Well, I am going to start off this week's update by relating a little story from when I was about 15 or 16. I was at a pool party playing frisbee with a friend of mine. He was at the shallow end of the pool, near the hottub, and I was at the deep end. As it turned out, everyone else at the party was in the hottub save for the two of us, though one shouldn't read too much into that. First off, it was a church youth party; it's not as if things were getting way out of hand, and furthermore, I was already the type of guy who would stand alone at the deep end.
Looking back, I do still smile at the humor of it all. It wasn't too funny at the time, but it wasn't so UNfunny, either, you know? I mean, how was I supposed to know that I would be able to zing the frisbee with such skill and inaccuracy that, instead of being caught in the hands of my buddy, it caught some poor girl three feet to his left right between her eyes. All things considered, it was somewhat unfortunate, since as soon as I saw what was going to happen, I yelled (something to the effect of) "fore!", and everyone else in the hottub sort of matrixed out of the way just in the nick of time, except, like I said, for the one girl who was a bit slow on the take.
Fortunately, she wasn't really hurt (kind of bonk on the head for a day or two, as I recall), though the whole thing did sort of put a damper on the rest of the evening. I felt truly horrible about it, and at the time really wanted to slip into the deep end and stay underwater until everyone went home. However, I managed to apologize somewhat feebly, and she more or less accepted that I had most certainly not intended for that to happen. Perhaps I could have been a bit more cognizant of the hazzards of summer sports (stay tuned for next week's bit, possibly entitled, "dang, we need to be more careful with the hacky sack on Bergerstrasse - I hope that little kid is ok.") but it really was just an accident.
True, this incident didn't scar me for life; I was already a fan of Joy Divison and also knew I'd always be something of an enigma. No surprise that some 25 years later, it's business as usual. I'm still fairly thoughtful, though that's not to say I don't still have my moments where I really wished I'd been a bit more, er, aware.
Take last weekend, for example. True, I was just back from an extended business trip and was having a bit of a struggle getting back into the swing of things. In all honesty, I felt a little like I had to get reaquainted with everything and everyone, and I was away for only two weeks. But, that's the feeling you get sometimes when you're an Auslaender. I can't use that as my sole excuse, since I'm not the greatest at accepting compliments, or simply saying, "thanks" when someone extends a very kind gesture to me.
Upon my return, I was sort of overwhelmed at the reception I got from folks who were glad to see me back in town. Throughout the weekend, people were giving me belated birthday greetings and otherwise simply saying hello and welcome back.
I got invited to brunch on Sunday morning via a text message that came late Saturday night, and I actually said that I'd be there. Sunday brunch in the neighborhood is sort of a regular thing here, just as going to the gym for on Sunday morning is for me. While I was a little curious about the invite at the time (normally it's just a planned event), I figured I would stop by for a coffee, which I kind of do from time to time, anway.
But, Sunday morning I woke up still feeling a bit strange, and decided that a bit more alone time would do me good. I trooped off to the gym and in short, missed the beginning of my suprise birthday brunch.
Had I carried my handy with me into the weight room, I might have reacted a bit sooner. Instead, post workout, I found 4-5 missed calls on my phone, and suddenly realized that I'd been a real jerk. A quick phone call to say, "I'm on my way," then I waited impatiently for the U-Bahn to get me back to my neighborhood.
I tried to act casual when I walked up to the table where some folks had gathered to wait for me, and, erm, have brunch. Out came a bit of Kuchen, complete with candles, and I felt like the world's biggest idiot.
Mostly everyone made sarcastic remarks about my tardiness, all of which I truly deserved. Thank goodness everyone was still rather friendly about things (in Germany, punctuality is key), but I knew well and good that I'd crossed the line; several people cared enough to organize a little gathering for me, and I basically blew it off.
I was kind of looking around for a swimming pool (particularly the deep end), but in the end made do with some Legos, a few leaves, and the extinguished birthday candles; I humbly, nervously played (ok, there was a 3 year old there, also) with the make shift toys as I tried to work through the awkwardness of being 2 hours late to my own party.
