Ah, I love the way 5th grade humor enters the picture just when you think it's gone forever.
I don't know about the readers that didn't go to elementary school in the Richardson area around 1981, but for a couple of brief and painful weeks, recess for us was about running around wracking people. In short, running up to people and hitting them in the nuts. Dumb as that game might have been, it was really more about playing tag in the school yard, with the ultimate penalty for getting tagged as "you're it" was that you really got whammied.
Enough about yesteryear, as I'm getting whammied in this year.
In addition to picking up a new repair program to launch in the coming weeks, I somehow got myself sucked into trying to fix an existing repair program that certainly has it's share off problems, least of all with someone trying to explain to me that headcount on a repair line (ie. technicians; the people that actually do most of the work) is subject to a 15-20% decrease just about every day of the week because people are either sick or on holiday. True, I'm the American that's learning the culture, but in the economics course I took (which happened to be the same course that EVERYONE else in the world takes) , if Johnny has 5 apples and gives them all away because they don't taste good, then that's his own fucking fault if he didn't find replacement snacks. Furthermore, he can't say that he still has 2 apples, and they'll be available another time.
So, I'm frustrated as hell, trying to launch a repair line with 3 technicians that have never really repaired laptops before, and I'm also frustrated as hell that the line I'm trying to find solutions for won't hire the necessary people required to do the job properly.
Using the common sense that I've gained in my life, I hooked it to Brussels Sunday afternoon to visit with my new customer. This way, I can avoid the imminent crap meeting that will take place between the "other" customer and my management this coming Wednesday, when they're simply going to ask why in hell do we have 15 guys (3 on holiday and 1 out sick) trying to fix 200 units per day. (Oh, I forgot to give you the additional factor so you can make your calculations: 1 tech can produce about 6 units per day. Er, homey don't play that?)
Pause while I let some of you realize that I just said homey.
So yes, I'm in Brussels this week, living it up, drinking Coke lite in the hotel room at 4 euros a pop. How did I get here? Well, for that, I've got to back up a few days.
Last Friday, we had a kick off the future meeting in my repair site with quite a bit off upper level executive management, including our CFO, CIO, a couple of business unit presidents, and most of the sales team.
I wasn't completely thinking things through, so I showed up at work in black boots, black jeans and black sweater. On any other day, I'm sure that this would have been appropriate. However, everyone of the other 20 guys was at least wearing pants and a blazer, if not a suit.
My sales guy, who is a really good guy by the way, though I wanted to slap him when he remarked that they would probably forgive me on the grounds that I was american, said that this was just the way these kinds of meetings went dress code wise.
I only met our CFO on one brief occasion in Texas, and that's when I ran past him in the hallway trying to get the attention of an engineer. However, on Friday morning, he came right up to me, asked me how I was getting back into the swing of things company wise as he looked me up and down, pausing quite a few moments on the DMs I was wearing. I told him fine thank you very much, then quickly asked my american slagging sales guy buddy who I'd just talked to.
In honesty, I was flattered to be included in the meeting; a workshop to work on efficiencies and process improvement in the business division site. (note - I almost stood up and said, "I think I know what our problem is," at the beginning of the meeting, then reconsidered that not all the Europeans would understand what it meant with the expressions, "two monkeys fucking a football," and "10 pounds shoved into a 5 pound sack." Besides, there were no apples for me to use as a visual aid)
At any rate, I spent virtually all of Friday locked in a conference room discussing various aspects of the business unit, then took fifteen minutes to get a cash advance from the finance department and had a five minute meeting with the guys I would travel with to Brussels on Sunday.
I was a little wound up during the days event, mainly because I'm four weeks away from a program launch, and basically I've got two ten pound monkeys doing the hokey pokey in a five pound sack; clearly I have other places that I need to be; I certainly don't need to be going through this distraction.
But, I did, and I still managed to get a bit of work done, and even managed to schedule a hair cut for the coming Saturday on the way home from work. Whether I'll still have any hair left come Saturday remains to be seen.
Instead of staying in on Friday night, I got home, chucked my backpack into the kitchen, confirmed that my DSL still wasn't working, then headed to MacGowan's for a much needed half vat of beer. I ran into a new buddy Stefan, and he and I chatted a bit about the course of the week. Stefan is a good guy, but becomes a bit of a loud drunk, and the bar is not particularly huge. Furthermore, I'm still trying to gain credibility in the bar, with various degrees of success, but sometimes I lose a bit of ground when my buddy spills his glass (which has now happened twice, in two consecutive weeks).
MacGowan's is really an OK place, but the vibe can be a bit strange from time to time. The waitstaff is more or less on the younger side, but the locals are a bit more 30s-40s, with a sprinkling of younger folks popping. I'm not entirely sure how many employees the bar has, but some of them clearly work more often than others. Isis, Goran, and Tom are there quite a bit. Isis is German, exceptionally cute (particularly when she says, "Tshus!"), and is particularly nice. However, this matters very very little when you inadvertently start calling her Inis. Inis as a name doesn't exist (I don't think), but my Spanish teacher's name was Ines, and she had sort of a similar eye twinkle. Throw in 5 pils, and you might get the names confused, too.
