly as satisfactory, or as sociable either.”
“Speaking of services,” she continued, “I seem to recall you saying that you had gone to business school. Did you study accounting? I confess I have a reason for asking, if you don’t mind.”
“You have a good memory! Accounting wasn’t my major but I did do some, yes.” he answered. “Now I’m a freelance writer, mostly in financials, markets, development, that sort of area.”
“So, the reason I ask,” she continued, “is that I wonder if you might consider running for association treasurer. You have the credentials so it might not take so much extra time out of your schedule. I will nominate you if you have no objections.”
Even though he attended most of the association meetings, he was a bit surprised to find himself in consideration for a director position. At first, he thought that because he was often seen working from home, she and others might think that he had extra time on his hands. He was sensitive about this.
Sensing his hesitation, she added, “There are times of course when the work piles up a bit, but there is some flexibility as to when it needs to be done. As you are used to the discipline required for self-employment, I was wondering if it might suit you. Some deadlines, of course, some fixed dates. Would you be able to take on the responsibility?”
He was trying to remember what those responsibilities were: annual budgets, for certain, setting condos fees, special assessments for building repairs. He hadn’t looked at his condo docs much since he’d moved in. He vaguely remembered seeing them in a box stuffed way in the back of his walk-in closet. He was pretty sure Peter wouldn’t have taken them when he’d moved stuff out; those least of all, he supposed.
“Maybe not the most popular office Mrs. James,” he opined, “taking people’s money!”
“You get to share the blame with the other directors, Hans.” she reminded him. “Some of the work is farmed out but we need someone familiar with reading statements. Somebody who can easily explain the gist of the money situation to other members.”
“I suppose I could do that well enough Mrs. James.” he acknowledged. “Like many self-employed people, I work long hours. I’ve learned to pace myself with breaks during the day, like this one.” lifting up his cup as if for a toast.
“Is that from the coffee house down by the lake—what’s it called again?”
“The Lake Espresso.” he supplied. “I often walk down there; it’s a good stretch-out and you can find lots of conversation too, if you want it. Gervase goes there; I’ve seen him dog-walking or dog-sitting, I guess you’d have to call it, while he sits outside with the ‘doggie du jour’.”
“After my morning coffee, I usually switch to tea.” she said. “Old habits die hard, isn’t that right? My poor grandmother loathed tea, couldn’t stand the taste of it. My grandfather, who was our family tea-granny, was known for his attempts to fool her about this whenever he got the chance, pouring her a cup of tea instead of coffee. He especially delighted in doing this in public, where, as a lady, even though fooled until after that first sip, she couldn’t spit it out.”
“Your grandfather sounds like a real character.” he chuckled, imagining the delight awarded the successful practical joker. Hans hadn’t been in the room when they handed out the genes for joking. “You’re right about habits Mrs. James,” he reflected, “good ones and bad. Might be interesting after all, being the treasurer.”
“May I take that as a yes?” she asked.
“Yes, I’ll give it a go.”