I'm rather fortunate to have a few people here who do care enough about me to sort of forgive my discourteousness. I certainly apologized, but know that I was let off lightly. (Probably a good thing that there wasn't a frisbee nearby...otherwise someone might have had a zing at me)
But, that's what happens when you allow people to get close to you. Funny how it's not always a two-way street, huh?
At any rate, the afternoon was quite nice, and I was really quite touched by the whole experience. I'm not a huge fan of my birthdays, as we all know. Thank goodness there are people out there who are above that, and that I know some of them.
Naturally, I was in a great mood as I went back to work on Monday (apart from the lingering embarrassment of the previous day's cock up), and found myself once again a bit overwhelmed when a few colleagues gave me a birthday card and a nice bottle of wine. "You're one of the best bosses that we've ever had, and we just wanted to say thanks and Happy Birthday."
As if that weren't enough, at the end of the weekly management meeting on Tuesday, my boss stood up and congratulated me on behalf of the company. My colleagues gave me an Arsenal jersey, which was totally unexpected and quite cool, too.
Thus, it has been kind of a fuzzy and very educational week. I had to sort out a problem for a customer who totally appreciated of my efforts and personal involvement, and then last night I was at, um, a birthday party (it's always easier for me to celebrate someone else) and, during a quiet moment, realized how great it is to see someone simply being gracious and appreciative, not to mention, on time.
So that's how you do it...
keep the faith
bryan
Friday, April 30, 2010
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Worth the Wait?
So, about midweek, I got a text from the office manager informing me that she had booked some flights for my return to Germany Thursday afternoon. She was "reasonably" sure...
I watched a little champions league on tv, and sort of reflected on my little extended visit to Ireland. As frustrating as the experience of not being able to leave the country when I wanted to, it was actually quite nice in the end. Quiet (deliberately, as I mentioned before), but nice.
Outside on the terrace of the hotel pub, I met a few couples from the US who were also stranded. They mentioned that they were flying to Sioux City, and I happend to mention that I used to have Gateway as a customer. We laughed about some of the stories from the region, particularly involving the computer company.
At one point, one of the men, who was particularly chatty, indicated that he was in his early 70s but (he proudly stated) that he looked much younger. Indeed, he looked more late 50s than anything else. An unfortunate elderly looking Irish man was also outside, and he sort of looked crestfallen as he said that he was only 64 himself. We all knew that he looked easily late 70s. Interesting how cultures and lands will change people...
Mr "proud to be a young looking" retiree then struck up a conversation with the waitress, who had come outside for a cigarette. As we were discussing ages, he decided to try to score some points with the girl by saying that one should always reduce the age of a woman by five years when guessing her age. Before I could jump in and say, "perhaps one should just skip the whole age topic alltogether (since I'd recently had a lengthy chat about this very topic and the dangerous elements associated with it back in Bornheim)," this man looked at the waitress and came up with the number 25.
I knew good and well that she was several years younger, but allowed the girl to sort of indignantly retort that she was 23. This man had put himself right in by suggesting that she looked closer to 30.
Truth be told, she did look somewhat mature for her age, but in my experience you need simply to look in someone's eys to see their innocence. (How's that for a very ridiculous statement on a Saturday morning...sounds like a fucking song lyric). Alas, the incident passed without any bloodshed, but I did take the opportunity to retell the story when the man's wife came outside a few minutes later.
Though I had confirmed bookings for Thursday, I was still antsy about getting home. Only when I was on the flight from London to Frankfurt would I be relieved, I told myself.
I checked out of the hotel Thursday morning, initially with a bit of sadness (I don't like goodbyes too much). The folks at the hotel had really taken care of me, though most of them would argue that they'd actually only done their jobs. Fair point, and it was a bit annoying that my credit card wasn't accepted when I tried to pay the whopping bill (overnight stay, laundry, dinners, and a handful (or 20) of pints). I ended up having to use an American account, which meant I'd take an exchange rate hit. But, it was time to go.
The receptionsist at the office where I'd been over the past couple of weeks realized that I was finally going to be leaving, and arranged to get a taxi for me during the middle of the afternoon. Because the airports were all just starting to reopen, none of us knew exactly what to expect. Would the airports suddenly become crowded with thousands of people racing off trying to organize flights again?
