The other week I was in Hungary having dinner with the customer I was visiting. Several of us were sitting around the table as we waited on a few more colleagues to arrive. We started discussing sports; the three Hungarians I was dining with all enjoy skiing and cycling. They are all friends (which is nice to see in a firm), and tend to take their bike (spring/summer) and ski (winter) trips frequently. The ski season is just coming to an end, so everyone was getting their bikes out in preparation of the season change.
Inevitably, I was asked about my own tastes in sport. One of the guys is a huge fan of women's basketball; he had been following the team for 20 years or so. I found that not only intriguing but also sort of endearing. He apparently hasn't missed many matches since becoming a fan.
As I have had to do several times since living in Europe, I explained that although my childhood gave me plenty of exposure to a lot of different sports(including basketball), both as a spectator and a player, I always preferred soccer. (I almost always say soccer, since everyone assumes initially that I refer to american football when I say football). Hungary is not really known for its prowess (but hell, look where I come from), though they might have a chance to qualify for Euro 2012.
At any rate, I related my tale that I had pretty much only played soccer through most of my playing years, save for an interlude when I played tennis for my college team. I actually laughed out loud when I mentioned tennis, reminded of the absolute absurdity of a 3 year stint on a team where I was an average player at best. I never quite developed my mental game on the court. As a result, matches were quite entertaining, as I could quickly lose control of a match, especially against any opponent who was talented enough to identify the plethora of weaknesses to my game.
Still, I did enjoy the experience, managing to be a decent contributor to the team. My physical ability, particularly my serve, helped to get me noticed. More than once I could snatch a few games off of a better player just because I could blast the serve and accumulate enough aces to momentarily rattle them. Of course, I was a bit of a one trick pony, so as soon as they figured out how to beat me, things tended to go down hill quickly.
Ultimmately, I returned to the pitch soon after college, and while I sort of wish that I had not skipped the opportunity to improve my footballing (while running around on the court), I do think I did make for a decent footballer in the end, though that is a story for another time. (preview - in a seemingly insane moment playing indoor with some guys, a teammate compared me to Bobby Moore. Flattered as I was, I actually asked the teammate if he was on crack...)
We had a couple of palinkas as I finished telling my story, and that more or less rounded out the evening nicely.
A couple of days later, Pablo reminded me that he and I had both always been better doubles players on the court, and I appreciated his analogy, especially since it gave a perspective that I hadn't thought of previously.
As always, I like it when a random comment gives me something to think about. Thoughts of double faults and broken racket strings (and a banner day when I bopped myself in the forehead trying to return someone's serve, resulting in me bleeding all over the tennis court) stayed with me during this past week as I commuted to work each day on the train, sort of mingling with my recent ongoing search to make sure the music doesn't fade completely away.
I greatly enjoy the experience on the train. I tend to hang out in the board bistro, where you can buy a coffee (mornings) or a beer (evenings), do a little work, or read a book. At the rate that I am reading, I am going to have to hit the library a bit more frequently.
There are usually other regular commuters that have the same idea as me, preferring the bistro to trying to fight for a seat in one of the passenger cars. I have never really been one to initiate conversations on the train (or planes, or automobiles, for that matter), and a prime reason (other than my shyness) came up one afternoon as I boarded the train in Düsseldorf. Two other guys who I had seen before sort of jockeying for that place on the train platform that puts you directly in front of the door to the train, thus allowing you to be one of the first to board as soon as the passengers have gotten off. This is a particularly significant thing when you have no seat reservation; being first on means you have a better chance of finding the spot (either in the passenger car in an unoccupied seat or in the bistro where you can get a table) that you want.
Train travel, especially for commuters, can create a bit of overcrowding. Usually you can purchase a ticket and ride any train. This potentially means that you can travel with a lot of people at one time, with more passengers than there are seats on the train. Football weekends are good examples, as are holidays when all the soldiers get a weekend furlough. Thus, there are times when you get on a train, only to find out that travellers (and their bags) are scattered all over: in the aisles, in the foyer, or anywhere where there is a place to lean, stand, or squat.
All the more reason to pick out your preferred spot and try to get situated quickly. It's a bit like musical chairs, and no one likes to suddenly find themselves without a place.
So, when the train arrived in the station, I found myself getting into the bistro just before the other two regular commuters, but as I was just about to put my bag on a little table, one of the guys sort of threw his own bag onto the same spot, more or less beating me to the place.
"Sorry," he said, more or less meaning anything but.
"Macht nichts," I responded, meaning, "you are a fuckhead."
I took the table across from them and opened my book, realizing that it was not worth worrying about. After all, I still had a spot for myself. My irritation came simply from the fact that he easily noticed that there were two spots and could have simply taken the one that I was NOT about to take. Ah well, it really came as no surprise. Most commuters tend to be a bit jumpy at the best of times. Mintues later, after we were en route to the next station, about 10 people all tried to order refreshments from the helpless guy behind the counter, and somehow everyone wanted to be first, as opposed to standing in a queue. I sipped my own beer and continued reading, glad to have a little spot at my table.
While I enjoy the train travel, the one thing that was a bit of a concern is the expense. I own a Bahnkarte which greatly reduces my ticket price, but as I am finding that I will probably not have to travel outside of Germany as much as I initially thought, the expenses of a daily commute to work were adding up quickly. After the debaucle of the shit hotel I stayed in a few weeks ago, I feel more inclined to simply commute each day, so long as the expenses aren't out of control.
