Bon Lannwit Bamann!

I must admit, I never predicted my time at No. 30 to last as long as it has, but time has led me to think it might have been a blessing to stumble on this old bar.

See, from the week after my final undergraduate exam, I seldom left my abode, finding it much more befitting to see two pages of my professional life consistently get rejected. I had aspirations much larger than the three hundred dollars in my account could support. In fact, all it ever did for me was buy a return ticket home and hope that my odds may fare better on home soil.

Unfortunately, my mother emigrated as soon as I had begun my studies abroad to another isle, therefore I had to settle to living with my great-aunt, who, despite her constant reassurance, always bore a grimace in my presence. Meals were often bought for one person to eat. The master bedroom cleaned on weekends whilst I had to find older quilts to fit on my small twin-sized mattress.

Aunt Mertle, despite having eighty years penetrating her bones, was most nimble to dial the phone and call my mother for my 'small mistakes'. This led to many conversations over the phone about kinder treatment to aunty, as she did not 'know any better'. Originally, I had written it off as a result of her age, until I noticed her glee when my cousins visited.

Cousins that had not visited in over three years.

That lived 20 minutes away.

I had no problems assisting Mertle with the cleanup of her home. In fact, it would be preposterous to do the opposite. I, at least, had some compassion in my heart to help without reward. Mertle would often ask me to go on small errands, which I had done without much thought. At such an age, getting around could be difficult.

Her errands turned into the entire house's errands and eventually, she told me I took up 'too much space within her home' and I had 'not found a job in a month'. I didn't know it only took three weeks to find one. How absurd of me.

Some days later, after hastily packing my life in two suitcases, I bid aunty Mertle a curt farewell, not bothering to mask my annoyance, or my glee when she tripped on the final stair as she entered her home. A home with my cousins that had made themselves quite comfortable in the only other two rooms in the house.

So yes, perhaps it was a blessing indeed that I had seen that advertisement at No. 30.

The boss was most interested in my Electronics degree. I had not corrected him and said it was my minor, out of fear that would immediately sully any hope of work. The boss, at that time, had asked if I was interested in staying there long-term. I smiled and noted that I would be there for at least one to two years.

Truthfully, I predicted a mere six months before eventually leaving to reconnect with my mother.

She had yet to find out about my eviction, my homelessness and my further lack of an occupation. It seems Mertle had yet to find a perfect string of words to use to relay the terrible news of my laziness to my mother.

Nevertheless, that afternoon inside the quietness of No. 30, I found myself beginning to hope, even if just my a miniscule amount.

Boss, at that time, asked if I was available to work within a week. If my almost immediate 'yes' did not show how badly I needed it, maybe the way my body paused when he mentioned accommodation was. I had not mentioned my lack of housing accommodations until he had brought up the small apartment that lay above the establishment.

It meant less than expected pay for the sake of "renting" the upstairs apartment, but for the moment, it was the best I can do. I did not think I would get a deal as good as this anywhere.

Alas, things that are too good to be true often are.

────୨ৎ────

Of course, you can't expect too much from an old building that hasn't seen a renovation in decades.

The boss tried his best, I realised. Though, at his age, its a wonder that any of the pointed-out "fixers" resulted without injury to him. He seemed a bit old fashioned. Most aged people are, I suppose. I shouldn't be too surprised at the fact that he understood the concept of digital payments.

It wouldn't matter at the moment, since all my bank accounts were overseas. I'd have to open a local one.

Cash it is.

Anyway, the place seemed up to code. Even the apartment was just the right size for myself. Equipped with new- enough appliances, though I'd make an effort to go and obtain my own. I made note of the many, many books he kept. The

He mentioned living much further away from the actual place, so I'd be in charge for the most part.

At that point, he might as well give me COO rights to the place... Nevertheless, I'm grateful for his kindness. Especially when the most drinks I've mixed were two different wines together under the spell of midnight inquiry.

So work had to be done, licenses to be obtained and the works, but it was an offer that gave me more freedom than I could've imagined at all from a measly two hundred dollars to my name.

That's how things often work? You get things done, you get up and you leave once it over.

Obtaining the license was an exercise in redundancy and my own patience. The clerk required three forms of ID for a process that demanded only one, a discrepancy I noted but did not challenge. It was easier to comply than to explain efficiency to someone paid to obstruct it.

The clerk mentioned this would take a mere thirty minutes, yet I found myself sitting for the greater portion of nearly ninety, my thin thread of patience snapping. I attempted to find some respite in reading the age-worn posters within the office and my favourite activity: "People Watching".