Turns out the answer was no. Shannon airport was extremely quiet when I checked in. I got a very panicky feeling when the man told me I'd have to collect my bags in London and recheck them to Frankfurt; I was to have only 90 minutes between flights in London, and typically they like for you to have about 2 hours between transfers.
Our flight to London was half full, and I had the row to myself. I continued to read a book about a girl with a tattoo on her back and made great progress in the hour long flight.
Upon arrival at Heathrow, I was hoping for a miracle: that my luggage would be first out of the chute, that no really slow people would be walking in front of me, that the check in desk would be centrally located.
At the baggage carousel, my bag came out in the middle group, it could have been worse. I grabbed it and immediately found myself in a very narrow corridor behind a man walking with a cane and a rolling bag. Just ahead of him was a 4 year old wrestling with a junior sized roller.
I watched for my chance to slip around them, then zipped on through at a pretty good clip. I arrived into a large check in hall, and looked about for the Lufthansa desk, hoping like hell it wasn't where I saw the largest queue.
Time was ticking, I had about 30 minutes before the flight was to board, and two weeks ago it took me about 40 minutes to get through security. I finally asked a lady in zone A where I might find the Lufthansa desk, and she politely responded that Lufthansa was in zone K. Fuck me, that's a lot of letters away!
I did that little walk/run thing that you do when hurrying through an airport, not really huffing, but kind of wondering why I thought it necessary to have brought two grammar books with me on the trip (thus adding additional weight to my bag). I found zone K, and it was dead quiet, but all the signs on the screens showed some Polish airline, and my heart kind of sank.
Then suddenly, the screens all changed back to Lufthansa! I walked to the desk next to me, the guy calmly checked my bag, handed me my boarding card, and wished me a good flight.
Security turned out to be a lovely experience. There was no one in the queue. That must have been because things were just starting to get going again in this, probably the busiest airport I've ever been in.
I got to my gate, and 10 minutes later we were boarding. Again, I had the row to myself, and I relaxed as I reopened my book. My luggage was on the plane, I was on the plane, and we were going to be on time.
My bag popped out of the chute in Frankfurt about 90 minutes later, and I went outside for some nicotine, somewhat disappointed in myself for having already abandoned my plan to not smoke again on German soil. That said, I enjoyed the hell out of the butt, even as I stood next to my taxi (the cabbie was smoking, also).
Back in Bornheim 20 minutes later, I threw my gear upstairs, then headed next door for a pint or two. I was home, and had elected to take the following day off. A couple of late night beers would help me sleep.
The quiz was finishing up, and I received a hearty greeting from the normal suspects. The tea candle on top of a bag of chips (an imprompto belated birthday gift on account that I'd mentioned I hadn't eaten during the course of the day) was a nice touch. I made my wish, blew out the candle, had another pint, then went home to bed.
Friday was a quiet return to normal service. I had a couple of coffees, did some wash, ignored my emails, made it on time to my dentist appointment (finally) then spent an hour or two in the plaza having coffee. Sort of surreal coming back to a neighborhood where seemingly nothing has changed, yet everything has changed. A slightly uncomfortable feeling, but kind of ok, too.
I'd purchased half a kilo of coffee at the local shop, then received another 250 grams as a belated birthday present, and when I got home to put it all away, I realized I had another unopened 250 grams. However, at the rate I go through espressos, it should tie me over for a week or so.
The weather was quite pleasant the whole time I was in Ireland, and here in Germany, it's even better. I got to bed early on Friday night (I'm reading the next book in the series, where the girl is now playing with fire) and am almost through 200 grams of coffee so far Saturday morning as I do some more washing and apartment cleanup.
With that, I'm going to wrap this up, so I can spend the rest of the weekend enjoying the sunshine. Sobriety optional.
keep the faith
bryan
soundtrack -
The Police - Reggata de Blanc
Bruce Springsteen - Jungleland (for my Irish buddy who may just have a bit of Jersey in him)
Ministry - Revenge (it's nice to know that this is still on the 12" circuit, at least in clubs in Austin)
Thrice - Stare at the Sun
Bouncing Souls - That Song
I watched a little champions league on tv, and sort of reflected on my little extended visit to Ireland. As frustrating as the experience of not being able to leave the country when I wanted to, it was actually quite nice in the end. Quiet (deliberately, as I mentioned before), but nice.