I wisely decided to upgrade my Bahnkarte this past week (after riding home with fuckhead and his buddy), and was pleased at the service I got from the Reisezentrum as they helped me get the change application filled out. If it works the way I think it will, I will actually save more money commuting than if I actually stayed away from home during the work week. I was very glad to get this sorted, as it has helped create my little routine.
Later, at home, I lay in bed listening to a little "Night Music," feeling comfortable that at the very least, my work week is starting to get a bit structure, at least as much as can be formed in a job that is never dull, changing from day to day.
So, I entered the holiday weekend still trying to get back on track with the music, as my concerns from the other week had not yet subsided. Fortunately, a few tracks from Richard Butler hit rotation at just the right moment, and things seem to be improving on that front. Thank goodness. Throw in a bit of Joy Division and the Police, and look the fuck out...
After all, sometimes you just have to change the game.
keep the faith
bryan
soundtrack
The Make - Daryl
Into You Like a Train - Psychedelic Furs
Fall On Tears - Love Spit Love
Complete catalog - The Police
Complete catalog - Joy Division
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Half Full or Half Empty
You know, when I was in college, I had a friend, and somehow, he and I managed to get going on a „who can be the most pessimistic“kick. Entertaining as this was at the time, it was a bit dangerous, and I found the whole experience quite educational. He had a way of saying, “Everything sucks, and if something good happens, it will be like a bonus.” Because of this approach, he almost won the contest, but in the end I won out, though I will save that story for another time. Sometimes best to leave a few skeletons in the closet, no?
We eventually grew up and out of our pessimistic tendencies, at least for the most part.
For me, rightly or wrongly, I developed a habit of wearing my heart on my sleeve; I have touched on that many times over the years. That took me a while to come to terms with, but I accepted things eventually, finding ways to mask emotion with a whole lot of satire, grim humor and wit, which further developed my style.
This style is not without its drawbacks, as I have always had a knack for laughing out loud while telling someone to fuck off (thus giving the impression that I was joking while I really was quite serious), or sometimes saying something so absurd, with a straight face, that people would almost take offense, thinking surely I spoke in jest, while I was quite the opposite.
I struggled with the feelings of being misunderstood for a long time. It took a bit of time before I realized that my style appeals to a much smaller audience (hence the reason that there are five regular readers of this blog…though I do thank each of you!), and while I accept that fact, sometimes it becomes a bit much.
I might add, though, that I grew up in a culture where cheerleaders happened to be everywhere, a wee too bubbly and chipper for my taste, and perhaps my pessimistic feelings came from the need to compensate, as I surely found them to be a bit much.
Like we all do over time and experience, we (or at least I do) reflect on things, and sometimes discover that it is ok to change our tune. This is not to say we should stop liking punk music in favor of opera; to that, I would laugh out loud with a hearty fuck off! I believe the change comes more gradually, which is better, as it allows you to develop at your pace. (er, punk, then shoegazer, then prog, then classical, and then opera? Er, if it suits you.)
With me, I slowly stopped wearing shirts with slogans like, “Smoke this, cheesedick motherfucker,” or “join a frat, rent a friend,” not because I no longer believed in the sentiment, but because I realized that the slogans were rather rude, and apt not to be so accepted. I am sure my Eco and Literature Profs would be relieved to know this. Probably a couple of old bosses, too. More important, though, I am glad for me.
Over the years, my pessimism has decreased, but not necessarily in the complete direction of optimism. That said, I do tend to support and cheer (we all have a bit of cheerleader in us) when compelled. True, those times may be infrequent, but what I lack in quantity I make up for in quality, because I deem them so important to me. Whether this be something like the FA Cup final in 2005, or wanting my nephew to do well on a math exam, or simply wanting a friend to be safe, happy, and at peace.
Yes, I tend to be selective, mainly because I tend to extend quite an effort in supporting the causes I feel worthy, and it can be equally rewarding and exhausting. But, even when I feel like I am running full speed into a brick wall (Barca-Arsenal Champs League 2nd leg 2011, for example) I still feel it the right thing to do, even if the result isn’t what I wanted, or expected.
The valuable lesson that I learned is to prepare yourself for the fact that you may have to say “Ouch!” Not everything or everyone will accept the Rah Rahs…
Ironic, that the very reason that people turn pessimistic is because of the rejection, or a big fucking brick wall.
Like I said, I am glad that I understand this, and while it doesn’t always make my life particularly easy, it is part of life all the same.
Alas, I have had a few moments recently where the bricks were a bit tough, or maybe I was running too fast. At any rate, I would have to say that some of the music stopped. This generated a bit of personal concern, as have this feeling I am living a short story that I wrote years ago (while wearing a silly shirt that said, “smoke this, cheesedick…”), and this story had a very horrible ending.
I am in the middle of figuring that out at the moment, and all things considered, I am ok with things, particularly since, and I must say this with a straight face: “Bring it On” is on the video on demand in my hotel, and I am in. So what if it is in Hungarian.
After all, we’ve all got a bit of cheerleader in us…
Keep the faith
Bryan
Soundtrack:
Smells Like Teen Spirit - Nirvana
We eventually grew up and out of our pessimistic tendencies, at least for the most part.
For me, rightly or wrongly, I developed a habit of wearing my heart on my sleeve; I have touched on that many times over the years. That took me a while to come to terms with, but I accepted things eventually, finding ways to mask emotion with a whole lot of satire, grim humor and wit, which further developed my style.
This style is not without its drawbacks, as I have always had a knack for laughing out loud while telling someone to fuck off (thus giving the impression that I was joking while I really was quite serious), or sometimes saying something so absurd, with a straight face, that people would almost take offense, thinking surely I spoke in jest, while I was quite the opposite.