Normally, Isis wouldn't think much of it, but her workmate for the evening, Nadie, has twice now thrown a sarcastic remark in my general direction: once about being American (a couple of weeks ago), and twice, right after giving me grief for calling Isis the wrong name, called me the American that hit on helpless girls at the bar.
I'm not normally an aggressive type, and consider myself to be super super shy. So shy, in fact that for six weeks (and please stop me if I've said this before) in the cafeteria of an office I worked at years ago, I was completely unable to go through the check-out line of this really attractive girl simply because she was so nice. Experiences like that are firm reminders why my love life tends to remain in a constant state of bollocks.
At any rate, I took a bit of offense to Nadie's remarks Friday night. First, the girl from two weeks ago chatted ME up, and for five hours or so, I had no idea that she was only 19.
Second, on this night I was simply having a chat with Barbara (and for those readers from 7 or 8 years ago, it's a different Barbara). Barbara is Slovakian, and we'd been sitting next to one another about a week ago when said Barbara drank about 5 double Jameson's in 20 minutes. I only struck up the conversation to see if she was OK, being that she'd launched into a coughing fit only moments before. That night ended with me heading home for a bit of sleep, not expecting to see young (though older than 19) Barbara again.
I must say, though, that while Stefan and I were chatting merrily (though he louder than I) on Friday evening, I was delighted to see Barbara walk into the bar, and give me a little smile and a hello. At this point, Stefan was trying to have another round of tequila shots, which I thought was ill-advised, so I moved a few stools over to say hello to Barbara.
Drunk Stefan went home about an hour later, though not before, unfortunately, we both misused Isis' name. Sorry Inis, oh wait, it's Isis, or Inis...or...
This left Barbara (a bit more sober like) and I to continue a conversation about various topics, and we continued chatting until the bar was closing. Closing time in Germany just isn't announced; you realize it when the waitstaff have their coats on to go home.
Since it was only about 3.30, Barbara and I headed over to an afterhours place she knows, and we hung out for a few more hours, listening to the dj, chatting, and trying to decide if we were drunk or not. (note - if you have to spend an hour trying to decide if you're drunk or not, you probably are)
Well, the snow started falling, and we had a nice view of the streets outside, and we were cozy, so there was no rush to leave.
Eventually, however, it was about 6, and she had to work around 1pm, leaving only a few short hours for a bit of shut eye. We decided to vacate, and I walked her back to her flat, which is also in the neighborhood, probably about a 5 minute walk if you're sober, 15 if you're wobbly and cold.
We made it to her place, and even after the key fumble (see Hitch), I did all the right things, though I hadn't intended for that to mean, "get completely lost at 6.15am on a Saturday morning in a snowfall."
She must live about 10 minutes away from me, but in the falling snow I lost my bearings (yeah right) and didn't get back to my apartment until 7am. At one point, I almost stopped for coffee, as the konditorei was just opening up for early morning market.
I finally got home, took a much needed pee, and tumbled into bed, feeling pretty fuzzy.
Thankfully, I did get into the gym a bit later in the day, and I even did a bit of shopping, but by Saturday afternoon I was pretty exhausted. I had to pack for my trip to Brussels, and my estate agent was bringing over a new TV set.
Yep, I got the TV, and I'm now back in the land of lousy German programming. However, my DVD player works great, so I can at least watch kino, etc. In fact, I watched a film Saturday night instead of heading back out for a few beers on the town.
Thank goodness I did that, because when the phone rang at 7.30 on Sunday morning, I didn't know what the hell was happening. Oh good, a karaoke party in full swing, which I've since heard was quite the festive evening. I'm quite thankful that no-one thought to try and make me sing a song; I was in full Tom Waits voice due to the hour, and probably wouldn't have been able to sing much more than one bar.
That early hour phone chat was fine and dandy, but I still was in no mood to spend four hours driving across Germany with three fellow colleagues from work to Brussels where they would spend the next three days training. However, once we got on the autobahn, it got pretty cool. Part of that was the Audi A4 we were driving, and part of that was the fact that we were going pretty fast.
The hotel I'm staying in is not the best, and the fact of it is, I'm staying right next to the airport, so Heather, I don't know if it's the worst city or not; I've not actually seen the city center. Personally, though, it seems pretty darn cool. The music on the radio is fucking rippin'; it's kind of 1988 meets 2007 with a nice combo of industrial punk/electronica...just the kind of stuff I've always gone nuts about. And there's Stella.
So, it's 10 after 10 on a Monday night, and I'm tired. My colleagues left the office at five, and I stayed for a meeting that didn't let out until six. I couldn't find a taxi, so I didn't get back to the hotel (five minutes away by car, only across two really busy streets so I couldn't walk) until about eight, only to find that my guys ate without me.
That brings me back to the here and now. Two stella, and two cokes, and I'm winding things down for the night. I'll find something to eat in the morgen.
keep the faith
bryan
soundtrack (not to be confused with the songs I'd sing for karaoke)
Concrete Blonde - Joey (you owe me for that!)
Gene Loves Jezebel - Shaving My Neck
Bryan the unstoppable american basketcase - (to the tune of camptown races) - Slovakian Girls Are Really cute, Do Dah Do Dah
The Pogues - Fairytale of New York
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