Outside on the terrace of the hotel pub, I met a few couples from the US who were also stranded. They mentioned that they were flying to Sioux City, and I happend to mention that I used to have Gateway as a customer. We laughed about some of the stories from the region, particularly involving the computer company.
At one point, one of the men, who was particularly chatty, indicated that he was in his early 70s but (he proudly stated) that he looked much younger. Indeed, he looked more late 50s than anything else. An unfortunate elderly looking Irish man was also outside, and he sort of looked crestfallen as he said that he was only 64 himself. We all knew that he looked easily late 70s. Interesting how cultures and lands will change people...
Mr "proud to be a young looking" retiree then struck up a conversation with the waitress, who had come outside for a cigarette. As we were discussing ages, he decided to try to score some points with the girl by saying that one should always reduce the age of a woman by five years when guessing her age. Before I could jump in and say, "perhaps one should just skip the whole age topic alltogether (since I'd recently had a lengthy chat about this very topic and the dangerous elements associated with it back in Bornheim)," this man looked at the waitress and came up with the number 25.
I knew good and well that she was several years younger, but allowed the girl to sort of indignantly retort that she was 23. This man had put himself right in by suggesting that she looked closer to 30.
Truth be told, she did look somewhat mature for her age, but in my experience you need simply to look in someone's eys to see their innocence. (How's that for a very ridiculous statement on a Saturday morning...sounds like a fucking song lyric). Alas, the incident passed without any bloodshed, but I did take the opportunity to retell the story when the man's wife came outside a few minutes later.
Though I had confirmed bookings for Thursday, I was still antsy about getting home. Only when I was on the flight from London to Frankfurt would I be relieved, I told myself.
I checked out of the hotel Thursday morning, initially with a bit of sadness (I don't like goodbyes too much). The folks at the hotel had really taken care of me, though most of them would argue that they'd actually only done their jobs. Fair point, and it was a bit annoying that my credit card wasn't accepted when I tried to pay the whopping bill (overnight stay, laundry, dinners, and a handful (or 20) of pints). I ended up having to use an American account, which meant I'd take an exchange rate hit. But, it was time to go.
The receptionsist at the office where I'd been over the past couple of weeks realized that I was finally going to be leaving, and arranged to get a taxi for me during the middle of the afternoon. Because the airports were all just starting to reopen, none of us knew exactly what to expect. Would the airports suddenly become crowded with thousands of people racing off trying to organize flights again?
Turns out the answer was no. Shannon airport was extremely quiet when I checked in. I got a very panicky feeling when the man told me I'd have to collect my bags in London and recheck them to Frankfurt; I was to have only 90 minutes between flights in London, and typically they like for you to have about 2 hours between transfers.
Our flight to London was half full, and I had the row to myself. I continued to read a book about a girl with a tattoo on her back and made great progress in the hour long flight.
Upon arrival at Heathrow, I was hoping for a miracle: that my luggage would be first out of the chute, that no really slow people would be walking in front of me, that the check in desk would be centrally located.
At the baggage carousel, my bag came out in the middle group, it could have been worse. I grabbed it and immediately found myself in a very narrow corridor behind a man walking with a cane and a rolling bag. Just ahead of him was a 4 year old wrestling with a junior sized roller.
I watched for my chance to slip around them, then zipped on through at a pretty good clip. I arrived into a large check in hall, and looked about for the Lufthansa desk, hoping like hell it wasn't where I saw the largest queue.
Time was ticking, I had about 30 minutes before the flight was to board, and two weeks ago it took me about 40 minutes to get through security. I finally asked a lady in zone A where I might find the Lufthansa desk, and she politely responded that Lufthansa was in zone K. Fuck me, that's a lot of letters away!