I struggled with the feelings of being misunderstood for a long time. It took a bit of time before I realized that my style appeals to a much smaller audience (hence the reason that there are five regular readers of this blog…though I do thank each of you!), and while I accept that fact, sometimes it becomes a bit much.
I might add, though, that I grew up in a culture where cheerleaders happened to be everywhere, a wee too bubbly and chipper for my taste, and perhaps my pessimistic feelings came from the need to compensate, as I surely found them to be a bit much.
Like we all do over time and experience, we (or at least I do) reflect on things, and sometimes discover that it is ok to change our tune. This is not to say we should stop liking punk music in favor of opera; to that, I would laugh out loud with a hearty fuck off! I believe the change comes more gradually, which is better, as it allows you to develop at your pace. (er, punk, then shoegazer, then prog, then classical, and then opera? Er, if it suits you.)
With me, I slowly stopped wearing shirts with slogans like, “Smoke this, cheesedick motherfucker,” or “join a frat, rent a friend,” not because I no longer believed in the sentiment, but because I realized that the slogans were rather rude, and apt not to be so accepted. I am sure my Eco and Literature Profs would be relieved to know this. Probably a couple of old bosses, too. More important, though, I am glad for me.
Over the years, my pessimism has decreased, but not necessarily in the complete direction of optimism. That said, I do tend to support and cheer (we all have a bit of cheerleader in us) when compelled. True, those times may be infrequent, but what I lack in quantity I make up for in quality, because I deem them so important to me. Whether this be something like the FA Cup final in 2005, or wanting my nephew to do well on a math exam, or simply wanting a friend to be safe, happy, and at peace.
Yes, I tend to be selective, mainly because I tend to extend quite an effort in supporting the causes I feel worthy, and it can be equally rewarding and exhausting. But, even when I feel like I am running full speed into a brick wall (Barca-Arsenal Champs League 2nd leg 2011, for example) I still feel it the right thing to do, even if the result isn’t what I wanted, or expected.
The valuable lesson that I learned is to prepare yourself for the fact that you may have to say “Ouch!” Not everything or everyone will accept the Rah Rahs…
Ironic, that the very reason that people turn pessimistic is because of the rejection, or a big fucking brick wall.
Like I said, I am glad that I understand this, and while it doesn’t always make my life particularly easy, it is part of life all the same.
Alas, I have had a few moments recently where the bricks were a bit tough, or maybe I was running too fast. At any rate, I would have to say that some of the music stopped. This generated a bit of personal concern, as have this feeling I am living a short story that I wrote years ago (while wearing a silly shirt that said, “smoke this, cheesedick…”), and this story had a very horrible ending.
I am in the middle of figuring that out at the moment, and all things considered, I am ok with things, particularly since, and I must say this with a straight face: “Bring it On” is on the video on demand in my hotel, and I am in. So what if it is in Hungarian.
After all, we’ve all got a bit of cheerleader in us…
Keep the faith
Bryan
Soundtrack:
Smells Like Teen Spirit - Nirvana
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Think About the Way
"Life's tough," I read in a text message about a week ago. Yes indeedy.
The comment stuck with me all last weekend, and lingered through this past week. Unlike last week where I commuted daily to and from Düsseldorf, this week I had booked a hotel to stay in.
I spent Monday with the office to myself. Not a soul in sight. The receptionist sat out front, and had already mentioned that things were pretty quiet until Tuesday. I got a fair amount of work done during the day, though at this stage in the job, I am still getting into the swing of things. Thus, there is not so much to do. I find that a bit uncomfortable, because I am used to having loads on my plate.
Colleagues tell me that I should be patient; there will be plenty to do in good time and likely sooner rather than later. I reckon that they are right, and I should really enjoy the time while I can, sort of gradually working my way into things.
However, I feel a little self-conscious as of late, so having a few idle moments in the office is the last thing I want right now.
Ah well, I took advantage of the slow day and left the office a few minutes past 5, and walked to the U-bahn stop. En route, I got a front row seat of a motor accident, where a woman drove a car into a man riding a motorcycle. Though neither seemed to be going that fast, the man still got flipped several feet into the air, and the whole incident was bloody awful to have to see.
Though I had a direct view of the accident, I was about half a block away, and therefore couldn't really consider myself a witness. Other workers finishing for the day were right there on the scene, and scurried over to try and help. Meanwhile, I went ahead and got on my train and headed back downtown. "Life is tough," I thought to myself.
I was pretty well freaked out by the whole thing, and while I mean no disrepect to those involved in the accident (particularly the injured victim), my own personal mood was rapidly going downhill. And it was only Monday.
My hotel was situated a few minutes walk from the train station, and I realized as I checked in that it was going to be a shit hole. The neighborhood was pretty lousy (as most neighborhoods next to German train stations tend to be), and I hadn't seen any interesting restaurants close by.
Of course, the room rate was pretty reasonable, only about 40 Euro per night, but I had hoped for a bit more atmosphere. Deciding to suck it up (life is tough!) and remembering that the entire week had already been billed to my credit card, there wasn't much I could do about it.
After unpacking, I set off in search of a quiet restaurant where I could do a bit of reading, preferably for a few hours, as my room was so small that I wanted to stay out of there as much as possible. 10 minutes walk further down the street brought me to fuck all. The neighborhood was marginally better than the immediate hotel surroundings, but only just. I decided to walk a bit further in hopes of finding a small gem, otherwise I would be forced to head back to the kebap shop across the street from the hotel.
