How quickly things can change, eh?
I was feeling pretty comfortable with everything involving work related late yesterday afternoon, including a formal email that I had to send to our customer. However, I sent the message at the last possible minute, and as a result, missed my bus connection from the office. Not really a problem, but it did mean a 20 minute wait outside on a dark street corner until the next bus came.
An hour later I got home, threw my gear in the house, then zipped next door to grab a bite to eat before the Arsenal-PSV Champs League match. I was pretty excited about the game, but slightly anxious because from time to time my pub has television feed problems. Most of these are related to the fact that Goran doesn't really know how to hook up the second satellite box, but Champs League is a pretty big event, so I was hoping he'd pull through.
Part of me was surprised to see Sonja sitting at the bar, and part of me wasn't. Still, I sat down in the empty space next to her. With my mind on the game, I struggled for something to say. Furthermore, I was getting the feeling that she wasn't all that glad that I was there. I dunno.
At any rate, once I got my beer, I queried Goran on his TV hook up capability, "Are you going to be able to make it happen, or do I need to change venues?"
"I'll check in a minute, Bryan," came the response. The bar was quickly filling up with Bayern Munich fans coming in to watch their Champs League match against Real Madrid.
I made small talk with English John (another regular), as well as a little chat with Sonja, but something just didn't seem quite right. She had already been there for a couple of hours, and then decided to pay up and go home. No problem for me, as I was probably going to have to go somewhere else anyway. However, she indicated she had something she wanted to say, and didn't know if the time was right.
Immediately I knew what she was going to try to say, and my initial thought was, "Geez, Arsenal are about to play an important match and I don't have the television bit sorted out yet, so I'm not really sure I want to have to deal with this right now."
"Now is probably a good a time as any," I said instead, knowing what was about to happen.
I'm not sure if it's a complete brush off, or just a slight brush off. The language barrier strikes again. Sonja does pretty well in English, but doesn't always understand conversations, particularly English conversations that don't involve her. (for example, she has rarely understood any exchanges between Goran and myself, and it's not just because we're talking Britpop). In fairness to her, she usually speaks more English than I do German, so she's always got the upper hand, but there's always the risk of misinterpretation.
At any rate, I'd already gotten the feeling the previous week (last Thursday when my dinner invitation was declined) that perhaps she wasn't all that interested in me, but was a bit confused by the events the following Friday and Saturday, which seemed to contradict that.
There was a bit of awkward silence as I finished my second beer. Sonja had already paid, but was finishing her own drink. I stood up, put a 20 Euro note on the bar to cover my two beers and then some, turned to John and Isis and said, "Tell Goran that's for my two pils, and he owes me about four more."
A new patron asked if he could have my stool, and I basically said yes, right as Goran appeared and said, "Wait, let me check the feed once more for the game," then disappeared around the other side of the bar. I stood there, really wanting to be somewhere else, basically deciding that even if the feed started working, I'd change venue just to get out of the way.
"Are you waiting for me?" Sonja asked, as I continued to stand beside her. Clearly she hadn't understood some of the interchanges I'd had with Goran.
"Nope, I'm waiting for Goran," I responded in German. Just then, Goran reappeared with a helpless look on his face, indicating that the TV was a no go. Then he proceeded to make change for me from my note.
I gave a couple of "Cheers," to everyone, including Sonja, then stepped out into the street and hustled to the U-Bahn. The whole scene probably took 15 minutes.
Now, this is certainly not a forum for analyzing my personal life, though from time to time I drop the odd clue in to a post. However, I sat reflecting during the 10 minute ride into Innenstadt. Sonja is a pretty cool girl, and frequents the bar a lot. This could create some problems down the road, since I happen to spend a bit of time there, also. I don't know her well enough to really know what she is all about. True, I have been impressed thus far; therefore my interest hadn't waned.
Though I knew that neither of us were on the same page, I also know that I wasn't exactly on the page she thought I was. Unfortunately, my inability to express this in German proved to be frustrating for not only me, but her, also. She's been rather patient with me as the Auslander new to Germany, but I also remind myself that it's not as if she didn't know the situation from the get go.
Oh well. Nada que perder.
In city center, O'Reillys is probably the biggest Irish pub in Frankfurt. It's right outside the train station and shows ALL the matches every week. Champs League night was particularly packed, as Bayern Munich is such a big club. I was fortunate to find a seat at the bar in front of the Arsenal match, and really had only missed 10 minutes or so.
As matches go, Arsenal played better in the first half, but couldn't create more than a couple of chances to score.
Halftime nil-nil.
The Real-Bayern match was fairly exciting, so the bar was pretty noisy.
At restart, I ordered another beer, and told myself that I'd have to wait til full time before taking a trip to the little boys room. I couldn't afford to give up my seat.
Arsenal didn't look all that great in the second half, but still looked the more likely of teams to score. Thus, when PSV ripped a pretty nice goal, I was shocked and irritated.
With 30 minutes remaining, I hoped that Arsenal could pull one back, but it was not meant to be. The two teams will play again in two weeks, with PSV having the obvious advantage.
Back to the U-Bahn, and back to Bornheim. I stopped off for a kebap and said hello to Abu (who also spends a fair amount of time in the pub), then headed home for a little television. All in all, a pretty lousy evening, I must say.
My other club, Valencia CF has a big match against Inter Milan this evening. Liverpool plays Barca, so it's night two of Champs League action. My dilemma? Do I go to my local and risk the awkward situation, or do I just tell myself that it's my local, also?
I don't know the answer to that question yet. Bugger.
keep the faith
bryan
soundtrack
Underworld - Born Slippy
Daft Punk - Aerodynamic
Carter USM/Bryan - The Oldest Living Boy in Alt Bornheim
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Monday, February 19, 2007
It's Never Too Late To Stay Young, Especially When the Kids Are Alright
Whew! Once again, I've gone the past few days spending a little too much time with a beer in hand and not enough time sleeping.
Last Thursday, the day after English FA Cup Round 4 Day, I had good intentions of going home from work, going to the gym, catching up on a bit of sleep, or whatever.
Almost immediately after I put up the post, my work day went to hell. Thus, by the close of business, I was in no great mood to do diddly squat. In fact, I was feeling a bit agitated with just about all facets in my life. Kind of a surprising change: a 180, if you will, from my jubilance from the morning.
The bus on Thursday evening was late, which caused me to miss the train back to Frankfurt. I had to wait an extra half hour, which didn't really help matters.
I arrived home, and thought I'd just settle for a quick trip to the grocery store, but my feet carried me not down the street to the market, but instead next door for a quick beer and a hopeful mood change. (note - I'm not saying that alcohol should be used solely for helping my mood, but it was one of those days where a beer was needed, and there was none in the house.)
Inside the pub were a respectable group of people enjoying a Thursday evening, along with two new friends of mine, Stefan and Sonja. No I did not pick these people because of their names. Stefan is the newbie to Frankfurt, and Sonja is a girl I've been hanging out with recently. Since I had invited Sonja to dinner that evening and had been politely turned down on account that some rest was needed, I was a bit surprised to see her sitting at the bar.
Initially, this didn't help my mood, but I quickly discovered that all of us had had a rather crap work day. Sonja was there to pick up some extra tickets to a concert that we were going to the following evening, and having the obligatory beer that goes along with that. (2nd note - Say for example you leave your credit card at the bar you were at the night before. When you go to that bar the next afternoon to pick up your card, it's quite polite to stay for a quick beer. After all, you're the one that forgot your card in the first place. OK, at least that's my rationale.)
Well, Stefan was finishing up a bit of dinner, and I swallowed two pints a little too easily. As I calmed down, my mood improved, and the long and short of it was that I ended up staying at the pub for the rest of the evening, electing for a dinner of pils. Sonja sort of did the same thing, and looking back, I think Stefan might have been the only one who ate dinner that night, and he later claimed that he wished he hadn't.
The place got pretty jumpin' as we reached midnight, and I found myself talking to a guy named Ziggy who was impressed that I was trying to speak German. He bought a couple of unneeded rounds of drinks, but it was nice to meet him all the same.
Sonja ended up a little worse for wear, and I came to my senses enough to get her home safely and into her apartment before trucking off home for a little sleep of my own.
Friday came all too early, and before I even got to work, I was worried about the next 24 hours. Sonja and I had plans to go see a show at a local club, which pretty much indicated a long night. I was concerned about just when I might be able to catch up on rest.
Friday was a marginally better day at work, and I managed to get out of the office 30 minutes early, meaning I only worked 10 1/2 hours instead of 11. I spent the commute home talking to a couple of colleagues that were leaving for a weeks' vacation, then texted Sonja to confirm the meeting time. 7.45pm.
Sonja had had a reasonably OK day at work herself, but had the same need for a couple of advil. We U-Bahned to Konstablerwache, where we met a friend of hers named Danielle. The three of us then walked a short distance to a club called Sinkkasten. The night's bill: four bands, including the one that our barman sings for.
The club isn't huge, but it was starting to fill up with a pretty young crowd. None of the three of us are pushing retirement by any means, but we've all felt that moment when it just seems that everyone present must have homework to do or something. We made a few jokes about the age of the people piling into the club, then settled in for a few beers at the bar. Another friend of Sonja's was to meet us there a bit later.
The first band was a little punk-pop trio that wasn't all that bad. Not quite polished enough to be putting out EPs or anything just yet, but able to draw some crowd support. I enjoyed a second beer and just relaxed. My buddy Goran arrived and said that his band would be playing last, another three hours to go.
Had I known this, I might have arrived at the club a bit later myself. That said, I was enjoying the company, and really had no complaints. Sonja's other friend arrived, and after the introductions, the first band finished their set and exited the stage.
Leaving Danielle to hang at the bar, the three of us left the club in search of a quick bite to eat. I'd had a little pasta at home, but, considering that I hadn't eaten anything since Thursday am, was not about to lose an opportunity to put something else in the tummy.
Pizza Hut on the plaza was the ultimate decision, and we ate our slices on the way back to the club, where we found the second punk-pop band finishing up their set. More polished than the first band, but not quite as enjoyable.
The club was pretty full by this time, and we elected to move closer to the floor in front of the stage so as to get a better view. Unfortunately, the next act happened to be complete shite.
I've never gone in for the really heavy headbanging music, especially when there are no lyrics being sung. This band, whose name I can unfortunately not recall (unfortunate because I want to avoid their future shows) certainly had ability, kind of along the lines of GWAR, Metallica, and possibly Korn (albeit with less industrial sound). Of those three bands, I can only tolerate Metallica, and normally only the slower more melodic tunes. Only just.
Yes, I like hard, fast, thrashing stuff. But, I like to hear someone sing. This band had a frontman who basically just yelled in the microphone for 45 minutes and encouraged the crowd to slam dance. In fairness, the band had a sizable following of youth, but none of my group cared much for their show. Furthermore, it didn't really fit with the night's bill.
The band were popular enough to have two encores, during one they announced that they were celebrating 10 years together as a band. This prompted Sonja to ask if that meant that they started their band when they were 6 years old; the crowd was that young.
We were certainly pleased when the band finished. Next up: a band called Simonout.
The lead singer Goran works in the local pub, and was one of the first persons I met when arriving to Frankfurt. Since our meeting, we've regularly talked about music, his group, etc.
I missed a show of his a couple of weeks back, so was kind of excited about this one. I'd heard a few positive things from some other folks, and on top of that, it was to be my very first show in Frankfurt. Groovy.
I had a brief word with Goran before he went back stage, then grabbed a fresh beer and moved to a good spot near the stage.