I did that little walk/run thing that you do when hurrying through an airport, not really huffing, but kind of wondering why I thought it necessary to have brought two grammar books with me on the trip (thus adding additional weight to my bag). I found zone K, and it was dead quiet, but all the signs on the screens showed some Polish airline, and my heart kind of sank.
Then suddenly, the screens all changed back to Lufthansa! I walked to the desk next to me, the guy calmly checked my bag, handed me my boarding card, and wished me a good flight.
Security turned out to be a lovely experience. There was no one in the queue. That must have been because things were just starting to get going again in this, probably the busiest airport I've ever been in.
I got to my gate, and 10 minutes later we were boarding. Again, I had the row to myself, and I relaxed as I reopened my book. My luggage was on the plane, I was on the plane, and we were going to be on time.
My bag popped out of the chute in Frankfurt about 90 minutes later, and I went outside for some nicotine, somewhat disappointed in myself for having already abandoned my plan to not smoke again on German soil. That said, I enjoyed the hell out of the butt, even as I stood next to my taxi (the cabbie was smoking, also).
Back in Bornheim 20 minutes later, I threw my gear upstairs, then headed next door for a pint or two. I was home, and had elected to take the following day off. A couple of late night beers would help me sleep.
The quiz was finishing up, and I received a hearty greeting from the normal suspects. The tea candle on top of a bag of chips (an imprompto belated birthday gift on account that I'd mentioned I hadn't eaten during the course of the day) was a nice touch. I made my wish, blew out the candle, had another pint, then went home to bed.
Friday was a quiet return to normal service. I had a couple of coffees, did some wash, ignored my emails, made it on time to my dentist appointment (finally) then spent an hour or two in the plaza having coffee. Sort of surreal coming back to a neighborhood where seemingly nothing has changed, yet everything has changed. A slightly uncomfortable feeling, but kind of ok, too.
I'd purchased half a kilo of coffee at the local shop, then received another 250 grams as a belated birthday present, and when I got home to put it all away, I realized I had another unopened 250 grams. However, at the rate I go through espressos, it should tie me over for a week or so.
The weather was quite pleasant the whole time I was in Ireland, and here in Germany, it's even better. I got to bed early on Friday night (I'm reading the next book in the series, where the girl is now playing with fire) and am almost through 200 grams of coffee so far Saturday morning as I do some more washing and apartment cleanup.
With that, I'm going to wrap this up, so I can spend the rest of the weekend enjoying the sunshine. Sobriety optional.
keep the faith
bryan
soundtrack -
The Police - Reggata de Blanc
Bruce Springsteen - Jungleland (for my Irish buddy who may just have a bit of Jersey in him)
Ministry - Revenge (it's nice to know that this is still on the 12" circuit, at least in clubs in Austin)
Thrice - Stare at the Sun
Bouncing Souls - That Song
Monday, April 19, 2010
The Waiting Game
I touched down at Shannon Airport the other Monday and immediately thought, "Gosh, it hasn't changed much in the last 20 years." It looked almost identical to how I saw it back then.
The supplier I was to visit was only minutes from the airport. I was a bit anxious about the whole visit, as I'm sort of the "available" resource that got thrown into things. True, I'm probably the right person for the task, but I did have the initial feeling I was in a bit over my head.
The cab driver delivered me to the wrong location initially, which was both comical and frustrating, but my counterpart came and collected me within a couple of minutes, and I realized we'd be OK as soon as I heard some Bruce Springsteen blaring from his car stereo.
Fifteen minutes later I'd met about 10 minutes people, all with Irish names, and I was a bit overwhelmed. But, I was finding my stride pretty quickly and was eager to get on with things. The contact center is an important element to our operation, and the last time we tried this (see the blogs from early 2007) we (my company and I) did a pretty fair job of cocking things up. Though the decision to move the call center into Ireland from Scotland wasn't mine, I was determined to make sure we didn't make the same mistake a second time.
We had some productive meetings during the course of the afternoon, and I was exhausted at the end of the day when I got to my hotel nearby the offices. At check in, I didn't pay much attention when the lady tried to draw me a map from reception to my room, and I regretted it ten minutes later while I was wandering up and down the longest corridors I've ever seen in search of room 287.