The extra bit of walking paid off: I came upon a little tapas bar which looked interesting. I walked in, indicated I had no reservation, and was allowed to sit at a little table in the bar. The staff were friendly, the sangria was pretty good, and, as it turned out, the tapas were quite impressive, and reasonably priced.
I tucked in, and spent the next few hours enjoying the quiet atmosphere, my book, and the sangria. The restaurant was not very busy, but I assumed that had more to do with the fact that it was a Monday night, not the busiest of eating out nights.
My bill came to just over 50 Euro, but that is because I had eaten so much. Tapas tend to be better suited for parties of more than one, but, hey, life is tough. I was more than satisfied, despite the splurge. Besides, I had not eaten all day.
Indeed, there were a lot more people in the office on Tuesday morning. I would say that the other folks are at the very least, relatively polite. However, they were not overly friendly, nor were they particularly interested in why I was there, or what I was doing. Since they are all in sales and marketing, I would say that is fairly typical. I am in ops, so they will usually only get involved with me when they need something. Kind of a strange environment to be in, but I hope that over the next few weeks and months (when I am not travelling and actually in the office) things will be a bit more comfortable. In fairness, I have only been with the company two months, and it was only my fourth day in the office. They probably need a bit of time to adjust to me, too.
As the work day finished, it started to rain, and I lost any sense of adventure for trying to find another restaurant, so made it easy on myself and returned to the tapas bar. The same staff from the previous evening greeted me with a bit of surprise, but I pointed out that the food was fucking great, and the menu was quite extensive. I ordered a few new items for round one, then repeated a couple of dishes from the previous evening.
I was engrossed in my book, but took a quick break during the evening to chat with a stateside colleague about my early days on the job. He reassured me that things would certainly get better on some fronts, but the chaos and bizarreness would also be prevalent...
The chat helped, and I returned to my cramped hotel room feeling a bit less isolated, knowing that I was not really as alone as I currently felt.
I chatted with the office receptionist on Wednesday, and she pointed out that my hotel was a shithole in a pretty lousy area of the city. I mentioned that I kind of wished she had told me that the previous week, but thanked her all the same.
As a creature of habit, it was no surprise that I returned to the tapas bar again on Wednesday evening. I had already prepared an explanation as to why I had to keep going back to the same establishment, but was fortunate that the waitstaff from the first two nights of the week were not there, likely having a night off. Unfortunately, the place was packed, and the waitress on duty did not know me from adam, but begrudgingly found me the one remaining table, even though it was marked as reserved.
I quickly realized that they were actually understaffed. In a tapas restaurant, this is a bit challenging, as dishes are whisked out to the tables as soon as they are ready. I felt a bit unsettled, as my table was in the middle of the bar, kind of in the traffic lane between the kitchen and the other tables. By the second glass of sangria, though, I felt somewhat better. The chef brought out one of the things that I had ordered, and we suddenly started chatting in Spanish. This upped my status in the place considerably, especially with the busy waitress, who became at least civil towards me, if not almost friendly.
By the end of the night, I had decided that I would return to Frankfurt on Thursday evening after work. It was not that I was tired of tapas, my dining experience had been the best thing about the whole week. However, I was feeling a bit too far from home.
On Thursday morning, I gave the hotel clerk my key, saying that I would not be staying that evening. He was a man of few words, and more or less dismissed me, acknowleding that he already had my money. As I walked to the U-bahn with my bag, I noted that I would tell my parents to find a better hotel before they arrived in Düsseldorf; this one was shit.
Though my current situation is all about feeling a bit unsettled and isolated, I do enjoy riding the train between Düsseldorf and Frankfurt. The commute home on Thursday was easy, and I was very glad to pick up a couple of pizzas at my local shop and get home to my flat.
The pizza was a nice change from the tapas, but as I finished dinner and prepared to do a laundry load, I discovered that I had a new issue to deal with. No hot water.
A couple of years ago, I had experienced a problem with my hot water heater, and ultimately had to have a man come out and do repairs. On that visit, he mentioned that he had had to fill up the water level, but never bothered to show me that I could take care of that myself, should the need arise in the future.
Sometime last summer, according to a little gauge on my hot water heater, the water level needed to be topped up. The term is Nachfüllen, and I checked about on the internet looking for instructions, preferably with photos. I did find a few forums which described the process, and upon further discussion with a few people, I had some idea as to how to take care of this task. The forums all mentioned that it was pretty easy to do. Hmmm.
After trying once or twice unsuccessfully to fill up the water level, I assumed I was doing it wrong. However, I still had hot water, so was not too worried. True, because the tank level was too low, I would frequently hear noises that were a bit unsettling, especially to house guests.
This went on for several more months, but as long as the hot water flowed, I found it easy to forget about.
All that changed, of course, on Thursday evening when my luck ran out.
Friday morning I checked the internet forums again, hoping that a newer post might have been written (with pics). Nope.
I decided to give it another shot myself, remembering that one time someone had shown me where they attached the hoses to get water into the tank. At the time, it wasn't very clear to me, but hey, life is tough.
By the middle of the afternoon, I felt beaten. My efforts to resolve this on my own were fruitless. This was certainly not helping my self esteem (I am DIY!) and was likely going to require a telephone call or two to the Hausmeister. My German has also been a bit shaky over the past couple of weeks, partly because most of the work day is conducted in English.
Fortunately, the Hausmeister was patient with me, but he, too, was unable to instruct me over the telephone as to precisely how one goes about Nachfüllen. But, he gave me another telephone number for someone he thought could help. Minutes later, I was speaking with Frau Rot, who told me that her fixit men were all out on calls, but one would call me back as soon as they got back to the office.