The band started out with a little opening ditty that immediately grabbed my attention. They continued with a pretty decent intensity that impressed me, then Goran took stage, and took over.
Part Queen, part Robbie Williams, throw in a little Marion and various other BritPop stuff from the 90s, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, half a glass of SKA, and 4 extra pints of originality, and you've just seen Simonout.
I'm not normally the kind of guy that gets worked up by a bands singer, but Goran certainly has ability. The band itself is extremely tight, and most impressive and diverse.Along with the rest of the crowd, I was dancing about, enjoying the scene. Sonja enjoys dancing, and was working her own groove, as were the other two girls.
The set came to an end after 45 minutes. A bit short, but apparently the way things had to be.
However, the club then played a nice selection of punk, industrial, ska, and heavy rock that we continued to dance to, pausing only long enough to grab more beers every few minutes.
Goran came out from backstage and we enthusiastically talked about the success of the show. Goran was right pleased to know that I’d enjoyed it so much, and I was flattered that my opinion mattered so much to him.
Long after the carriage turned back into a pumpkin, Sonja began showing signs that it was time for the trek home. By this time, it was past three, and again, I remembered (somewhat fuzzily) that sleep had been a luxury in recent days.
We grabbed a taxi back home, and I walked back to Sonja’s, where she discovered that her keys, handy, and metro card were all safely in the purse of Sennay, who had gone back to her place in Sachsenhausen.
By this point, Sonja needed to be in bed, but here we were on the street. Several rings to her doorbell in hopes that her roommate would wake up and open the door proved unsuccessful. Quite the dilemma.
In the end, I decided that we’d camp at my place, allowing for the drunkenness to wear off. We’d sort out things in the morning.
My flat has a sofa bed, and I’ve now officially had company at my apartment.
We got up around mid morning, and Sonja tried several times to phone her roommate, with no luck. I made a few rounds of coffees, and we contemplated our next moves. Sonja concluded that her roommate must have stayed over at his girlfriend’s, and his mobile number was loaded into her own phone, which was, I’ll remind you, safely with a friend somewhere else in the city.
So, we spent a couple of hours having coffee. I cleaned up the kitchen, took a shower, talked her into a shower, and then we headed to the pub where I was planning to watch Arsenal play their 5th round FA cup match.
True, I was actually enjoying the company, but obviously she was feeling a bit unsettled in the fact that she couldn’t get into her apartment. I don’t have a phonebook, so we used the one from the pub, got numbers, and left several messages for her two friends from the night before.
I watched the game, had a fry up, and would have been a lot happier had the match not ended in a really boring draw.
Meanwhile, Sonja found her roommate, changed clothes in her own apartment, then went off to find her friend, who was still holding the house keys, mobile, and U-Bahn pass. I elected to head home for a little nap and a trip to the gym.
I've not managed to get into the gym all that much during the week, but have gone out of my way to work out pretty hard on Saturdays and Sundays. Hopefully I can find time to get in a few more times during the week, but at least I'm not missing workouts completely.
I was on my way home around from the fitness center around 7.45 when Sonja texted me and suggested that we meet for a drink or two.
Again, all caution was thrown into the wind, and at 8pm I find myself settling in for a few pints on a Saturday night. The pub was having a Faschings Party; Carnival and Mardi Gras are celebrated all over the world, you know. This particular night, a DJ was scheduled to spin records from 10pm on.
The landlord and her partner, Katja and Noel, were celebrating the Christening of their baby boy, so the families were all out in force, having dinner and a few drinks. Noel is Irish, and from time to time has an Irish session in the pub where he and a few guys get out the guitars, mandolins and banjos and just jam. It more than makes up for the karaoke nights.
From 9 to 10.30, Noel and company played some lively tunes. The DJ set up his tables and more and more people started to show up.
For those of you who have seen and appreciated the movie Love Actually, you might recall the DJ that played at the wedding. He was crap.
The DJ at my pub on Saturday night was worse.
I'm sure my expectations should have been set lower, but for the life of me I cannot see where a John Denver tune has ANY business being a part of the party mix. I mean, come on.
On top of the sappy American songs that apparently a lot of Germans do like to hear, the DJ also fit in a few rousing German national anthems: the kinds of songs that all generations know but refuse to admit they like until they've had 8 beers apiece and are singing at the tops of their lungs.
You might have thought I would have left in disgust, but no, not me. At 2am I was still there, clinging to the hope that the "next" song would be better.
My buddy Stefan once said, "My body is not communicating with my brain," and at 3.30am, this was me to a T. I did manage to pay the bill, and managed to trek the short distance back to my house. I kind of wish that I had followed Sonja's lead and consumed a few pints of juice instead of beers; she was in excellent condition (though her recent form from the previous few nights might have been questionable).
Sunday was a slow day, thank goodness. I caught a few films on television, had a few coffees, then popped off to the gym late afternoon for a surprisingly good workout. I'm refusing to consider it a really bad sign that I can go out 5 nights on the trot and still manage a workout intensive enough for a 20 something, but let's just say that I'm going to use a bit more caution in future.
So, I made it through Monday pretty well, and bought a couple of German coursebooks last night in a zippy bookstore called Hugendubel. The name alone makes me want to shop there a lot, but it's a pretty great bookstore, along the lines of FNAC or something. I'm a bit embarrassed that I sent out a plea for a German book to be sent from the states, as I discovered that the store had two copies on the shelf. Ah well, the stateside one will be more special.
Tonight: the return of Champions League, and Arsenal away to PSV Eindhoven. Arsenal have done well against PSV in the past, but I'm having that nervous feeling, and still have a couple of hours of work ahead of me.
But, as I've mentioned before, I'll just grab a couple of pints and cheer on the team. Worse case scenario, I'll be hung over on Wednesday and feel like crap. Hmmm, Arsenal matches, bad DJs, dancing girls, and a whole lot of pils. Can't help but feel like a teen age spirit.
Bryan out.
soundtrack
The Smiths - Hang the DJ
Simonout - On Fire (http://www.simonout.com/)
The Wonderstuff - On the Ropes (yes, I'm aware that this song comes from an album with "idiot" in the title)
Alphaville - Forever Young
Last Thursday, the day after English FA Cup Round 4 Day, I had good intentions of going home from work, going to the gym, catching up on a bit of sleep, or whatever.
Almost immediately after I put up the post, my work day went to hell. Thus, by the close of business, I was in no great mood to do diddly squat. In fact, I was feeling a bit agitated with just about all facets in my life. Kind of a surprising change: a 180, if you will, from my jubilance from the morning.
The bus on Thursday evening was late, which caused me to miss the train back to Frankfurt. I had to wait an extra half hour, which didn't really help matters.
I arrived home, and thought I'd just settle for a quick trip to the grocery store, but my feet carried me not down the street to the market, but instead next door for a quick beer and a hopeful mood change. (note - I'm not saying that alcohol should be used solely for helping my mood, but it was one of those days where a beer was needed, and there was none in the house.)
Inside the pub were a respectable group of people enjoying a Thursday evening, along with two new friends of mine, Stefan and Sonja. No I did not pick these people because of their names. Stefan is the newbie to Frankfurt, and Sonja is a girl I've been hanging out with recently. Since I had invited Sonja to dinner that evening and had been politely turned down on account that some rest was needed, I was a bit surprised to see her sitting at the bar.
Initially, this didn't help my mood, but I quickly discovered that all of us had had a rather crap work day. Sonja was there to pick up some extra tickets to a concert that we were going to the following evening, and having the obligatory beer that goes along with that. (2nd note - Say for example you leave your credit card at the bar you were at the night before. When you go to that bar the next afternoon to pick up your card, it's quite polite to stay for a quick beer. After all, you're the one that forgot your card in the first place. OK, at least that's my rationale.)
Well, Stefan was finishing up a bit of dinner, and I swallowed two pints a little too easily. As I calmed down, my mood improved, and the long and short of it was that I ended up staying at the pub for the rest of the evening, electing for a dinner of pils. Sonja sort of did the same thing, and looking back, I think Stefan might have been the only one who ate dinner that night, and he later claimed that he wished he hadn't.
The place got pretty jumpin' as we reached midnight, and I found myself talking to a guy named Ziggy who was impressed that I was trying to speak German. He bought a couple of unneeded rounds of drinks, but it was nice to meet him all the same.
Sonja ended up a little worse for wear, and I came to my senses enough to get her home safely and into her apartment before trucking off home for a little sleep of my own.
Friday came all too early, and before I even got to work, I was worried about the next 24 hours. Sonja and I had plans to go see a show at a local club, which pretty much indicated a long night. I was concerned about just when I might be able to catch up on rest.
Friday was a marginally better day at work, and I managed to get out of the office 30 minutes early, meaning I only worked 10 1/2 hours instead of 11. I spent the commute home talking to a couple of colleagues that were leaving for a weeks' vacation, then texted Sonja to confirm the meeting time. 7.45pm.
Sonja had had a reasonably OK day at work herself, but had the same need for a couple of advil. We U-Bahned to Konstablerwache, where we met a friend of hers named Danielle. The three of us then walked a short distance to a club called Sinkkasten. The night's bill: four bands, including the one that our barman sings for.
The club isn't huge, but it was starting to fill up with a pretty young crowd. None of the three of us are pushing retirement by any means, but we've all felt that moment when it just seems that everyone present must have homework to do or something. We made a few jokes about the age of the people piling into the club, then settled in for a few beers at the bar. Another friend of Sonja's was to meet us there a bit later.
The first band was a little punk-pop trio that wasn't all that bad. Not quite polished enough to be putting out EPs or anything just yet, but able to draw some crowd support. I enjoyed a second beer and just relaxed. My buddy Goran arrived and said that his band would be playing last, another three hours to go.
Had I known this, I might have arrived at the club a bit later myself. That said, I was enjoying the company, and really had no complaints. Sonja's other friend arrived, and after the introductions, the first band finished their set and exited the stage.
Leaving Danielle to hang at the bar, the three of us left the club in search of a quick bite to eat. I'd had a little pasta at home, but, considering that I hadn't eaten anything since Thursday am, was not about to lose an opportunity to put something else in the tummy.
Pizza Hut on the plaza was the ultimate decision, and we ate our slices on the way back to the club, where we found the second punk-pop band finishing up their set. More polished than the first band, but not quite as enjoyable.
The club was pretty full by this time, and we elected to move closer to the floor in front of the stage so as to get a better view. Unfortunately, the next act happened to be complete shite.
I've never gone in for the really heavy headbanging music, especially when there are no lyrics being sung. This band, whose name I can unfortunately not recall (unfortunate because I want to avoid their future shows) certainly had ability, kind of along the lines of GWAR, Metallica, and possibly Korn (albeit with less industrial sound). Of those three bands, I can only tolerate Metallica, and normally only the slower more melodic tunes. Only just.
Yes, I like hard, fast, thrashing stuff. But, I like to hear someone sing. This band had a frontman who basically just yelled in the microphone for 45 minutes and encouraged the crowd to slam dance. In fairness, the band had a sizable following of youth, but none of my group cared much for their show. Furthermore, it didn't really fit with the night's bill.
The band were popular enough to have two encores, during one they announced that they were celebrating 10 years together as a band. This prompted Sonja to ask if that meant that they started their band when they were 6 years old; the crowd was that young.
We were certainly pleased when the band finished. Next up: a band called Simonout.
The lead singer Goran works in the local pub, and was one of the first persons I met when arriving to Frankfurt. Since our meeting, we've regularly talked about music, his group, etc.