At last I found my room, and quickly unpacked my things, ready for a bit of dinner and a pint or two. I still got lost on the way back to the hotel bar, but figured that in a day or two, I'd have the layout pretty well under control.
Because the call center is multilingual, it was interesting to hear everyone speak. Besides the natives, all the expats, including the German and the Spanish, also spoke with Irish accents. I actually wasn't that surprised by this, as I'd encountered the same thing while in Edinburgh. However, it is particularly noticable when you're around a lot of people who have to talk for a living.
I found a similar thing at the hotel pub; the Indian barman, who has been in Ireland for easily five years, was sounding pretty authentic. However, I smiled more than once as I listened to him say, "Howyeah?" (typical Northside Dub) because it came out, "How are you?" about as crisp as you like.
My colleagues took me out for dinner Wednesday night, and we got to know one another a bit better. We strengthened our relationship a bit further the following evening when my counterpart and I discussed the quality of Nick Cave, Tom Waits, and the Gaslight Anthem over a beer. The guy is quite into music, though he misunderstood my earlier remark about an upcoming show I was hoping to go to in Leipzig as that I was a fan of Danzig. OK, but these things can happen.
I woke up Thursday morning to a news report about some problems involving the volcanic ash from Iceland. Now, I don't usually watch a lot of television at the best of times, but I realized very quickly that I'd likely not get back to Germany so easily; things looked to be quickly getting out of control. I monitored some websites throughout the day to learn that the airspace in the UK, Ireland, and then Germany were all closing up tight.
I sort of resigned myself to the fact that I'd have to miss the Bouncing Souls show in Leipzig the following evening, though part of me had already abandoned hope of getting to that show before I'd even boarded the airplane for Ireland. However, my intent was still to quietly endure another birthday (even a landmark one) rather quietly and with minimal fuss.
Friday morning, I knew everything was beyond control. I sort of dismissed things with a "Well, shit happens," but nevertheless felt a bit pessimistic (what!!?? really??!! Bryan, a pessimist??!!) and figured I'd be spending the weekend in Ireland.
Now, in one sense, that idea does sound kind of appealing: unplanned adventure, underwear reserve almost nil. On the other hand, I'd had a pretty exhausting week, was going to miss a show, and there were a few people I wanted to see back in Germany, nevermind the sort of alarming uncertainty that comes with the whole, "hmmm, not really sure when things are going to get sorted out" thought that was in my head.
I think it was this last bit that got to me. I'm extremely flexible with things that are beyond my control, but I'm also a bit cautious; I felt more inclined to lie low over the weekend rather than go off and spend a packet of money on a "holiday" touristy weekend, particularly since I wasn't so sure how long I'd actually be stuck.
I recently read a novel where an entire town got cut off from the rest of the world. Initially, everyone was excited at the novelty and sort of partied their way through things. Things unfortunately went downhill rather quickly to a point where only about 11 people survived the incident.
OK, kind of an extreme example, even without the crystal meth manufacturing plant and the wacko that set off a bomb, but I couldn't help but get an eerie feeling, despite the dissimilarity of the two events.
So, instead of simply throwing caution into the wind, I quietly went and bought some clean underwear, socks, and a crime novel, watched a bit of football (thanks, Arsenal for the last 10 minutes of that disastrous game), enjoyed some quiet time and really just caught up on some needed sleep.
Once, over the weekend, I overheard some travellers loudly complaining about the fact that they were stuck and couldn't get home to the states.
I kept relatively quiet through it all, thinking more about those folks who really were stranded, short of cash, perhaps with medical emergencies, or whatever. Sure, my situation isn't particularly the greatest, and I may have to get graphic when convincing my boss to sign my expense report where I paid 20 Euro to clean five pairs of socks and boxers, but things could certainly be worse, you know? After all, I'm in a decent hotel, around mostly pleasant guests and locals, the weather is nice, and I've just enjoyed the quiet experience.