About 30 minutes later, she phoned me back to tell me that a guy was on his way to my flat. It was easier for him to show me in person.
So, at 5pm on Friday afternoon, the man arrived at my flat, we walked upstairs, he connected the hose to the same two places that I had already tried, then turned a little key on the radiator, turned on the faucet, and within two minutes, the Nachfüllen was complete. I felt a bit idiotic, since I had done everything that he did, save for turning the key. In fairness, no one had mentioned anything about this key before, neither the friends I had consulted nor the internet forums.
With great relief, I had hot water again. Order restored.
I opened a bottle of wine to celebrate. The whole day had been most stressful, but was ending on a decent note. At the very least, I can put up with the "I told you so's" and move on to the next bit. How funny that something so seemingly easy gets so complicated.
Last night, I took a quick trip to Köln to have dinner with my parents, and related the tale as we sat in a restaurant eating, erm, tapas.
Life is tough, no?
keep the faith
bryan
soundtrack:
Over and Out - Alkaline Trio
Enjoy the Silence - DM
Age of Consent - New Order
Think About the Way - Ice MC
The comment stuck with me all last weekend, and lingered through this past week. Unlike last week where I commuted daily to and from Düsseldorf, this week I had booked a hotel to stay in.
I spent Monday with the office to myself. Not a soul in sight. The receptionist sat out front, and had already mentioned that things were pretty quiet until Tuesday. I got a fair amount of work done during the day, though at this stage in the job, I am still getting into the swing of things. Thus, there is not so much to do. I find that a bit uncomfortable, because I am used to having loads on my plate.
Colleagues tell me that I should be patient; there will be plenty to do in good time and likely sooner rather than later. I reckon that they are right, and I should really enjoy the time while I can, sort of gradually working my way into things.
However, I feel a little self-conscious as of late, so having a few idle moments in the office is the last thing I want right now.
Ah well, I took advantage of the slow day and left the office a few minutes past 5, and walked to the U-bahn stop. En route, I got a front row seat of a motor accident, where a woman drove a car into a man riding a motorcycle. Though neither seemed to be going that fast, the man still got flipped several feet into the air, and the whole incident was bloody awful to have to see.
Though I had a direct view of the accident, I was about half a block away, and therefore couldn't really consider myself a witness. Other workers finishing for the day were right there on the scene, and scurried over to try and help. Meanwhile, I went ahead and got on my train and headed back downtown. "Life is tough," I thought to myself.
I was pretty well freaked out by the whole thing, and while I mean no disrepect to those involved in the accident (particularly the injured victim), my own personal mood was rapidly going downhill. And it was only Monday.
My hotel was situated a few minutes walk from the train station, and I realized as I checked in that it was going to be a shit hole. The neighborhood was pretty lousy (as most neighborhoods next to German train stations tend to be), and I hadn't seen any interesting restaurants close by.
Of course, the room rate was pretty reasonable, only about 40 Euro per night, but I had hoped for a bit more atmosphere. Deciding to suck it up (life is tough!) and remembering that the entire week had already been billed to my credit card, there wasn't much I could do about it.
After unpacking, I set off in search of a quiet restaurant where I could do a bit of reading, preferably for a few hours, as my room was so small that I wanted to stay out of there as much as possible. 10 minutes walk further down the street brought me to fuck all. The neighborhood was marginally better than the immediate hotel surroundings, but only just. I decided to walk a bit further in hopes of finding a small gem, otherwise I would be forced to head back to the kebap shop across the street from the hotel.
The extra bit of walking paid off: I came upon a little tapas bar which looked interesting. I walked in, indicated I had no reservation, and was allowed to sit at a little table in the bar. The staff were friendly, the sangria was pretty good, and, as it turned out, the tapas were quite impressive, and reasonably priced.
I tucked in, and spent the next few hours enjoying the quiet atmosphere, my book, and the sangria. The restaurant was not very busy, but I assumed that had more to do with the fact that it was a Monday night, not the busiest of eating out nights.
My bill came to just over 50 Euro, but that is because I had eaten so much. Tapas tend to be better suited for parties of more than one, but, hey, life is tough. I was more than satisfied, despite the splurge. Besides, I had not eaten all day.
Indeed, there were a lot more people in the office on Tuesday morning. I would say that the other folks are at the very least, relatively polite. However, they were not overly friendly, nor were they particularly interested in why I was there, or what I was doing. Since they are all in sales and marketing, I would say that is fairly typical. I am in ops, so they will usually only get involved with me when they need something. Kind of a strange environment to be in, but I hope that over the next few weeks and months (when I am not travelling and actually in the office) things will be a bit more comfortable. In fairness, I have only been with the company two months, and it was only my fourth day in the office. They probably need a bit of time to adjust to me, too.
As the work day finished, it started to rain, and I lost any sense of adventure for trying to find another restaurant, so made it easy on myself and returned to the tapas bar. The same staff from the previous evening greeted me with a bit of surprise, but I pointed out that the food was fucking great, and the menu was quite extensive. I ordered a few new items for round one, then repeated a couple of dishes from the previous evening.
I was engrossed in my book, but took a quick break during the evening to chat with a stateside colleague about my early days on the job. He reassured me that things would certainly get better on some fronts, but the chaos and bizarreness would also be prevalent...
The chat helped, and I returned to my cramped hotel room feeling a bit less isolated, knowing that I was not really as alone as I currently felt.