I missed a show of his a couple of weeks back, so was kind of excited about this one. I'd heard a few positive things from some other folks, and on top of that, it was to be my very first show in Frankfurt. Groovy.
I had a brief word with Goran before he went back stage, then grabbed a fresh beer and moved to a good spot near the stage.
The band started out with a little opening ditty that immediately grabbed my attention. They continued with a pretty decent intensity that impressed me, then Goran took stage, and took over.
Part Queen, part Robbie Williams, throw in a little Marion and various other BritPop stuff from the 90s, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, half a glass of SKA, and 4 extra pints of originality, and you've just seen Simonout.
I'm not normally the kind of guy that gets worked up by a bands singer, but Goran certainly has ability. The band itself is extremely tight, and most impressive and diverse.Along with the rest of the crowd, I was dancing about, enjoying the scene. Sonja enjoys dancing, and was working her own groove, as were the other two girls.
The set came to an end after 45 minutes. A bit short, but apparently the way things had to be.
However, the club then played a nice selection of punk, industrial, ska, and heavy rock that we continued to dance to, pausing only long enough to grab more beers every few minutes.
Goran came out from backstage and we enthusiastically talked about the success of the show. Goran was right pleased to know that I’d enjoyed it so much, and I was flattered that my opinion mattered so much to him.
Long after the carriage turned back into a pumpkin, Sonja began showing signs that it was time for the trek home. By this time, it was past three, and again, I remembered (somewhat fuzzily) that sleep had been a luxury in recent days.
We grabbed a taxi back home, and I walked back to Sonja’s, where she discovered that her keys, handy, and metro card were all safely in the purse of Sennay, who had gone back to her place in Sachsenhausen.
By this point, Sonja needed to be in bed, but here we were on the street. Several rings to her doorbell in hopes that her roommate would wake up and open the door proved unsuccessful. Quite the dilemma.
In the end, I decided that we’d camp at my place, allowing for the drunkenness to wear off. We’d sort out things in the morning.
My flat has a sofa bed, and I’ve now officially had company at my apartment.
We got up around mid morning, and Sonja tried several times to phone her roommate, with no luck. I made a few rounds of coffees, and we contemplated our next moves. Sonja concluded that her roommate must have stayed over at his girlfriend’s, and his mobile number was loaded into her own phone, which was, I’ll remind you, safely with a friend somewhere else in the city.
So, we spent a couple of hours having coffee. I cleaned up the kitchen, took a shower, talked her into a shower, and then we headed to the pub where I was planning to watch Arsenal play their 5th round FA cup match.
True, I was actually enjoying the company, but obviously she was feeling a bit unsettled in the fact that she couldn’t get into her apartment. I don’t have a phonebook, so we used the one from the pub, got numbers, and left several messages for her two friends from the night before.
I watched the game, had a fry up, and would have been a lot happier had the match not ended in a really boring draw.
Meanwhile, Sonja found her roommate, changed clothes in her own apartment, then went off to find her friend, who was still holding the house keys, mobile, and U-Bahn pass. I elected to head home for a little nap and a trip to the gym.
I've not managed to get into the gym all that much during the week, but have gone out of my way to work out pretty hard on Saturdays and Sundays. Hopefully I can find time to get in a few more times during the week, but at least I'm not missing workouts completely.
I was on my way home around from the fitness center around 7.45 when Sonja texted me and suggested that we meet for a drink or two.
Again, all caution was thrown into the wind, and at 8pm I find myself settling in for a few pints on a Saturday night. The pub was having a Faschings Party; Carnival and Mardi Gras are celebrated all over the world, you know. This particular night, a DJ was scheduled to spin records from 10pm on.
The landlord and her partner, Katja and Noel, were celebrating the Christening of their baby boy, so the families were all out in force, having dinner and a few drinks. Noel is Irish, and from time to time has an Irish session in the pub where he and a few guys get out the guitars, mandolins and banjos and just jam. It more than makes up for the karaoke nights.
From 9 to 10.30, Noel and company played some lively tunes. The DJ set up his tables and more and more people started to show up.
For those of you who have seen and appreciated the movie Love Actually, you might recall the DJ that played at the wedding. He was crap.
The DJ at my pub on Saturday night was worse.
I'm sure my expectations should have been set lower, but for the life of me I cannot see where a John Denver tune has ANY business being a part of the party mix. I mean, come on.
On top of the sappy American songs that apparently a lot of Germans do like to hear, the DJ also fit in a few rousing German national anthems: the kinds of songs that all generations know but refuse to admit they like until they've had 8 beers apiece and are singing at the tops of their lungs.
You might have thought I would have left in disgust, but no, not me. At 2am I was still there, clinging to the hope that the "next" song would be better.
My buddy Stefan once said, "My body is not communicating with my brain," and at 3.30am, this was me to a T. I did manage to pay the bill, and managed to trek the short distance back to my house. I kind of wish that I had followed Sonja's lead and consumed a few pints of juice instead of beers; she was in excellent condition (though her recent form from the previous few nights might have been questionable).
Sunday was a slow day, thank goodness. I caught a few films on television, had a few coffees, then popped off to the gym late afternoon for a surprisingly good workout. I'm refusing to consider it a really bad sign that I can go out 5 nights on the trot and still manage a workout intensive enough for a 20 something, but let's just say that I'm going to use a bit more caution in future.
So, I made it through Monday pretty well, and bought a couple of German coursebooks last night in a zippy bookstore called Hugendubel. The name alone makes me want to shop there a lot, but it's a pretty great bookstore, along the lines of FNAC or something. I'm a bit embarrassed that I sent out a plea for a German book to be sent from the states, as I discovered that the store had two copies on the shelf. Ah well, the stateside one will be more special.
Tonight: the return of Champions League, and Arsenal away to PSV Eindhoven. Arsenal have done well against PSV in the past, but I'm having that nervous feeling, and still have a couple of hours of work ahead of me.
But, as I've mentioned before, I'll just grab a couple of pints and cheer on the team. Worse case scenario, I'll be hung over on Wednesday and feel like crap. Hmmm, Arsenal matches, bad DJs, dancing girls, and a whole lot of pils. Can't help but feel like a teen age spirit.
Bryan out.
soundtrack
The Smiths - Hang the DJ
Simonout - On Fire (http://www.simonout.com/)
The Wonderstuff - On the Ropes (yes, I'm aware that this song comes from an album with "idiot" in the title)
Alphaville - Forever Young
Thursday, February 15, 2007
My How They Rocked It Up!
Last night I celebrated English FA Cup Round 4 Day (known by most folks as Valentine's Day) by sliding into my local around 8.30pm to watch a few minutes of pre-game before Arsenal played Bolton.
One slight problem, which again comes down to my failure to check the other football competitions scheduled; a couple of German teams were playing some UEFA Cup matches. Since we're in Germany, my local always will always put a German match on before any other.
Fortunately, there are two televisions in the bar, and I was just fine watching my match on the smaller set. I just needed to see the game.
As wonderful as Arsenal play, for the past two seasons, I've hardly been able to develop a confidence level that gives me any comfort that a victory won't be snatched from us in the 91st or 92nd minute. Too many times in recent months the team have had to come from behind; something they've almost never had to do in the entire history of the club. I've been an Arsenal fan plenty long enough to know that the "stomachdoingcartwheelsnonstoplegbouncingohgoshi
hopetheydon'tgiveupacheapgoaloffacornerkickagain" emotions really just come from supporting the club.
Needless to say, I was a bit of a nervous wreck, especially since the opponent was Bolton; one of about three teams in the league that seem to have no problem dealing with the flash and style of Arsenal. Bolton play straightforward football and tend to hold a respectable place in the table season after season.
Of course, this was FA Cup, which isn't quite the same. FA Cup is like March Madness for college basketball fans, but instead of cramming the tournament into 8 or 9 days, the FA Cup begins in August and runs until May. Every month or so during autumn, there's one Saturday afternoon packed full of FA Cup action, where many of the clubs from lower divisions have the opportunity to play for glory.
Obviously, as the tournament continues, more and more teams are eliminated, leaving mostly Premiership clubs to finish out the competition. Last evening, Arsenal needed to get through round 4. If through, they will play round 5 this coming Saturday, and if they win that match, they're through to the Quarter-Finals. Zippy.
I expected a good match but was really thinking that we'd be going home with a loss, which would basically mean that I wouldn't have any matches to watch this Saturday.
Arsenal basically controlled the entire match, and looked fairly sharp doing so. Bolton are a decent side, but they weren't seeing all that much of the ball. True, Arsenal weren't totally threatening to score, but I was starting to think that they were the more likely of the two teams to advance.
1-0 came to Arsenal about 15 minutes into the first half. Not a bad shot which took an unfortunate deflection off a defender.
The second half was again controlled by Arsenal, but I pessimistically expected an equalizer to come at any time, especially after watching Arsenal fail to convert two penalties along with an empty net opportunity (a striker was in front of the open goal and failed to put the ball in). Instead of 4-0, though, the score remained 1-0 with me fully expecting horrible things.
The equalizer came right at the last of full time, off a freaking set piece. I can't tell you how tired I am of Arsenal conceding goals in this manner. I've played defensive back too much in my own footballing experiences to know the importance of defending the box.
With the score tied at 1-1, the game went into extra time, which is only used during a replay in a tournament. 30 minutes more to break the empate. Then, if the score was still tied, then penalties. Oh goody.
One of the not so good things about extra time is that you suddenly have to have another beer. Normally I try to time my consumption so that I'm not sitting there with a full beer at full time, especially on a school night. Additionally, and this might be a bit more positive, the additional beer will help calm the nerves, with the basic idea being that if your team goes on to win, you're in extra fine spirits. If your team loses, you can mope home in a drunken state and try to sleep the pain away. More on the finer points of alcohol abuse will be detailed in a future post, quite likely titled, "How to Win a Kegstand Contest at a Crawfish Boil."
At the end of the first half of injury time, the score had not changed. I was not feeling particularly confident about anything (see comments above about being an Arsenal fan), and furthermore, it was karaoke night at the pub, so people were belting out Michael Jackson, Bonnie Tyler, and Olivia Newton John. Not surprisingly, I looked down to see that my glass was about to crack from the pressure of my squeeze.
I recognized another Arsenal fan in the bar; just the one. Everyone else was not even remotely interested, but I hardly noticed. I had 15 minutes in which it was vital that we scored a winning goal. Under no circumstances could we go to penalty kicks on this evening, since two players had already shanked penalties during the match. Almost unheard of, but typical Arsenal: always make it as hard as possible to win the match.
When Freddie Ljungberg coolly slotted the goal in the 109th minute, I went nuts (while still feeling that somehow we'd give up another equalizer).
Bolton threw everyone forward, including the keeper, and tried to blast the box. Arsenal held on, and didn't even look like they were that tired.
With less than a minute left, I began to relax, then became jubilant as Arsenal scored a third goal right as the game ended.
Who needs expensive illegal drugs when you can just watch an Arsenal match? The rush will completely fuck you up.
A quick "holy crap did you see that!?!" conversation with Chris, and then I was home in bed.
Can't wait for Saturday. Arsenal at home to Blackburn. FA Cup Round 5.
Rock it up.
bryan
soundtrack
New Order - Temptation
One slight problem, which again comes down to my failure to check the other football competitions scheduled; a couple of German teams were playing some UEFA Cup matches. Since we're in Germany, my local always will always put a German match on before any other.
Fortunately, there are two televisions in the bar, and I was just fine watching my match on the smaller set. I just needed to see the game.