The interaction I've had with the Irish (regardless of where they come from) has been quite the highlight. I had to explain sheepishly that I needed a plug converter so I could power my laptop and charge my handy, and yesterday evening, I had the pleasure of attempting to assist a couple in their late 70s with a tire that was running low on air. The woman was most appreciative and apologetic of my efforts (once she discovered that I spoke English; gosh have I been gone that long?) even though I managed to further deflate her tire as we discovered that the air compressor wasn't working. However, I scored points and was thanked as a gentleman as I gave the woman directions to the next petrol station a couple of minutes down the road.
Thanks to all for the SMS, the skypes, the emails, and the phone calls, regardless of the hour from the past few days, and thanks especially for those of you who put me in my place for lack of adventure and creativity.
Sure, I may start a bit slow, but save for open goals where I tend to send the ball shooting over the bar into row H, I do have a bit of a touch. Make no mistake, I do finish strong.
keep the faith.
bryan
The supplier I was to visit was only minutes from the airport. I was a bit anxious about the whole visit, as I'm sort of the "available" resource that got thrown into things. True, I'm probably the right person for the task, but I did have the initial feeling I was in a bit over my head.
The cab driver delivered me to the wrong location initially, which was both comical and frustrating, but my counterpart came and collected me within a couple of minutes, and I realized we'd be OK as soon as I heard some Bruce Springsteen blaring from his car stereo.
Fifteen minutes later I'd met about 10 minutes people, all with Irish names, and I was a bit overwhelmed. But, I was finding my stride pretty quickly and was eager to get on with things. The contact center is an important element to our operation, and the last time we tried this (see the blogs from early 2007) we (my company and I) did a pretty fair job of cocking things up. Though the decision to move the call center into Ireland from Scotland wasn't mine, I was determined to make sure we didn't make the same mistake a second time.
We had some productive meetings during the course of the afternoon, and I was exhausted at the end of the day when I got to my hotel nearby the offices. At check in, I didn't pay much attention when the lady tried to draw me a map from reception to my room, and I regretted it ten minutes later while I was wandering up and down the longest corridors I've ever seen in search of room 287.
At last I found my room, and quickly unpacked my things, ready for a bit of dinner and a pint or two. I still got lost on the way back to the hotel bar, but figured that in a day or two, I'd have the layout pretty well under control.
Because the call center is multilingual, it was interesting to hear everyone speak. Besides the natives, all the expats, including the German and the Spanish, also spoke with Irish accents. I actually wasn't that surprised by this, as I'd encountered the same thing while in Edinburgh. However, it is particularly noticable when you're around a lot of people who have to talk for a living.
I found a similar thing at the hotel pub; the Indian barman, who has been in Ireland for easily five years, was sounding pretty authentic. However, I smiled more than once as I listened to him say, "Howyeah?" (typical Northside Dub) because it came out, "How are you?" about as crisp as you like.
My colleagues took me out for dinner Wednesday night, and we got to know one another a bit better. We strengthened our relationship a bit further the following evening when my counterpart and I discussed the quality of Nick Cave, Tom Waits, and the Gaslight Anthem over a beer. The guy is quite into music, though he misunderstood my earlier remark about an upcoming show I was hoping to go to in Leipzig as that I was a fan of Danzig. OK, but these things can happen.
I woke up Thursday morning to a news report about some problems involving the volcanic ash from Iceland. Now, I don't usually watch a lot of television at the best of times, but I realized very quickly that I'd likely not get back to Germany so easily; things looked to be quickly getting out of control. I monitored some websites throughout the day to learn that the airspace in the UK, Ireland, and then Germany were all closing up tight.
I sort of resigned myself to the fact that I'd have to miss the Bouncing Souls show in Leipzig the following evening, though part of me had already abandoned hope of getting to that show before I'd even boarded the airplane for Ireland. However, my intent was still to quietly endure another birthday (even a landmark one) rather quietly and with minimal fuss.
Friday morning, I knew everything was beyond control. I sort of dismissed things with a "Well, shit happens," but nevertheless felt a bit pessimistic (what!!?? really??!! Bryan, a pessimist??!!) and figured I'd be spending the weekend in Ireland.
Now, in one sense, that idea does sound kind of appealing: unplanned adventure, underwear reserve almost nil. On the other hand, I'd had a pretty exhausting week, was going to miss a show, and there were a few people I wanted to see back in Germany, nevermind the sort of alarming uncertainty that comes with the whole, "hmmm, not really sure when things are going to get sorted out" thought that was in my head.