Yet, above the stuttering ticks of the old clock was something that soured the expressions of all the clerks behind the clear glass screen. A young woman, who seemed no more than 2 years my senior, searched frantically through folders of historic documents. Her voice raising in pitch the more she let her panic set in.

“It’s not here,” the young clerk muttered, upending a stack of Manila folders onto the counter. “The system says the TTLA file is in Bin ‘P’. I’ve emptied the bin three times. It’s gone.”

She looked up, eyes wide as saucers, at who I assumed was the senior attendant. Her voice lowered, as if to not set off a panic to the rest of the patrons in the room.
"Computer.... Deleted...record... Can't verify... Physical files..."

“Folks,” the attendant announced, her voice projecting over the sudden hush. “We are experiencing a circulating internal synchronization issue. The server is unresponsive. We must ask that you reschedule online. Appointments are available...”

Almost immediately there was an uproar. I unlocked my phone to see if it was even possible to get an appointment ready for me on Monday, to no such luck as they were fully booked until the end of the month.

My eye twitched. I didn't have enough money for the end of the month. I didn't even have a place to stay at for the weekend. My irritation flared. Of course nothing came easy for once for me.

The attendant’s smile was a brittle thing, cracking under the weight of the collective groan that rose from the waiting room. Chairs scraped against linoleum as people began to stand, voices overlapping in a chorus of complaints about missed work and wasted mornings.

While the crowd shouted, I watched the clerk’s terminal. The screen wasn’t just frozen; it was flickering in a rhythmic vertical roll. A faint, high-pitched whine came from the tower under the desk.

Not a deleted file, I realized. A ground loop... Or at least I think so.

The licensing building had certainly seen better days, and this could mean one of two things.

I tapped gently on the window, putting on my best smile.

"I don't think this is a server issue" I called out, pointing at the clerk. Her senior and the guard looked at me a bit warily whilst trying to quell the cacophony of the remaining patrons.

"If you would let me in-"

"Ma'am this area is for employees only" The senior attendant retorted.

Fine. Don't let me in and get to have a day off from the office, but I needed to get that certificate receipt whether they wanted to give it to me today or not.

"It's not the server issue" I turned my gaze to the clerk, whose eyes had sunken in from the sheer amount of stress she assumed she caused in one day.

"Look, there's a blue cable with a tape. It's bridging the ground. There's this thing- data corruption- but the file isn't lost or deleted, the computer just doesn't know where you put it"

The clerk stared. “What?”

“Move the tape,” I said, pacing to the corner of the front desk so I could at least see the computer better. “Then hit refresh. The file is in the ‘Processed’ bin. You moved it ten minutes ago, but the crash hid the receipt.”

She repeated the steps I instructed and within a few moments there was the sound of a printer. She then reached into the green bin on her right and pulled out the TTLA folder.

There was a silence that overcame everyone behind the plexiglass screen. The senior attendant's mouth opened, then closed. The crowd, realizing the "system failure" was resolved, began to settle back into their seats, the urgency draining out of them now that their appointments could proceed.

"Process the file," I said, stepping back before anyone could ask for my name or my credentials. "And maybe use plastic tape next time." I paused, "Well, tell your manager. I.T may have already said that countless times".

The attendant recovered first, her professional mask sliding back into place, though it looked a bit cracked around the edges. "Yes, well. Thank you for your... observation. We will handle it from here."

I nodded. I didn't need a thank you, but at least the girl got to keep a job for a little longer over an issue that really wasn't hers to make. I turned and walked back to my chair, gathering my bag. The clerk called my number moments later, her voice subdued. She handed me the receipt through the slot and searched my eyes briefly.

I returned a small smile, it was the least I could give since she managed to see to me first after the whole debacle.

"You saved us," she whispered. "Really. I don't know what I would have done."

"You would have waited for I.T," I said, folding the flimsy paper into my pocket. "They would have found it eventually." Eventually, maybe. Too late, I was almost certain. Not for any other reason than most people don't know how to properly relay hardware issues since they have no knowledge of it.

"Have a good day."

I walked out of the office before she could reply. The air outside was cooler, cleaner, smelling of exhaust, rain and cut grass rather than stale toner. I checked my watch. 12:18 PM. The boss would be there at 1:30 to confirm that I had picked up what I needed. Which meant I was truly one step closer to getting to keys to No.30 and a new apartment of my own.

The walk back to No.30 took forty minutes. I counted them in my head as a way to pass time. I counted most things now - Steps, dollars, days before Mertle's version of events reached my mother's ears. The bar looked much less imposing during the day. She was held together by nothing more than slightly rusting bolts and concrete.

Which felt fitting to my current state of mind.