As wonderful as Arsenal play, for the past two seasons, I've hardly been able to develop a confidence level that gives me any comfort that a victory won't be snatched from us in the 91st or 92nd minute. Too many times in recent months the team have had to come from behind; something they've almost never had to do in the entire history of the club. I've been an Arsenal fan plenty long enough to know that the "stomachdoingcartwheelsnonstoplegbouncingohgoshi
hopetheydon'tgiveupacheapgoaloffacornerkickagain" emotions really just come from supporting the club.
Needless to say, I was a bit of a nervous wreck, especially since the opponent was Bolton; one of about three teams in the league that seem to have no problem dealing with the flash and style of Arsenal. Bolton play straightforward football and tend to hold a respectable place in the table season after season.
Of course, this was FA Cup, which isn't quite the same. FA Cup is like March Madness for college basketball fans, but instead of cramming the tournament into 8 or 9 days, the FA Cup begins in August and runs until May. Every month or so during autumn, there's one Saturday afternoon packed full of FA Cup action, where many of the clubs from lower divisions have the opportunity to play for glory.
Obviously, as the tournament continues, more and more teams are eliminated, leaving mostly Premiership clubs to finish out the competition. Last evening, Arsenal needed to get through round 4. If through, they will play round 5 this coming Saturday, and if they win that match, they're through to the Quarter-Finals. Zippy.
I expected a good match but was really thinking that we'd be going home with a loss, which would basically mean that I wouldn't have any matches to watch this Saturday.
Arsenal basically controlled the entire match, and looked fairly sharp doing so. Bolton are a decent side, but they weren't seeing all that much of the ball. True, Arsenal weren't totally threatening to score, but I was starting to think that they were the more likely of the two teams to advance.
1-0 came to Arsenal about 15 minutes into the first half. Not a bad shot which took an unfortunate deflection off a defender.
The second half was again controlled by Arsenal, but I pessimistically expected an equalizer to come at any time, especially after watching Arsenal fail to convert two penalties along with an empty net opportunity (a striker was in front of the open goal and failed to put the ball in). Instead of 4-0, though, the score remained 1-0 with me fully expecting horrible things.
The equalizer came right at the last of full time, off a freaking set piece. I can't tell you how tired I am of Arsenal conceding goals in this manner. I've played defensive back too much in my own footballing experiences to know the importance of defending the box.
With the score tied at 1-1, the game went into extra time, which is only used during a replay in a tournament. 30 minutes more to break the empate. Then, if the score was still tied, then penalties. Oh goody.
One of the not so good things about extra time is that you suddenly have to have another beer. Normally I try to time my consumption so that I'm not sitting there with a full beer at full time, especially on a school night. Additionally, and this might be a bit more positive, the additional beer will help calm the nerves, with the basic idea being that if your team goes on to win, you're in extra fine spirits. If your team loses, you can mope home in a drunken state and try to sleep the pain away. More on the finer points of alcohol abuse will be detailed in a future post, quite likely titled, "How to Win a Kegstand Contest at a Crawfish Boil."
At the end of the first half of injury time, the score had not changed. I was not feeling particularly confident about anything (see comments above about being an Arsenal fan), and furthermore, it was karaoke night at the pub, so people were belting out Michael Jackson, Bonnie Tyler, and Olivia Newton John. Not surprisingly, I looked down to see that my glass was about to crack from the pressure of my squeeze.
I recognized another Arsenal fan in the bar; just the one. Everyone else was not even remotely interested, but I hardly noticed. I had 15 minutes in which it was vital that we scored a winning goal. Under no circumstances could we go to penalty kicks on this evening, since two players had already shanked penalties during the match. Almost unheard of, but typical Arsenal: always make it as hard as possible to win the match.
When Freddie Ljungberg coolly slotted the goal in the 109th minute, I went nuts (while still feeling that somehow we'd give up another equalizer).
Bolton threw everyone forward, including the keeper, and tried to blast the box. Arsenal held on, and didn't even look like they were that tired.
With less than a minute left, I began to relax, then became jubilant as Arsenal scored a third goal right as the game ended.
Who needs expensive illegal drugs when you can just watch an Arsenal match? The rush will completely fuck you up.
A quick "holy crap did you see that!?!" conversation with Chris, and then I was home in bed.
Can't wait for Saturday. Arsenal at home to Blackburn. FA Cup Round 5.
Rock it up.
bryan
soundtrack
New Order - Temptation
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
I'm Wearing Red and White Today
I'm certainly not a big fan of Valentine's Day, but this morning felt inclined to wear red and white. Of course, I only have a few red shirts, and they all happen to have white sleeves and an Arsenal badge on the front.
Arsenal play Bolton this evening in FA cup. They should have won the game a couple of weeks ago so as to avoid the replay, but alas, they squeaked out a draw (as I mentioned in a previous post).
Parading around a German repair facility in an Arsenal kit might seem a bit stupid, but I'm finding that there are more than several folks around that happen to follow the club, and at times even support them. Sure, Arsenal's keeper is German, which helps a great deal.
I'm rather surprised at the support for Chelsea, though. But, a few people have reminded me that they're from Russia, and being that Chelsea is owned by a Russian billionaire, well there you go.
In about 12 hours, Arsenal will have their opportunity to advance to the next round of the cup. Come on boys.
Today on the train, I just sat back and enjoyed the ride. Normally I try to read a little (either in German or Spanish, depending on the mood), but today, I just looked out the window the whole time, and marvelled at the scene.
Morning commutes on public transport tend to be pretty entertaining. Everyone sort of sits on the U-Bahn with a dull expression, and then bursts into action upon reaching their stop. The Hauptbahnhof is a pretty big stop, and as soon as the doors are open, everyone crowds off the train and scurries to the steps, which will then get them to the actual train platforms.
So, you've got a mass of people trying to race upstairs at the precise moment one or two people are racing DOWN the stairs in hopes of catching the U-Bahn before the doors close and it moves off to the next stop.
From time to time, I've seen the odd accident, usually involving someone trying to run too fast with their rolling suitcase or briefcase, then KAPOW! They round a corner and hurtle into a crowd of people coming the other way.
I've long since stopped carrying a coffee with me on the metro for this very reason, lest I get broadsided by someone trying to zip around me. It's much safer to get a coffee next to my train platform, then stand around and try to understand the announcements on the PA.
(Note - if any of you are wondering why I have some free time at 9.15am to jot a few things down, I can explain that I'm waiting for a report to finish running.)
As I bring this session to a close, I remind myself that one year and three days ago, I moved myself to Spain. I've been bopping around for 12 months learning new languages, assessing the quality of various coffees, making friends, doing some work, and laughing my ass off.
If I were to write everyone a postcard, I would truly have to use the cliche, "Having a wonderful time. Wish you were here."
Thanks to everyone for staying in touch. It's great to get the odd email, phone call, text message, or whatever. I love hearing about the buzzer shot at the half time basket ball game, the outings to the pubs, the grocery store closings in Dallas, the challenges of families struggling to get a member free of cancer, choir concerts, weekend trips out of town, and emergency double hernia surgery. No, it's not that I look forward and enjoy hearing news about a friend's suffering, but I am always interested in the latest news, whether good or bad. It helps remind me of how important and special the place I used to live was and continues to be.
Before I write another incredibly sappy run-on sentence, I'll sign off. Besides, the report just finished, so I can continue with work.
Rock it up Arsenal, er, Happy Valentine's Day, and all the best.
keep the faith
bryan
soundtrack:
U2 - I Will Follow
La Ley - El Dolor
MMB - The Impression That I Get
Dropkick Murphys - We Got the Power
Bad Religion - Let Them Eat War
Arsenal play Bolton this evening in FA cup. They should have won the game a couple of weeks ago so as to avoid the replay, but alas, they squeaked out a draw (as I mentioned in a previous post).
Parading around a German repair facility in an Arsenal kit might seem a bit stupid, but I'm finding that there are more than several folks around that happen to follow the club, and at times even support them. Sure, Arsenal's keeper is German, which helps a great deal.
I'm rather surprised at the support for Chelsea, though. But, a few people have reminded me that they're from Russia, and being that Chelsea is owned by a Russian billionaire, well there you go.
In about 12 hours, Arsenal will have their opportunity to advance to the next round of the cup. Come on boys.
Today on the train, I just sat back and enjoyed the ride. Normally I try to read a little (either in German or Spanish, depending on the mood), but today, I just looked out the window the whole time, and marvelled at the scene.
Morning commutes on public transport tend to be pretty entertaining. Everyone sort of sits on the U-Bahn with a dull expression, and then bursts into action upon reaching their stop. The Hauptbahnhof is a pretty big stop, and as soon as the doors are open, everyone crowds off the train and scurries to the steps, which will then get them to the actual train platforms.
So, you've got a mass of people trying to race upstairs at the precise moment one or two people are racing DOWN the stairs in hopes of catching the U-Bahn before the doors close and it moves off to the next stop.
From time to time, I've seen the odd accident, usually involving someone trying to run too fast with their rolling suitcase or briefcase, then KAPOW! They round a corner and hurtle into a crowd of people coming the other way.
I've long since stopped carrying a coffee with me on the metro for this very reason, lest I get broadsided by someone trying to zip around me. It's much safer to get a coffee next to my train platform, then stand around and try to understand the announcements on the PA.
(Note - if any of you are wondering why I have some free time at 9.15am to jot a few things down, I can explain that I'm waiting for a report to finish running.)
As I bring this session to a close, I remind myself that one year and three days ago, I moved myself to Spain. I've been bopping around for 12 months learning new languages, assessing the quality of various coffees, making friends, doing some work, and laughing my ass off.
If I were to write everyone a postcard, I would truly have to use the cliche, "Having a wonderful time. Wish you were here."
Thanks to everyone for staying in touch. It's great to get the odd email, phone call, text message, or whatever. I love hearing about the buzzer shot at the half time basket ball game, the outings to the pubs, the grocery store closings in Dallas, the challenges of families struggling to get a member free of cancer, choir concerts, weekend trips out of town, and emergency double hernia surgery. No, it's not that I look forward and enjoy hearing news about a friend's suffering, but I am always interested in the latest news, whether good or bad. It helps remind me of how important and special the place I used to live was and continues to be.
Before I write another incredibly sappy run-on sentence, I'll sign off. Besides, the report just finished, so I can continue with work.
Rock it up Arsenal, er, Happy Valentine's Day, and all the best.
keep the faith
bryan
soundtrack:
U2 - I Will Follow
La Ley - El Dolor
MMB - The Impression That I Get
Dropkick Murphys - We Got the Power
Bad Religion - Let Them Eat War
Monday, February 12, 2007
Was bedeutet "Where Have All the Good Safe Havens Gone?" auf Deutsch?
Unbelievable.
I recall my days at the repair facility in Dallas where safe havens were scarce, but secure. After all, the very definition of a safe haven is a place to take care of business without any significant disturbances.
Here in Germany, I've already been impressed with the loo at the two train stations I use on my daily commute. More than once, I've thought to myself that perhaps I should ask the custodians how they keep those bathrooms so clean. Graffiti aside, they're probably nicer than the bathroom in my flat.
At work, there are several locations to choose from, but because it's a warehouse type environment, some venues are more dodgy than others. My personal favorite is upstairs next to the conference room. However, that's a far bit from my patch.
There are a couple on the shop floor, one of which is suitable for an entire dinner party. Unfortunately, the lights are on "auto power off," triggered by a motion detector. God help you if you get trapped reading the daily financial times and find yourself literally in the dark.
The other venue is just downstairs from my office. That proximity somewhat makes up for the fact that the co-workers who tend to use this particular place seem to be vile and disgusting. All things considered, it's tolerable, and I do know that it's regularly cleaned.