I chatted with the office receptionist on Wednesday, and she pointed out that my hotel was a shithole in a pretty lousy area of the city. I mentioned that I kind of wished she had told me that the previous week, but thanked her all the same.
As a creature of habit, it was no surprise that I returned to the tapas bar again on Wednesday evening. I had already prepared an explanation as to why I had to keep going back to the same establishment, but was fortunate that the waitstaff from the first two nights of the week were not there, likely having a night off. Unfortunately, the place was packed, and the waitress on duty did not know me from adam, but begrudgingly found me the one remaining table, even though it was marked as reserved.
I quickly realized that they were actually understaffed. In a tapas restaurant, this is a bit challenging, as dishes are whisked out to the tables as soon as they are ready. I felt a bit unsettled, as my table was in the middle of the bar, kind of in the traffic lane between the kitchen and the other tables. By the second glass of sangria, though, I felt somewhat better. The chef brought out one of the things that I had ordered, and we suddenly started chatting in Spanish. This upped my status in the place considerably, especially with the busy waitress, who became at least civil towards me, if not almost friendly.
By the end of the night, I had decided that I would return to Frankfurt on Thursday evening after work. It was not that I was tired of tapas, my dining experience had been the best thing about the whole week. However, I was feeling a bit too far from home.
On Thursday morning, I gave the hotel clerk my key, saying that I would not be staying that evening. He was a man of few words, and more or less dismissed me, acknowleding that he already had my money. As I walked to the U-bahn with my bag, I noted that I would tell my parents to find a better hotel before they arrived in Düsseldorf; this one was shit.
Though my current situation is all about feeling a bit unsettled and isolated, I do enjoy riding the train between Düsseldorf and Frankfurt. The commute home on Thursday was easy, and I was very glad to pick up a couple of pizzas at my local shop and get home to my flat.
The pizza was a nice change from the tapas, but as I finished dinner and prepared to do a laundry load, I discovered that I had a new issue to deal with. No hot water.
A couple of years ago, I had experienced a problem with my hot water heater, and ultimately had to have a man come out and do repairs. On that visit, he mentioned that he had had to fill up the water level, but never bothered to show me that I could take care of that myself, should the need arise in the future.
Sometime last summer, according to a little gauge on my hot water heater, the water level needed to be topped up. The term is Nachfüllen, and I checked about on the internet looking for instructions, preferably with photos. I did find a few forums which described the process, and upon further discussion with a few people, I had some idea as to how to take care of this task. The forums all mentioned that it was pretty easy to do. Hmmm.
After trying once or twice unsuccessfully to fill up the water level, I assumed I was doing it wrong. However, I still had hot water, so was not too worried. True, because the tank level was too low, I would frequently hear noises that were a bit unsettling, especially to house guests.
This went on for several more months, but as long as the hot water flowed, I found it easy to forget about.
All that changed, of course, on Thursday evening when my luck ran out.
Friday morning I checked the internet forums again, hoping that a newer post might have been written (with pics). Nope.
I decided to give it another shot myself, remembering that one time someone had shown me where they attached the hoses to get water into the tank. At the time, it wasn't very clear to me, but hey, life is tough.
By the middle of the afternoon, I felt beaten. My efforts to resolve this on my own were fruitless. This was certainly not helping my self esteem (I am DIY!) and was likely going to require a telephone call or two to the Hausmeister. My German has also been a bit shaky over the past couple of weeks, partly because most of the work day is conducted in English.
Fortunately, the Hausmeister was patient with me, but he, too, was unable to instruct me over the telephone as to precisely how one goes about Nachfüllen. But, he gave me another telephone number for someone he thought could help. Minutes later, I was speaking with Frau Rot, who told me that her fixit men were all out on calls, but one would call me back as soon as they got back to the office.
About 30 minutes later, she phoned me back to tell me that a guy was on his way to my flat. It was easier for him to show me in person.
So, at 5pm on Friday afternoon, the man arrived at my flat, we walked upstairs, he connected the hose to the same two places that I had already tried, then turned a little key on the radiator, turned on the faucet, and within two minutes, the Nachfüllen was complete. I felt a bit idiotic, since I had done everything that he did, save for turning the key. In fairness, no one had mentioned anything about this key before, neither the friends I had consulted nor the internet forums.
With great relief, I had hot water again. Order restored.
I opened a bottle of wine to celebrate. The whole day had been most stressful, but was ending on a decent note. At the very least, I can put up with the "I told you so's" and move on to the next bit. How funny that something so seemingly easy gets so complicated.
Last night, I took a quick trip to Köln to have dinner with my parents, and related the tale as we sat in a restaurant eating, erm, tapas.
Life is tough, no?
keep the faith
bryan
soundtrack:
Over and Out - Alkaline Trio
Enjoy the Silence - DM
Age of Consent - New Order
Think About the Way - Ice MC
Saturday, April 02, 2011
Avoiding an(other) Identity Crisis!
Like anyone else with a vivid imagination, I tend to find connections with various characters in films that I see. As children playing with friends after school, which one of us was Luke, or Leia, or Han Solo (or an ewok, for that matter)? I have always favored films by John Cusack and Colin Firth (the earlier stuff), as I always felt something in common with the characters those actors have portrayed. This does not mean that I went through junior high thinking I needed to ski the K-12 or anything like that.
After watching St. Elmo's Fire last weekend, though, I did spend a couple of days thinking about post college and the challenges we all faced as we acclimated ourselves to the "real world." Interesting how people you never expected to amount to much became stellar people, and likewise, folks that always seemed on top of things back in school have had less than pleasant times.