I think it was this last bit that got to me. I'm extremely flexible with things that are beyond my control, but I'm also a bit cautious; I felt more inclined to lie low over the weekend rather than go off and spend a packet of money on a "holiday" touristy weekend, particularly since I wasn't so sure how long I'd actually be stuck.
I recently read a novel where an entire town got cut off from the rest of the world. Initially, everyone was excited at the novelty and sort of partied their way through things. Things unfortunately went downhill rather quickly to a point where only about 11 people survived the incident.
OK, kind of an extreme example, even without the crystal meth manufacturing plant and the wacko that set off a bomb, but I couldn't help but get an eerie feeling, despite the dissimilarity of the two events.
So, instead of simply throwing caution into the wind, I quietly went and bought some clean underwear, socks, and a crime novel, watched a bit of football (thanks, Arsenal for the last 10 minutes of that disastrous game), enjoyed some quiet time and really just caught up on some needed sleep.
Once, over the weekend, I overheard some travellers loudly complaining about the fact that they were stuck and couldn't get home to the states.
I kept relatively quiet through it all, thinking more about those folks who really were stranded, short of cash, perhaps with medical emergencies, or whatever. Sure, my situation isn't particularly the greatest, and I may have to get graphic when convincing my boss to sign my expense report where I paid 20 Euro to clean five pairs of socks and boxers, but things could certainly be worse, you know? After all, I'm in a decent hotel, around mostly pleasant guests and locals, the weather is nice, and I've just enjoyed the quiet experience.
The interaction I've had with the Irish (regardless of where they come from) has been quite the highlight. I had to explain sheepishly that I needed a plug converter so I could power my laptop and charge my handy, and yesterday evening, I had the pleasure of attempting to assist a couple in their late 70s with a tire that was running low on air. The woman was most appreciative and apologetic of my efforts (once she discovered that I spoke English; gosh have I been gone that long?) even though I managed to further deflate her tire as we discovered that the air compressor wasn't working. However, I scored points and was thanked as a gentleman as I gave the woman directions to the next petrol station a couple of minutes down the road.
Thanks to all for the SMS, the skypes, the emails, and the phone calls, regardless of the hour from the past few days, and thanks especially for those of you who put me in my place for lack of adventure and creativity.
Sure, I may start a bit slow, but save for open goals where I tend to send the ball shooting over the bar into row H, I do have a bit of a touch. Make no mistake, I do finish strong.
keep the faith.
bryan
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Coming Attractions...the Short Update
I've been making notes of things to write about over the past couple of weeks, and just keep running out of time to sit down and put up a post.
However, for a brief glimpse of what will be coming soon (and also to remind me of what I have to write about)...
- can a midlife crisis can be abated simply by kicking a hacky sack? well, it certainly helps.
- are Belgian pillows really that much more comfortable, or is it just that I got an sms from the states in the middle of the night that startled me out of sleep? (thanks, Chris, hope the Monk was fun that night).
- Messi really is faster than everyone on the Arsenal football squad.
- do I speak Spanish with a German accent, or is that just one author's opinion?
- why do I struggle so much with German prepositions?
I'm off to Ireland for the week to do a bit of work...
see you out there.
bryan
soundtrack -
Rise - Public Image, Ltd. (thanks Pablo)
However, for a brief glimpse of what will be coming soon (and also to remind me of what I have to write about)...
- can a midlife crisis can be abated simply by kicking a hacky sack? well, it certainly helps.
- are Belgian pillows really that much more comfortable, or is it just that I got an sms from the states in the middle of the night that startled me out of sleep? (thanks, Chris, hope the Monk was fun that night).
- Messi really is faster than everyone on the Arsenal football squad.
- do I speak Spanish with a German accent, or is that just one author's opinion?
- why do I struggle so much with German prepositions?
I'm off to Ireland for the week to do a bit of work...
see you out there.
bryan
soundtrack -
Rise - Public Image, Ltd. (thanks Pablo)
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