However, that's what's prompted me to jot this down. No less than 15 minutes ago, I was doing my bit and patting myself on the back for eating a lot more greens as of late when all of a sudden, the housekeeper came right in and started mopping the floor. No announcement of "housekeeping!" or "anyone in here?" Instead, she just came right on in and started moving around with her mop.
Well, this encouraged me to speed things up a little, and to be honest, I wasn't in there reading a book or anything. But, I was fully expecting to be able to complete things without having to worry about a visit from the hausfrau.
Maybe it's the fact that she's a woman that sort of irks me. It's not so much that she's a woman but that she now has the power to be able to say to her other co-workers, "See that guy over there? He's a complete disgustoid. I think his insides are rotten."
I really don't know if people of that profession actually discuss these things outside of the toilet area, but I wasn't really hoping to ever have to give it thought, you know?
Dang, this is absolutely not the way I wanted to finish up a Monday afternoon.
Well done Arsenal, nice way to squeak a win out yesterday. I only feel half guilty for missing most of the match, but I was not in a position to tell a pretty girl that I couldn't go to the art expo with her on account of "Arsenal are at home to Wigan." Home to ManU, Liverpool, or even Bolton maybe, but not Wigan. Besides, we made it into a pub in time to see the last 8 minutes and all of the highlights.
Who knows, maybe I can convince Sonja to become an Arsenal fan, too. We'll see.
cheers
bryan
I recall my days at the repair facility in Dallas where safe havens were scarce, but secure. After all, the very definition of a safe haven is a place to take care of business without any significant disturbances.
Here in Germany, I've already been impressed with the loo at the two train stations I use on my daily commute. More than once, I've thought to myself that perhaps I should ask the custodians how they keep those bathrooms so clean. Graffiti aside, they're probably nicer than the bathroom in my flat.
At work, there are several locations to choose from, but because it's a warehouse type environment, some venues are more dodgy than others. My personal favorite is upstairs next to the conference room. However, that's a far bit from my patch.
There are a couple on the shop floor, one of which is suitable for an entire dinner party. Unfortunately, the lights are on "auto power off," triggered by a motion detector. God help you if you get trapped reading the daily financial times and find yourself literally in the dark.
The other venue is just downstairs from my office. That proximity somewhat makes up for the fact that the co-workers who tend to use this particular place seem to be vile and disgusting. All things considered, it's tolerable, and I do know that it's regularly cleaned.
However, that's what's prompted me to jot this down. No less than 15 minutes ago, I was doing my bit and patting myself on the back for eating a lot more greens as of late when all of a sudden, the housekeeper came right in and started mopping the floor. No announcement of "housekeeping!" or "anyone in here?" Instead, she just came right on in and started moving around with her mop.
Well, this encouraged me to speed things up a little, and to be honest, I wasn't in there reading a book or anything. But, I was fully expecting to be able to complete things without having to worry about a visit from the hausfrau.
Maybe it's the fact that she's a woman that sort of irks me. It's not so much that she's a woman but that she now has the power to be able to say to her other co-workers, "See that guy over there? He's a complete disgustoid. I think his insides are rotten."
I really don't know if people of that profession actually discuss these things outside of the toilet area, but I wasn't really hoping to ever have to give it thought, you know?
Dang, this is absolutely not the way I wanted to finish up a Monday afternoon.
Well done Arsenal, nice way to squeak a win out yesterday. I only feel half guilty for missing most of the match, but I was not in a position to tell a pretty girl that I couldn't go to the art expo with her on account of "Arsenal are at home to Wigan." Home to ManU, Liverpool, or even Bolton maybe, but not Wigan. Besides, we made it into a pub in time to see the last 8 minutes and all of the highlights.
Who knows, maybe I can convince Sonja to become an Arsenal fan, too. We'll see.
cheers
bryan
Thursday, February 08, 2007
44 Hours Without a Nap
I knew when I rejoined my old company that I would return to the crazy, stressful world of working too much/playing too little/maybe make for a dull Bryan environment. All things considered, I have managed to split time between professional and personal interests reasonably well, although I do have the odd moment where it becomes just a wee bit much, but never dull.
For example, I spent three days in Brussels last week, and was oh so looking forward to having a full week in Germany where I might be able to get some laundry done, eat food out of the fridge before it's gone bad, etc.
Last Friday afternoon, I discovered that I would likely need to spend a day in England during the upcoming week. I discussed the matter with a colleague late Friday evening, and left the decision with him.
Monday morning, he phoned up and instructed me to make plans to be in Colchester for an all day meeting on Wednesday. Er, yesterday Wednesday.
Now, Frankfurt Main has one of the busiest airports in the world, and it's conveniently located about 25 minutes away from my apartment via U-Bahn and S-Bahn. Unfortunately, Frankfurt Main flies only into London Heathrow or London Gatwick, which are the two airports situated furthest away from Colchester. In my previous business trips to Colchester (there's really no need to go there for pleasure), I've flown to Heathrow, then taken a taxi service directly to the office. Price: 110 GBP (or 200+ Dollars) one way for the two to three hour journey.Two to three hours? But it's only 60 miles from London to Colchester! Yes, but you see, there's this little motorway called the M25 (hereafter referred to as perhaps the most awful place on earth to drive) that circles the entire London area. If you're looking at a map of London, specifically the area of the M25, you might note that Gatwick is at 6 o'clock, Heathrow is at 9 o'clock, and Colchester is about 40 miles away from 1:30 off the M25. For about 20 hours a day, the entire motorway is completely congested in both directions, thus the two possibly three hour excursion, traffic permitting (don't forget to tip the cab guy!).
"OK," you might be saying. "But there are two more airports in London, so what about flying into City airport or Stanstead?"
Excellent point. Stanstead is only about 30 minutes away from Colchester, and it's ideal. Except for one thing. Frankfurt Main doesn't FLY into Stanstead. To get to Stanstead from Frankfurt, you have to take a flight out of Frankfurt Hahn Airport. Frankfurt Hahn is inconveniently located two hours away from Frankfurt. In fact, it's almost in Luxemburg. Fortunately, there is a shuttle service from Frankfurt to Frankfurt Hahn Airport.
When booking air travel 24 hours in advance, one's options are limited. I needed to be in Colchester by 9am, pretty much requiring an arrival in London no later than 7.30am. This meant I would have to get myself to Hahn airport for a 6.30am flight. Well, the public transportation is Germany is pretty good, but it's not tailored to Bryan's personal needs.
Thus, after spending way too much time looking at time tables and stuff, I realized that I was going to have to take the shuttle bus from Frankfurt train station or airport at around 2.30am early Wednesday morning. This would put me at Hahn with sufficient time to check in and do the security check.
I knew that I was going to have a tough couple of days, but Monday evening, instead of going to be at a really early hour to catch up on some rest, I find myself getting home this side of midnight.
6am on Tuesday morning, I jumped up, took a shower, did the commute to work thing, and told myself that I would leave early that afternoon in anticipation of the upcoming travel.
Thirteen and a half hours late, I was stepping off at my stop on the U-Bahn talking to my colleague from the UK. Our customer had already met with our account executive, and the story was that our customer was furious, absolutely raging mad with a facet of our business. "Um, just wanted you to have a head's up before you got here," Duncan told me. "I'm going home to try and fix the bathroom in my new house and see if my wife and daughter are feeling any better with their bouts with the flu."
Neat.
Here I was, tired after a long day, faced with more travel in a matter of hours, and the recent recipient of the kind of news that makes you want to change professions. I did what anyone would have done, and walked into my local pub, and sat down for a very nice dinner of schnitzel and a pint. While I was there, I managed to see a couple of friends, and then my account executive called me. "I've just had the worst day of my life. The customer is really really mad. Tomorrow is going to be a rodeo," he said with an absence of cheer.
Suddenly, right behind me in the pub, a rather large dog jumped up from it's spot underneath a table and gave an aggressive "WOOF!" in greeting (or challenge) to another dog that was just coming into the pub with it's owner.
The pub is not large, I've just had a haircut, and I almost fell off of the stool with surprise. My buddy on the other end of the phone quickly asked, "Are you OK? What's happening?"
I gave him a shaky response of OK, but quickly assessed the situation to make sure that I wasn't about to have a foot chewed off.
In the end, both pets found their own little comfort zones, and order was restored.
Except for the fact that in less than 12 hours, I was to meet with a very unhappy customer.
I think the expression is "on the fence." At 9.30pm, I probably should have headed home to take a brief nap before heading to the train station. However, after my woof experience, I was enjoying my evening, and the pub chat was helping me not to think much about the doom and gloom I was soon to face. So, I stayed for another coffee, then at 11pm, stepped out into the plaza and headed the 15 feet to my apartment, looking at the footsteps I was making.
I stopped, looked about, and then just stood for a few minutes enjoying a quiet snow fall. Big, soft flakes were everywhere, and I recalled that I'd really only had this experience a few times in my life. Not terribly surprising, considering the amount of snow in Texas. I savored the peaceful moment, letting the snowflakes fall on and around me.
Alas, I did have somewhere to be, so I left the snow, entered my apartment, and then immediately went through my normal morning routine: shower, shave, dress, pack the backpack, etc. Only it was midnight.
At 12.15am, I was on the metro headed for the main train station, where I would have to wait for the shuttle bus to Hahn airport. Two stops later, I changed my mind, and routed myself instead to Frankfurt Main airport. This Hahn shuttle bus picks up at both places. I elected for the airport, since the train station can be a scary place at night, and furthermore, I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to wait inside the station. Since the bus wasn't to leave until 2.45, I wasn't too excited about sitting outside in the cold for the next two hours.
So, I arrived at the main train station, and found a place to sit quietly not far from where other folks were lounging. An empty airport isn't much fun, especially when all the cafes and shops are closed.
For the next two hours, I tried to keep awake, trying not to think about a warm bed. You see, the U-Bahn shuts down at around 12.30 so I had a two hour gap. Instead of me being able to sit at home in my apartment until the shuttle bus arrived, I had to follow the timetable that was offered.
At 2.45 the bus did arrive, and 12 Euros later I was headed toward Luxemburg on a pretty crowded tourist coach.
At 4am, I got off the bus, stood in the snow for a moment, then scurried inside to the warmth of the building.Hahn Airport is a former American Military Base, and my initial thought was that it resembled a homeless shelter. Tired travellers were camped out all over the facility waiting for flight check in, etc. Of course, this was at 4am.
Things soon started to buzz: a cafe opened, a few RyanAir attendants settled themselves at their desks. After a quick milchkaffee, I checked in, got my boarding pass, and took a seat in the lounge. As you tend to do in situations like this, you hope you can prolong the sleep with just a bit more caffeine. I hoped to try and take a brief nap on the airplane, but not right in the middle of the waiting lounge.
We boarded around 6am, and departed on time at 6.30am. The flight is really only about an hour and ten minutes, but I would pick up an hour upon arrival in the UK..
For most of the flight, I kept dropping my news magazine and making the odd noise like "wabba hazza zibbit" as my body started losing functionality for lack of sleep.
I started awake as we touched down in London, and the walk across the jetway to the arrival lounge helped to wake me up.
Quick pass through customs, and soon I was greeting my taxi guy who would take me on to the office. We didn't chat much on the drive, but once or twice I said, "wabba zizza halla."
40 minutes later, I was walking in the front door of the repair facility. Soon it would be time for the real fun; the customer would arrive in another hour.