I have to assume that when we find outselves in self thought, or even self doubt, we sometimes seek a pick me up in the form of a film, typically one that we already know (sometimes not, I suppose), just we know we will be able to identify with a character, and see things which provide us a it of reassurance.
Sure, we have the ability to sort of manipulate this sensation, and tend to select a movie where we believe we are guaranteed to find something reassuring. At festive family gatherings (ie Thanksgiving, or Christmas Eve), I doubt seriously that anyone is saying, "Hey, who feels like watching Schindler's List or The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo?"
Let me be quick to point out that I am not suggesting that we try to live our lives along to a movie script, I am simply saying that with stories (music, too) we often find things that we can relate to. And we want that in our lives.
Sometimes, though, we find ourselves seemingly caught on the back foot, as the events of daily life suddenly remind you of a specific character or story. This happened to me this past week as I commuted daily to my office in Düsseldorf. Monday morning, I was singing to myself ("Heigh-Ho, Heigh-ho, It's off to work we go,"), feeling a bit tired from the emotional end to the weekend.
The commute to Düsseldorf takes about 90 minutes, but because the train is busy (with other commuters), I was unable to get a reserved seat, so went to the bistro and had a coffee and read a book. After two months on the job, I was actually going to my "office" for the very first time. Sure, I was a little anxious, partly because I wasn't too clear on how to get to the office, and furthermore, did not really know what to expect. This particular office is primarily a location for a different division of the company. The work done there would not have too much to do with me, and visa versa.
I managed to find the office without too much trouble, and felt a little bashful as the office manager showed me around. There were not too many other workers there, which I found a bit strange, but I was told that that was normal, usually most people were there Tuesday through Thursday, working from home (or commuting) on Mondays and Fridays.
My two primary German colleagues were both travelling on Monday, so neither was in the office with me. I felt a bit awkward sitting there in a rather empty office. Of the other three people there, one made a bit of chit chat with me, asking who I was and what my function was in the company. I struggled to explain, fumbling a bit for words, not really because the conversation was in German, more so because I was still trying to get settled. I always need a few moments (hours, or days...) to reach my comfort level. It goes without saying that this early in the new job, I am still searching for my daily routine, wherever, whenever, however. Each day is more comfortable, but actually going to my office for the first time was a bit new.
The day went ok, and around 6pm I took a train back to Frankfurt. Ideally, I will plan to stay in Düsseldort during the work week (when not travelling), but due to a Messe, there were no hotels available. Fortunately, the one way commute is not too terribly long, and I was able to get a bit of work done. However, I was a little tired, a bit sleepy. Upon arriving in Frankfurt, I ate a quick dinner, then went home to bed.
Tuesday was a repeat of Monday, with the bonus of better knowing the public transportation routine, making the transfer from the train platform to the U-Bahn without incident. (The previous day, I had felt a bit of a dope, as I stood around in the middle of the train station, getting in everyones way as I tried to find my bearings. I tend to be selfconscious about that kind of thing, and it is not as if I am a dwarf or anything, right?)
On the way home on Tuesday evening, I saw a guy who had been on the same homeward journey the previous day. On the U-Bahn in Frankfurt, we exchanged a few words, finding out that both of us had the commonn situation of living in one city and working in another. Both of us travel, so there is no pressing need to relocate; commuting is sufficient.
I was feeling a bit grumpy on Wednesday morning, not to mention sleepy, dopey, and bashful, and was a bit concerned about my mood. For most of the weekend and early days of the week, I was struggling with the question, "why is everything so strange, is there something wrong with me?" as I tried to cope with various things in my life. Am I making the right decisions, am I doing the right things? I suppose we all ask ourselves these questions regularly, but maybe not all of us do this while sipping a latte on a train coach, slowly realizing that we seem to be caught up in a Disney film.
However, I took the time to reflect, and as I seem to do so well, at least for myself, confirmed for myself that I am on the right path (and thank goodness the right train!), and got through the workday in decent fashion. I was very glad that I had arranged to work from home the rest of the week, on account that my parents would be arriving the following morning. I decided to take an earlier train back to Frankfurt, and was pleased to find the bistro not so full.
A man was at the table across from me, constantly looking at his smartphone (just as I was). He made a few business calls, and I noticed that he spoke German well enough, but like me, was not native. I tried to ignore him, but kept glancing over, as he spoke somewhat loudly, and I couldn't help thinking that perrhaps my own German accent sounds a bit like his. I don't really know.
He was a fairly big man, so his voice was fitting. Big guy, big voice. A few minutes later I was startled from the magazine that I was reading with "Achoo achoo achoo!"
At first, I looked around, wondering if there was a baby hamster on board. The noise I had heard was very dinky and strange.
The man was pulling out his handkerchief, and I bit my tongue, refraining from making a rude comment out loud.
Way to go, Sneezy.
We arrived in Frankfurt soon after, and I bumped into an old Kumpel on the platform. He lives in Stuttgart and commutes to Frankfurt regularly; an old drinking buddy from the pub.
Later, I ran into another friend that I hadn't seen since the beginning of the new year, and we caught up over a few beers. A nice way to finish the day.
Well, the rest of the week has been pretty good. At the very least, I can be happy with the fact that I accept how things are.
Now, I have got to run off to the DVD shop and hopefully find something that will help me get the silly song out of my head.
Heigh-Ho, Heigh-Ho.
keep the faith
bryan
After watching St. Elmo's Fire last weekend, though, I did spend a couple of days thinking about post college and the challenges we all faced as we acclimated ourselves to the "real world." Interesting how people you never expected to amount to much became stellar people, and likewise, folks that always seemed on top of things back in school have had less than pleasant times.
