Daft Punk

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