I'll spare the details, but it was a day of polystyrene beakers of tea (for only 20p), a rather civil, productive meeting with the customer, and a few moments where I dozed during the afternoon. Much less of a rodeo that we were expecting. We certainly have challenges to overcome, but the sky is simply not falling as we'd thought the previous evening.
As I've already mentioned, I didn't begin the week thinking I'd be spending 12 hours in Colchester on Wednesday, but sometimes it's better just not to think, eh?
I wouldn't say I caught a second wind, but as my body struggled (and asked me in a various ways, "just what the hell are you doing to me today?"), I mentally felt that I could survive a few more hours until I got back to Frankfurt. OK, that also meant a few more coffees, but I even managed to start reading a new book as I waited for my return flight.
Pause while I make a statement about Ryan Air. They have a little program where if you book your ticket online, then you become a priority passenger, which has the important significance of allowing you to board the airplane before the other passengers. This is particularly helpful in the cattle car situation that Ryan Air operates: there are no seat assignments, simply every passenger for themselves. You might recall how little fun that was on the school bus, and your average business traveller is much less tolerate than an 8th grader.
We departed on time from Stanstead, I thrashed about in and out of consciousness (reread sleep deprivation comments above then add an arm wave or two) during the flight, and we arrived 20 minutes early in Hahn Airport. This proved fortuitous, because I, as a really really tired priority traveller, got to exit the plane very quickly, run across the jet way, get through passport control, then run outside to get on the shuttle bus back to Frankfurt city. Had my flight arrived on scheduled arrival time, I would have had to wait almost another hour for the next shuttle bus. Thus, instead of arriving back to Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof at 3.15am, I arrived back at 2am. I found a taxi, and 15 minutes later was having a few pieces of toast in my own place.
I almost decided to stay up the rest of the night, but wisely got into bed, only to jump up at 6 and force myself into the shower.
Here at work today, I've fared OK. Tired? Absolutely. Can I leave early? Absolutely not. Some idiot (er, I think it was me) arranged for me to visit with a possible German teacher this evening, so I don't believe I will really get home until 9 or 9.30pm.
But things are going just fine, save for the odd "wubba hozza" that has twice come out of my mouth in the hallway.
Now, you'll have to excuse me. I've got to sign off and refill my coffee cup. I apologize if after reading this some of you feel the need for a nap. When I started writing a post I really just meant to say, "Hi, I was in England yesterday..."
tschüs
bryan
For example, I spent three days in Brussels last week, and was oh so looking forward to having a full week in Germany where I might be able to get some laundry done, eat food out of the fridge before it's gone bad, etc.
Last Friday afternoon, I discovered that I would likely need to spend a day in England during the upcoming week. I discussed the matter with a colleague late Friday evening, and left the decision with him.
Monday morning, he phoned up and instructed me to make plans to be in Colchester for an all day meeting on Wednesday. Er, yesterday Wednesday.
Now, Frankfurt Main has one of the busiest airports in the world, and it's conveniently located about 25 minutes away from my apartment via U-Bahn and S-Bahn. Unfortunately, Frankfurt Main flies only into London Heathrow or London Gatwick, which are the two airports situated furthest away from Colchester. In my previous business trips to Colchester (there's really no need to go there for pleasure), I've flown to Heathrow, then taken a taxi service directly to the office. Price: 110 GBP (or 200+ Dollars) one way for the two to three hour journey.Two to three hours? But it's only 60 miles from London to Colchester! Yes, but you see, there's this little motorway called the M25 (hereafter referred to as perhaps the most awful place on earth to drive) that circles the entire London area. If you're looking at a map of London, specifically the area of the M25, you might note that Gatwick is at 6 o'clock, Heathrow is at 9 o'clock, and Colchester is about 40 miles away from 1:30 off the M25. For about 20 hours a day, the entire motorway is completely congested in both directions, thus the two possibly three hour excursion, traffic permitting (don't forget to tip the cab guy!).
"OK," you might be saying. "But there are two more airports in London, so what about flying into City airport or Stanstead?"
Excellent point. Stanstead is only about 30 minutes away from Colchester, and it's ideal. Except for one thing. Frankfurt Main doesn't FLY into Stanstead. To get to Stanstead from Frankfurt, you have to take a flight out of Frankfurt Hahn Airport. Frankfurt Hahn is inconveniently located two hours away from Frankfurt. In fact, it's almost in Luxemburg. Fortunately, there is a shuttle service from Frankfurt to Frankfurt Hahn Airport.
When booking air travel 24 hours in advance, one's options are limited. I needed to be in Colchester by 9am, pretty much requiring an arrival in London no later than 7.30am. This meant I would have to get myself to Hahn airport for a 6.30am flight. Well, the public transportation is Germany is pretty good, but it's not tailored to Bryan's personal needs.
Thus, after spending way too much time looking at time tables and stuff, I realized that I was going to have to take the shuttle bus from Frankfurt train station or airport at around 2.30am early Wednesday morning. This would put me at Hahn with sufficient time to check in and do the security check.
I knew that I was going to have a tough couple of days, but Monday evening, instead of going to be at a really early hour to catch up on some rest, I find myself getting home this side of midnight.
6am on Tuesday morning, I jumped up, took a shower, did the commute to work thing, and told myself that I would leave early that afternoon in anticipation of the upcoming travel.
Thirteen and a half hours late, I was stepping off at my stop on the U-Bahn talking to my colleague from the UK. Our customer had already met with our account executive, and the story was that our customer was furious, absolutely raging mad with a facet of our business. "Um, just wanted you to have a head's up before you got here," Duncan told me. "I'm going home to try and fix the bathroom in my new house and see if my wife and daughter are feeling any better with their bouts with the flu."
Neat.
Here I was, tired after a long day, faced with more travel in a matter of hours, and the recent recipient of the kind of news that makes you want to change professions. I did what anyone would have done, and walked into my local pub, and sat down for a very nice dinner of schnitzel and a pint. While I was there, I managed to see a couple of friends, and then my account executive called me. "I've just had the worst day of my life. The customer is really really mad. Tomorrow is going to be a rodeo," he said with an absence of cheer.
Suddenly, right behind me in the pub, a rather large dog jumped up from it's spot underneath a table and gave an aggressive "WOOF!" in greeting (or challenge) to another dog that was just coming into the pub with it's owner.
The pub is not large, I've just had a haircut, and I almost fell off of the stool with surprise. My buddy on the other end of the phone quickly asked, "Are you OK? What's happening?"
I gave him a shaky response of OK, but quickly assessed the situation to make sure that I wasn't about to have a foot chewed off.
In the end, both pets found their own little comfort zones, and order was restored.
Except for the fact that in less than 12 hours, I was to meet with a very unhappy customer.
I think the expression is "on the fence." At 9.30pm, I probably should have headed home to take a brief nap before heading to the train station. However, after my woof experience, I was enjoying my evening, and the pub chat was helping me not to think much about the doom and gloom I was soon to face. So, I stayed for another coffee, then at 11pm, stepped out into the plaza and headed the 15 feet to my apartment, looking at the footsteps I was making.
I stopped, looked about, and then just stood for a few minutes enjoying a quiet snow fall. Big, soft flakes were everywhere, and I recalled that I'd really only had this experience a few times in my life. Not terribly surprising, considering the amount of snow in Texas. I savored the peaceful moment, letting the snowflakes fall on and around me.
Alas, I did have somewhere to be, so I left the snow, entered my apartment, and then immediately went through my normal morning routine: shower, shave, dress, pack the backpack, etc. Only it was midnight.
At 12.15am, I was on the metro headed for the main train station, where I would have to wait for the shuttle bus to Hahn airport. Two stops later, I changed my mind, and routed myself instead to Frankfurt Main airport. This Hahn shuttle bus picks up at both places. I elected for the airport, since the train station can be a scary place at night, and furthermore, I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to wait inside the station. Since the bus wasn't to leave until 2.45, I wasn't too excited about sitting outside in the cold for the next two hours.
So, I arrived at the main train station, and found a place to sit quietly not far from where other folks were lounging. An empty airport isn't much fun, especially when all the cafes and shops are closed.
For the next two hours, I tried to keep awake, trying not to think about a warm bed. You see, the U-Bahn shuts down at around 12.30 so I had a two hour gap. Instead of me being able to sit at home in my apartment until the shuttle bus arrived, I had to follow the timetable that was offered.
At 2.45 the bus did arrive, and 12 Euros later I was headed toward Luxemburg on a pretty crowded tourist coach.
At 4am, I got off the bus, stood in the snow for a moment, then scurried inside to the warmth of the building.Hahn Airport is a former American Military Base, and my initial thought was that it resembled a homeless shelter. Tired travellers were camped out all over the facility waiting for flight check in, etc. Of course, this was at 4am.
Things soon started to buzz: a cafe opened, a few RyanAir attendants settled themselves at their desks. After a quick milchkaffee, I checked in, got my boarding pass, and took a seat in the lounge. As you tend to do in situations like this, you hope you can prolong the sleep with just a bit more caffeine. I hoped to try and take a brief nap on the airplane, but not right in the middle of the waiting lounge.
We boarded around 6am, and departed on time at 6.30am. The flight is really only about an hour and ten minutes, but I would pick up an hour upon arrival in the UK..
For most of the flight, I kept dropping my news magazine and making the odd noise like "wabba hazza zibbit" as my body started losing functionality for lack of sleep.
I started awake as we touched down in London, and the walk across the jetway to the arrival lounge helped to wake me up.
Quick pass through customs, and soon I was greeting my taxi guy who would take me on to the office. We didn't chat much on the drive, but once or twice I said, "wabba zizza halla."
40 minutes later, I was walking in the front door of the repair facility. Soon it would be time for the real fun; the customer would arrive in another hour.
I'll spare the details, but it was a day of polystyrene beakers of tea (for only 20p), a rather civil, productive meeting with the customer, and a few moments where I dozed during the afternoon. Much less of a rodeo that we were expecting. We certainly have challenges to overcome, but the sky is simply not falling as we'd thought the previous evening.
As I've already mentioned, I didn't begin the week thinking I'd be spending 12 hours in Colchester on Wednesday, but sometimes it's better just not to think, eh?
I wouldn't say I caught a second wind, but as my body struggled (and asked me in a various ways, "just what the hell are you doing to me today?"), I mentally felt that I could survive a few more hours until I got back to Frankfurt. OK, that also meant a few more coffees, but I even managed to start reading a new book as I waited for my return flight.
Pause while I make a statement about Ryan Air. They have a little program where if you book your ticket online, then you become a priority passenger, which has the important significance of allowing you to board the airplane before the other passengers. This is particularly helpful in the cattle car situation that Ryan Air operates: there are no seat assignments, simply every passenger for themselves. You might recall how little fun that was on the school bus, and your average business traveller is much less tolerate than an 8th grader.
We departed on time from Stanstead, I thrashed about in and out of consciousness (reread sleep deprivation comments above then add an arm wave or two) during the flight, and we arrived 20 minutes early in Hahn Airport. This proved fortuitous, because I, as a really really tired priority traveller, got to exit the plane very quickly, run across the jet way, get through passport control, then run outside to get on the shuttle bus back to Frankfurt city. Had my flight arrived on scheduled arrival time, I would have had to wait almost another hour for the next shuttle bus. Thus, instead of arriving back to Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof at 3.15am, I arrived back at 2am. I found a taxi, and 15 minutes later was having a few pieces of toast in my own place.
I almost decided to stay up the rest of the night, but wisely got into bed, only to jump up at 6 and force myself into the shower.