I have to assume that when we find outselves in self thought, or even self doubt, we sometimes seek a pick me up in the form of a film, typically one that we already know (sometimes not, I suppose), just we know we will be able to identify with a character, and see things which provide us a it of reassurance.
Sure, we have the ability to sort of manipulate this sensation, and tend to select a movie where we believe we are guaranteed to find something reassuring. At festive family gatherings (ie Thanksgiving, or Christmas Eve), I doubt seriously that anyone is saying, "Hey, who feels like watching Schindler's List or The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo?"
Let me be quick to point out that I am not suggesting that we try to live our lives along to a movie script, I am simply saying that with stories (music, too) we often find things that we can relate to. And we want that in our lives.
Sometimes, though, we find ourselves seemingly caught on the back foot, as the events of daily life suddenly remind you of a specific character or story. This happened to me this past week as I commuted daily to my office in Düsseldorf. Monday morning, I was singing to myself ("Heigh-Ho, Heigh-ho, It's off to work we go,"), feeling a bit tired from the emotional end to the weekend.
The commute to Düsseldorf takes about 90 minutes, but because the train is busy (with other commuters), I was unable to get a reserved seat, so went to the bistro and had a coffee and read a book. After two months on the job, I was actually going to my "office" for the very first time. Sure, I was a little anxious, partly because I wasn't too clear on how to get to the office, and furthermore, did not really know what to expect. This particular office is primarily a location for a different division of the company. The work done there would not have too much to do with me, and visa versa.
I managed to find the office without too much trouble, and felt a little bashful as the office manager showed me around. There were not too many other workers there, which I found a bit strange, but I was told that that was normal, usually most people were there Tuesday through Thursday, working from home (or commuting) on Mondays and Fridays.
My two primary German colleagues were both travelling on Monday, so neither was in the office with me. I felt a bit awkward sitting there in a rather empty office. Of the other three people there, one made a bit of chit chat with me, asking who I was and what my function was in the company. I struggled to explain, fumbling a bit for words, not really because the conversation was in German, more so because I was still trying to get settled. I always need a few moments (hours, or days...) to reach my comfort level. It goes without saying that this early in the new job, I am still searching for my daily routine, wherever, whenever, however. Each day is more comfortable, but actually going to my office for the first time was a bit new.
The day went ok, and around 6pm I took a train back to Frankfurt. Ideally, I will plan to stay in Düsseldort during the work week (when not travelling), but due to a Messe, there were no hotels available. Fortunately, the one way commute is not too terribly long, and I was able to get a bit of work done. However, I was a little tired, a bit sleepy. Upon arriving in Frankfurt, I ate a quick dinner, then went home to bed.
Tuesday was a repeat of Monday, with the bonus of better knowing the public transportation routine, making the transfer from the train platform to the U-Bahn without incident. (The previous day, I had felt a bit of a dope, as I stood around in the middle of the train station, getting in everyones way as I tried to find my bearings. I tend to be selfconscious about that kind of thing, and it is not as if I am a dwarf or anything, right?)
On the way home on Tuesday evening, I saw a guy who had been on the same homeward journey the previous day. On the U-Bahn in Frankfurt, we exchanged a few words, finding out that both of us had the commonn situation of living in one city and working in another. Both of us travel, so there is no pressing need to relocate; commuting is sufficient.
I was feeling a bit grumpy on Wednesday morning, not to mention sleepy, dopey, and bashful, and was a bit concerned about my mood. For most of the weekend and early days of the week, I was struggling with the question, "why is everything so strange, is there something wrong with me?" as I tried to cope with various things in my life. Am I making the right decisions, am I doing the right things? I suppose we all ask ourselves these questions regularly, but maybe not all of us do this while sipping a latte on a train coach, slowly realizing that we seem to be caught up in a Disney film.
However, I took the time to reflect, and as I seem to do so well, at least for myself, confirmed for myself that I am on the right path (and thank goodness the right train!), and got through the workday in decent fashion. I was very glad that I had arranged to work from home the rest of the week, on account that my parents would be arriving the following morning. I decided to take an earlier train back to Frankfurt, and was pleased to find the bistro not so full.
A man was at the table across from me, constantly looking at his smartphone (just as I was). He made a few business calls, and I noticed that he spoke German well enough, but like me, was not native. I tried to ignore him, but kept glancing over, as he spoke somewhat loudly, and I couldn't help thinking that perrhaps my own German accent sounds a bit like his. I don't really know.
He was a fairly big man, so his voice was fitting. Big guy, big voice. A few minutes later I was startled from the magazine that I was reading with "Achoo achoo achoo!"
At first, I looked around, wondering if there was a baby hamster on board. The noise I had heard was very dinky and strange.
The man was pulling out his handkerchief, and I bit my tongue, refraining from making a rude comment out loud.
Way to go, Sneezy.
We arrived in Frankfurt soon after, and I bumped into an old Kumpel on the platform. He lives in Stuttgart and commutes to Frankfurt regularly; an old drinking buddy from the pub.
Later, I ran into another friend that I hadn't seen since the beginning of the new year, and we caught up over a few beers. A nice way to finish the day.
Well, the rest of the week has been pretty good. At the very least, I can be happy with the fact that I accept how things are.
Now, I have got to run off to the DVD shop and hopefully find something that will help me get the silly song out of my head.
Heigh-Ho, Heigh-Ho.
keep the faith
bryan
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