Here at work today, I've fared OK. Tired? Absolutely. Can I leave early? Absolutely not. Some idiot (er, I think it was me) arranged for me to visit with a possible German teacher this evening, so I don't believe I will really get home until 9 or 9.30pm.
But things are going just fine, save for the odd "wubba hozza" that has twice come out of my mouth in the hallway.
Now, you'll have to excuse me. I've got to sign off and refill my coffee cup. I apologize if after reading this some of you feel the need for a nap. When I started writing a post I really just meant to say, "Hi, I was in England yesterday..."
tschüs
bryan
Monday, February 05, 2007
"Wet Clean Up Aisle 10, Please"
I got the news last week that a local grocery store in the neighborhood where I grew up is closing. It's about bloody time, I say, because that Albertson's was just a complete wreck. Besides, the SuperTarget and the slick Tom Thumb are just offering too many attractions: better prices, better selection, cleaner stores...hell, I hadn't shopped in that Albertson's in a long time myself.
However, the store lasted almost 20 years, and in summer of 1987 was just a shit hot place to shop. I believe that the store slogan was a bit more catchy (it's your store), but truly, circa '87-89, it was the place to be.
The special thing about Coit and Campbell Albertson's for me is that, with one exception, my oldest friends come from that area, in fact that very store. First, a brief pause while I say happy belated birthday to my buddy Jeff, who is the oldest friend that I have. He's not old; our friendship is.
The store opened in summer of 1987, but I spent that summer doing some odd jobs and travelling a lot with my church youth group. My junior year in high school had been a bit rough: I'd had hip surgery the previous summer, and had spent all of first semester walking with the aid of crutches. Not the best situation for a high school student trying to put up with all the crap. I think that's why I didn't try too hard to get a summer job in between my junior and senior year, choosing instead to play a bit more.
That was all fine and dandy until I ran out of money.
One Saturday morning in October of 1987, I went up and applied to be a clerk at the local Albertson's. I got the job, and suddenly found myself working about 40 hours a week. I'd really had to sell my parents on the idea of a "part time" job during the school year, but I pointed out that I'd already sent out my college applications, and basically only had to complete the final year of high school without failing anything. (though it's for another story, I did have a bit of a problem in a math course, which almost kept me from getting out of JJ Pearce)
Fall of 1987, though, was cool cool cool. Along with guys like Pace and Abe, we had a lot of fun mucking around in the grocery store. Sacking groceries is not particularly difficult, but the store was new and very popular; it was one of the busiest stores around.
One day soon after I started, one Whitman Stansbery started to work there, also, and we were less than friendly to one another for the next couple of months. However, after a few jokes and smokes, we eventually became friends, and had loads of laughable moments racing carts around the store, sacking groceries, and pulling stunts. We happened to be two of the best front end clerks that the store had, not that we really cared.
Alas, Whitman got a job at a movie theatre near Prestonwood Mall, and I was very sad to see him leave. Meanwhile, there were several other coworkers I befriended, and as we moved through the holiday season (yep - I worked Thanksgiving Day), it was great seeing everyone shop for their Christmas Dinners and parties, buying trees, etc. There was truly a certain spirit to the store.
The tips came fast and furious, and because, and I can't believe I'm putting this on paper, I was on the squad that ran the mascot up and down the field during high school football games, a few people knew who I was. Store management recognized my abilities, and wanted me to become a checker, but I declined, saying that I needed the flexibility of roaming the store. (I don't like being confined to one check stand; being a clerk meant I could float around)
Well, 1988 came with a squeak, and I got accepted into college and finished the high school year. I managed to take two or three study halls the last semester, so I was pretty much cooking to 4o hours a week at the store, sometimes more. I liked having cash flow, and again, after a couple of rough years earlier in high school, I was glad to have a bit of responsibility, make some money, and meet a ton of people.
Some of my fellow school mates worked with me, and as the school year came to a close, a few started whispering about the return of a fellow employee that summer. "Oooh! Chris is really cool," Kenny said one day in the lounge. "Yes, and he's a really nice guy," remarked another girl who's name (I think) was Debbie.
I didn't really think too much of it at the time. Another employee coming in for the summer. OK. But I was already gearing up for a fun summer in the store before I headed off to school. How cool could this returning guy be?
It took about half a day before McKee and I were yukking it up in the store. As usual, I took my share of digs on him as we were getting to know one another. Likewise, he used his wit and accounting skills to give me a hard time about being a clerk instead of a bag boy. But, a friendship formed, and it turned out to be one crazy summer.
Whitman decided to return to work at the store, so that added to the mayhem. Pablo snuck in for a very brief time, so brief, in fact, that when we met one another a year and a half later, I didn't believe that he'd actually worked in the store, but he was there.
And we all wore blue polyester vests.
I won't take the opportunity here to play the memory lane trip: the woman in the yellow dress, Hawaiian Days, butcher block ice, "Florence," and girls like Sandy and Peggy and umpteen post work parties are things that I'll reminisce with Whit and Chris and Pablo about another time.
The significance is that it was 20 years ago this summer that we all started the show. Between the four of us, we've managed to scatter ourselves around the world a little bit at various times, and have managed to keep in regular contact, though not nearly as much as I'd like. Yes it helps that Pablo and I went to uni together, and because Chris met Lori that summer, I've known her for almost as long as I've known Chris. In my own special way, I've helped them become Arsenal fans, and they still let me stay at Little Goliad. I'll spare the emotions and save another story for how cool Chris and Lori are; I think there's a limit to the number of characters I can use in blogger. Whit left Texas in 1989 for Pennsylvania, but somehow he and I have managed to continue to make each other laugh from wherever we happen to be, whether in PA, Boston, Dallas, Colorado, Spain, and now, Germany. Yes, Whit, I still owe you a visit in Colorado, but it's going to be a while before I get stateside again, I think.
Whew, I needed to get the Albertson's bit off my chest. I'm not sorry to see the store close, but I am sorry to see that an old haunt from one of the happiest times from my adolescence is soon to be no longer. How fortunate I am that the circumstances were such that all of us would become such friends while goofing around in a supermarket. Really.
It was those days at Albertson's that I was thinking about on our drive back from Brussels. My colleague put his foot down, and we made a 400 km trip in a little under 3 1/2 hours. Quite impressive, if not slightly illegal.
For me, it was particularly cool, because I had to get back to Frankfurt in time to watch a 2nd leg match between Arsenal and Tottenham. After making the big push, I was not thrilled to find MacGowan's filled with several folks watching Bundesliga matches. Normally, the German league doesn't play on Wednesdays, and I hadn't considered this as a possible obstacle. A German Arsenal fan came in, recognized me, and said, "let's make the guy put the Arsenal game on the 2nd television."
Well, the bartender tried, but was missing a cable. Newfound Arsenal friend Richard simply phoned another buddy up and told him to bring a cable down. So, 4 minutes after kick off we were watching Arsenal.
The team struggled, the match went to extra time, but Arsenal prevailed once again. During both legs of this tournament, I've met several Tottenham fans who have all given respect to the reserve team that Arsenal fields in this particular competition. It really is incredible to watch the young team play with such heart and composure, not to mention talent.
Another Arsenal victory made it easier to sleep, but Thursday and Friday were both pretty busy days, especially since I'd spent the first part of the week out of the office. When Friday afternoon arrived, I was ready for anything, just no more work.
Of course, I really needed to spend some time working over the weekend, but first, I was going to hit MacGowan's for a festive Friday. It's where I tend to spend each Friday evening, and it's always interesting. This time was no different.
Around 8.45, I walked in the bar to find all the stools taken at the bar. I ordered a beer and sat near the window, keeping a close watch for an opening. Eventually a spot freed itself, and I found myself sitting next to a girl that I recognized from Wednesday evening. She was nursing her Newcastle (just had to use the alliteration there) and I was just collecting my own thoughts with my pils. Tom, one of the Serbian bar tenders, put in a Smith's greatest hits CD, and suddenly he and I were singing with fervor, albeit quietly. I noticed the girl next to me enjoying the music, too, and was about to make a comment when she asked me about the Smiths.
Like any other German, her skill at English is pretty impressive, but I made a fair attempt to continue the conversation in German whenever possible. The Smiths are a favorite band of mine from 87-88, and I'm always pleased to hear the group when I out and about. They're not particularly popular in Germany, but this girl's sister had been a fan, and thus gotten her into the music. Interesting to get the perspective on Smith lyrics from a German, especially lyrics like, "Bishop in a tutu," or ..."Double decker bus kills the both of us," etc.
Eventually, the bar turned the Smiths off so that the live band could play. Within a short time, this girl was eager to dance, despite there being a lack of space to move about. The bar was steadily growing more crowded, and we'd both managed to have a few more beers each.
Sonia (as she became known to me) went to get a closer look at the band, came back with her hair done a different way, and repeated this at least two more times. Confusing though it was, it was sort of impressive that she could change her appearance in such a short period of time.
Yes, I was dragged to the dance floor, and yes, I did dance, but certainly not as well as she moved. At this point in the evening, I was aware of how many beers she had consumed, but she had no problems moving around to the beat of the music.
However, around 1am, she sat down and was noticeably fuzzy. I did the right thing and escorted her around the corner to her house, and left without getting her telephone number, like an idiot.
I woke up Saturday feeling reasonably OK (certainly better than Sonia, I assume), did a bit of shopping, then went for my first haircut in Germany. From there, I hit the gym, then had a bit of lunch at home before heading back to MacGowan's to watch the afternoon's Arsenal match.
I'm not a fan of rugby, but probably should start following the competitions a bit just so I'll know when there could be a viewing conflict. England was playing Scotland on Saturday, which meant that loads of guys were hanging around the bar watching the game.
I had a quick beer in MacGowan's, then raced to another bar in town where I knew they'd be showing my match. At O'Reilly's, it was equally crowded, but at least they had one fernseher showing Arsenal - Middlesboro. I was feeling a bit out of sorts (as I tend to do in a new crowded bar) and when Arsenal gave up a penalty, I was pretty hacked.
My mood improved a few minutes later when Henry scored a nice goal for the equalizer. Alas, Arsenal were unable to get a go ahead goal, so we finished in a draw.
Back I went to MacGowan's to find a seat at the bar; quite a few folks who had been watching rugby were still there, including 4 guys who had been drinking all afternoon. Two broken glasses and a tipped over chair later, they decided that they didn't believe that they had to pay for the 17 pints of beer they'd drunk.
At that particular moment, I was chatting with the other Serbian bar tender, Goran, and we were laughing at how waxed these four guys were. One of them tried to take a digi pic of his mates, but had the camera pointed the wrong way so ultimately set the flash off right in his eyes. Twice.
The bar manager showed up, found that the four said gents were arguing about the bill (which, to my disbelief, was only about 80 Euros...not that big of a deal between four people), and ultimately had to call the polizei.
Most everyone was being civil about the whole thing, which was comforting. I continued to joke with Goran about excessive drinking as the police showed up, made the guys pay their bill, and returned service to the bar. "Thank goodness I don't ever do stuff like that," I remarked to Goran.
I'd forgotten about the three guinness I'd had at O'Reilly's, but had a nice plate of bangers and chips for dinner, and really thought that it would carry me through. Around 1ish, I headed home for nighty night.
Well, the remainder of the evening probably could have gone better, but in the end, I gave up all my beer and dinner, and went to bed looking like someone had run over me in their car.
I don't like getting sick, but looking back, I'm kind of glad that I was, because I only felt horrible on Sunday as opposed to feeling like death.
A few coffees and a quiet time listening to Debussy helped me feel good enough to visit the gym, where I had a fair workout.
I regained my appetite, had a couple of kebaps, and spent the evening watching a James Bond movie in German.
I don't sleep much right now, mainly because of the stuff involving work. However, I do feel relatively chipper today, even with the cold rain outside.
Hopefully I'll have a couple more updates about things very very soon.
keep the faith
bryan
suggested soundtrack
The Clash -Lost in the Supermarket
The Smiths - William, It Was Really Nothing
Underworld - Born Slippy
The Who - My Generation
However, the store lasted almost 20 years, and in summer of 1987 was just a shit hot place to shop. I believe that the store slogan was a bit more catchy (it's your store), but truly, circa '87-89, it was the place to be.
The special thing about Coit and Campbell Albertson's for me is that, with one exception, my oldest friends come from that area, in fact that very store. First, a brief pause while I say happy belated birthday to my buddy Jeff, who is the oldest friend that I have. He's not old; our friendship is.
The store opened in summer of 1987, but I spent that summer doing some odd jobs and travelling a lot with my church youth group. My junior year in high school had been a bit rough: I'd had hip surgery the previous summer, and had spent all of first semester walking with the aid of crutches. Not the best situation for a high school student trying to put up with all the crap. I think that's why I didn't try too hard to get a summer job in between my junior and senior year, choosing instead to play a bit more.
That was all fine and dandy until I ran out of money.
One Saturday morning in October of 1987, I went up and applied to be a clerk at the local Albertson's. I got the job, and suddenly found myself working about 40 hours a week. I'd really had to sell my parents on the idea of a "part time" job during the school year, but I pointed out that I'd already sent out my college applications, and basically only had to complete the final year of high school without failing anything. (though it's for another story, I did have a bit of a problem in a math course, which almost kept me from getting out of JJ Pearce)
Fall of 1987, though, was cool cool cool. Along with guys like Pace and Abe, we had a lot of fun mucking around in the grocery store. Sacking groceries is not particularly difficult, but the store was new and very popular; it was one of the busiest stores around.
One day soon after I started, one Whitman Stansbery started to work there, also, and we were less than friendly to one another for the next couple of months. However, after a few jokes and smokes, we eventually became friends, and had loads of laughable moments racing carts around the store, sacking groceries, and pulling stunts. We happened to be two of the best front end clerks that the store had, not that we really cared.
Alas, Whitman got a job at a movie theatre near Prestonwood Mall, and I was very sad to see him leave. Meanwhile, there were several other coworkers I befriended, and as we moved through the holiday season (yep - I worked Thanksgiving Day), it was great seeing everyone shop for their Christmas Dinners and parties, buying trees, etc. There was truly a certain spirit to the store.
The tips came fast and furious, and because, and I can't believe I'm putting this on paper, I was on the squad that ran the mascot up and down the field during high school football games, a few people knew who I was. Store management recognized my abilities, and wanted me to become a checker, but I declined, saying that I needed the flexibility of roaming the store. (I don't like being confined to one check stand; being a clerk meant I could float around)
Well, 1988 came with a squeak, and I got accepted into college and finished the high school year. I managed to take two or three study halls the last semester, so I was pretty much cooking to 4o hours a week at the store, sometimes more. I liked having cash flow, and again, after a couple of rough years earlier in high school, I was glad to have a bit of responsibility, make some money, and meet a ton of people.
Some of my fellow school mates worked with me, and as the school year came to a close, a few started whispering about the return of a fellow employee that summer. "Oooh! Chris is really cool," Kenny said one day in the lounge. "Yes, and he's a really nice guy," remarked another girl who's name (I think) was Debbie.
I didn't really think too much of it at the time. Another employee coming in for the summer. OK. But I was already gearing up for a fun summer in the store before I headed off to school. How cool could this returning guy be?
It took about half a day before McKee and I were yukking it up in the store. As usual, I took my share of digs on him as we were getting to know one another. Likewise, he used his wit and accounting skills to give me a hard time about being a clerk instead of a bag boy. But, a friendship formed, and it turned out to be one crazy summer.
Whitman decided to return to work at the store, so that added to the mayhem. Pablo snuck in for a very brief time, so brief, in fact, that when we met one another a year and a half later, I didn't believe that he'd actually worked in the store, but he was there.
And we all wore blue polyester vests.
I won't take the opportunity here to play the memory lane trip: the woman in the yellow dress, Hawaiian Days, butcher block ice, "Florence," and girls like Sandy and Peggy and umpteen post work parties are things that I'll reminisce with Whit and Chris and Pablo about another time.
The significance is that it was 20 years ago this summer that we all started the show. Between the four of us, we've managed to scatter ourselves around the world a little bit at various times, and have managed to keep in regular contact, though not nearly as much as I'd like. Yes it helps that Pablo and I went to uni together, and because Chris met Lori that summer, I've known her for almost as long as I've known Chris. In my own special way, I've helped them become Arsenal fans, and they still let me stay at Little Goliad. I'll spare the emotions and save another story for how cool Chris and Lori are; I think there's a limit to the number of characters I can use in blogger. Whit left Texas in 1989 for Pennsylvania, but somehow he and I have managed to continue to make each other laugh from wherever we happen to be, whether in PA, Boston, Dallas, Colorado, Spain, and now, Germany. Yes, Whit, I still owe you a visit in Colorado, but it's going to be a while before I get stateside again, I think.
Whew, I needed to get the Albertson's bit off my chest. I'm not sorry to see the store close, but I am sorry to see that an old haunt from one of the happiest times from my adolescence is soon to be no longer. How fortunate I am that the circumstances were such that all of us would become such friends while goofing around in a supermarket. Really.
It was those days at Albertson's that I was thinking about on our drive back from Brussels. My colleague put his foot down, and we made a 400 km trip in a little under 3 1/2 hours. Quite impressive, if not slightly illegal.
For me, it was particularly cool, because I had to get back to Frankfurt in time to watch a 2nd leg match between Arsenal and Tottenham. After making the big push, I was not thrilled to find MacGowan's filled with several folks watching Bundesliga matches. Normally, the German league doesn't play on Wednesdays, and I hadn't considered this as a possible obstacle. A German Arsenal fan came in, recognized me, and said, "let's make the guy put the Arsenal game on the 2nd television."
Well, the bartender tried, but was missing a cable. Newfound Arsenal friend Richard simply phoned another buddy up and told him to bring a cable down. So, 4 minutes after kick off we were watching Arsenal.
The team struggled, the match went to extra time, but Arsenal prevailed once again. During both legs of this tournament, I've met several Tottenham fans who have all given respect to the reserve team that Arsenal fields in this particular competition. It really is incredible to watch the young team play with such heart and composure, not to mention talent.
Another Arsenal victory made it easier to sleep, but Thursday and Friday were both pretty busy days, especially since I'd spent the first part of the week out of the office. When Friday afternoon arrived, I was ready for anything, just no more work.
Of course, I really needed to spend some time working over the weekend, but first, I was going to hit MacGowan's for a festive Friday. It's where I tend to spend each Friday evening, and it's always interesting. This time was no different.
Around 8.45, I walked in the bar to find all the stools taken at the bar. I ordered a beer and sat near the window, keeping a close watch for an opening. Eventually a spot freed itself, and I found myself sitting next to a girl that I recognized from Wednesday evening. She was nursing her Newcastle (just had to use the alliteration there) and I was just collecting my own thoughts with my pils. Tom, one of the Serbian bar tenders, put in a Smith's greatest hits CD, and suddenly he and I were singing with fervor, albeit quietly. I noticed the girl next to me enjoying the music, too, and was about to make a comment when she asked me about the Smiths.
Like any other German, her skill at English is pretty impressive, but I made a fair attempt to continue the conversation in German whenever possible. The Smiths are a favorite band of mine from 87-88, and I'm always pleased to hear the group when I out and about. They're not particularly popular in Germany, but this girl's sister had been a fan, and thus gotten her into the music. Interesting to get the perspective on Smith lyrics from a German, especially lyrics like, "Bishop in a tutu," or ..."Double decker bus kills the both of us," etc.
Eventually, the bar turned the Smiths off so that the live band could play. Within a short time, this girl was eager to dance, despite there being a lack of space to move about. The bar was steadily growing more crowded, and we'd both managed to have a few more beers each.
Sonia (as she became known to me) went to get a closer look at the band, came back with her hair done a different way, and repeated this at least two more times. Confusing though it was, it was sort of impressive that she could change her appearance in such a short period of time.
Yes, I was dragged to the dance floor, and yes, I did dance, but certainly not as well as she moved. At this point in the evening, I was aware of how many beers she had consumed, but she had no problems moving around to the beat of the music.
However, around 1am, she sat down and was noticeably fuzzy. I did the right thing and escorted her around the corner to her house, and left without getting her telephone number, like an idiot.
I woke up Saturday feeling reasonably OK (certainly better than Sonia, I assume), did a bit of shopping, then went for my first haircut in Germany. From there, I hit the gym, then had a bit of lunch at home before heading back to MacGowan's to watch the afternoon's Arsenal match.
I'm not a fan of rugby, but probably should start following the competitions a bit just so I'll know when there could be a viewing conflict. England was playing Scotland on Saturday, which meant that loads of guys were hanging around the bar watching the game.
I had a quick beer in MacGowan's, then raced to another bar in town where I knew they'd be showing my match. At O'Reilly's, it was equally crowded, but at least they had one fernseher showing Arsenal - Middlesboro. I was feeling a bit out of sorts (as I tend to do in a new crowded bar) and when Arsenal gave up a penalty, I was pretty hacked.
My mood improved a few minutes later when Henry scored a nice goal for the equalizer. Alas, Arsenal were unable to get a go ahead goal, so we finished in a draw.
Back I went to MacGowan's to find a seat at the bar; quite a few folks who had been watching rugby were still there, including 4 guys who had been drinking all afternoon. Two broken glasses and a tipped over chair later, they decided that they didn't believe that they had to pay for the 17 pints of beer they'd drunk.
At that particular moment, I was chatting with the other Serbian bar tender, Goran, and we were laughing at how waxed these four guys were. One of them tried to take a digi pic of his mates, but had the camera pointed the wrong way so ultimately set the flash off right in his eyes. Twice.
The bar manager showed up, found that the four said gents were arguing about the bill (which, to my disbelief, was only about 80 Euros...not that big of a deal between four people), and ultimately had to call the polizei.
Most everyone was being civil about the whole thing, which was comforting. I continued to joke with Goran about excessive drinking as the police showed up, made the guys pay their bill, and returned service to the bar. "Thank goodness I don't ever do stuff like that," I remarked to Goran.
I'd forgotten about the three guinness I'd had at O'Reilly's, but had a nice plate of bangers and chips for dinner, and really thought that it would carry me through. Around 1ish, I headed home for nighty night.
Well, the remainder of the evening probably could have gone better, but in the end, I gave up all my beer and dinner, and went to bed looking like someone had run over me in their car.
I don't like getting sick, but looking back, I'm kind of glad that I was, because I only felt horrible on Sunday as opposed to feeling like death.
A few coffees and a quiet time listening to Debussy helped me feel good enough to visit the gym, where I had a fair workout.
I regained my appetite, had a couple of kebaps, and spent the evening watching a James Bond movie in German.
I don't sleep much right now, mainly because of the stuff involving work. However, I do feel relatively chipper today, even with the cold rain outside.
Hopefully I'll have a couple more updates about things very very soon.
keep the faith
bryan
suggested soundtrack
The Clash -Lost in the Supermarket
The Smiths - William, It Was Really Nothing
Underworld - Born Slippy
The Who - My Generation
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)