It's Thanksgiving morning! As part of my tradition, I wake up early, run around excitedly, then remember that no, I will not be gathering with the family in Dallas. I won't be sitting down to a big dinner and lounging around during the afternoon. There will not be any leftover turkey to use for sandwiches. I won't be doing any of that because it is not a public holiday in Germany.
No, I am not sad about missing out on the holiday, but I am sentimental, and a little envious. But, over the years that I have lived in Frankfurt, I have found other ways to celebrate one of my favorite holidays, albeit unconventionally.
Part of the joy that comes with this holiday is the buildup, specifically Thanksgiving Eve. I think it's one of my most favorite days of the year. Last evening, I enjoyed a few beers with friends before heading home to sit quietly on my balcony, thinking about all the things I have to be thankful for.
During my personal moments sitting outside listening to the quiet, I made a mental note to myself to catch up on all the posts that I have missed during the past month. And what better time to do it than now?
So, I will zip through some mini-posts, all of which have been waiting patiently in my head, just waiting for the fingers to start typing out the piece.
Where Was I 30 Years Ago?
I remember very clearly being at college when the Berlin Wall fell. It was a major moment in history, and I got caught up in all the excitement, thinking about all the changes that would impact so many people. My buddy Tim had a poster hanging in his dorm room, one showing all the revelers standing on top of the wall celebrating enthusiastically. At the time, I obviously did not know that some 18 years later, I would be living in Germany, meeting lots of people with first hand experience.
During my time in Germany, I have discussed the differences between the east and the west at length; I know quite a few folks that come from eastern Germany, and happen to have a couple of really close friends who were still children when the wall fell. Despite the stories that they have told me, I never quite grasped the significance.
For the past few weeks, I watched a German television series that follows two families living in East Berlin from the period of 1980 (when my friend was born) to 1990, months after the wall had fallen. In all, there were about 24 episodes, all about an hour long each. This was some pretty heavy drama, and gave me some additional insight to how it was to live under socialism. The series was enthralling, and knocked me off my routine of weekly blog posts. I simply had so many thoughts running around in my head, trying to get a better understanding of how it really was in East Germany at that time, particularly since people close to me had lived through those times.
I was a little disappointed with how the series ended (somewhat up in the air and definitely abrupt), but the more I thought about it during the following week, I realized that perhaps it was a fitting way for the series to end.
So, the fall of the Berlin Wall has really been on the brain during my month of November. By coincidence, I have been learning the music from the soundtrack of the exceptional film Good Bye Lenin! Twice, now, I have simply burst in to tears while sitting at the piano, partly because of the melancholic tunes, and partially because of the emotional story. Not surprisingly, I got a little weepy while watching the movie again last week.
I Have Been Doing Squats For the Past Two Months, so How Come I Cannot Find My Butt?
At the end of August, I decided to take part in a 30 Day Squat Challenge, where I would perform X reps of squats each day, increasing the daily number of reps for the next month. The first month went so well that I elected to start a second month challenge, this time increasing the weight. I do something called a Goblet Squat, where you hold a dumbbell in front of you as you perform the exercise. I am big fan of lifting weights, and have never had motivation problems, except for leg day. This was always a challenge for me, because, well, leg days just suck. Years ago, sitting outside on the patio of the pub, an acquaintance of mine made a smart ass remark about the size of my legs, and I took it personally. Matters weren't helped as a friend of mine was standing next to me, and she heard the whole exchange, and she has never let me forget about that day. It was funny.
Any rate, I got through month 2 of my squat challenge, and started month 3, again, with more weight. I admit that it has been a struggle getting through this third month, but I have done it. It's not as if I constantly check for results, but as I was getting out of the shower the other day, I glanced in the bathroom mirror and could not see my butt. After several thousand repetitions (the goal each month is to start at 50 reps per day and reach 250 after 30 days) I guess I had expected that my butt would be a little bigger.
It probably has do with the workload that I have experienced in the past three months. Indeed, I have been (erm, excuse the pun) working my ass off.
She is Unbelievably Pretty
Speaking of beauty, we all know how intimidated I can be with physical beauty. In my lifetime, I can honestly say that I have made great progress. Unlike 30 years ago (yep, when the wall fell), when I would find myself completely unable to say anything other than complete gibberish when coming into unlikely contact with a truly beautiful woman, I am now able to hold it together when someone like that is present. I hardly ever flop around helplessly on the floor now, and it has been a good two or three years since I tripped and fell flat on my face or inadvertently walked into a wall because some girl distracted me.
In recent years, I appreciate the finer, smaller points of beauty, not
only in people but in all things. For example, I might find see a
plus-sized woman (who might be considered overweight), but I notice how
her hairstyle suits her face. Or I notice how genuine someone's smile
is, regardless of their physical height. Or how one single line of a
melody stands out as a thing of beauty. Or how beautiful the sound of
silence can be.
However, I turned on the morning news the other week while on a business trip, and the moderatorin was so absolutely beautiful, I laughed out loud. It was ridiculous.
Minutes later I was still distracted by the girl on the television. I almost poked my eye out with my toothbrush as I tried to finish brushing my teeth.
Continuing Education at the Kiosk
Monday evenings this month have been delightful and informative. Early in the month, our discussion topic included a refresher course on all the names of the characters from Sesame Street. It was amazing that all of us immediately knew each character, despite our ages. We did have a moment where my German friends could not remember Big Bird's name, but eventually they got it right. (Bibo, if you need to know).
The following Monday we got to talking about the dangers of cycling in the city. One of the guys rides his bike downtown to work everyday, and a few months ago had purchased a kind of airbag helmet. This device collars around the neck and looks rather stylish, but upon impact, inflates and surrounds the head just like a helmet would.
It's fascinating technology, and my friend really likes it. The thing is, there is really no way to "try it out." The device, like any other airbag, has a one time use, then has to be sort of "reset" by the manufacturer, should an incident occur.
Danny has repeatedly declined to test his helmet out just for me to see how it works, so I have drafted an email to the beautiful tv news woman in Berlin, requesting that she show up at his work right when is riding up to the door. Maybe her appearance will distract him and cause him to drive into a wall and set off the airbag.
I will keep everyone posted on progress.
Creative Cooking
November has been a month of culinary delight, at least in my kitchen. I discovered that my little smoothie blender is not up to the task of pureeing sweet potatoes, but I got there in the end.
On that same evening, I found out what brocclini is. Where the hell have I been all this time?
Sweet potatoes and baby broccoli aside, I did take pride in perfecting my technique for shredding chicken. No air bag required.
The Contrast of Accents While Speaking a Foreign Language
I continue to be a little sensitive to the accent I have when speaking German. Although I speak the language pretty well, the accent is still very noticeable. For everyone but me. Okay, sometimes I do notice when I get lazy in pronunciation, particularly with vowels (and umlauts), but even though I listen to a lot more German language broadcasts, my accent still remains quite strong.
Sometimes I get positive feedback (like, "Hey, you have a charming accent,") but mostly, by initial introductions, I get startled looks, or at the very least, the immediate question/acknowledgement that I am not a native speaker.
Most of the time, it does not bother me, but I am aware that I seem to have an accent. Last weekend, I was eating in a restaurant with 2 other English native speakers, both of which speak German fluently. I seem to notice that they have an accent, also, but maybe not quite as strong as mine.
Like always, when the three of us are together, we speak in English with each other, then switch immediately to German when speaking with the waitstaff. I have noticed through the years that this creates a little confusion for some staff in some restaurants, but I think it mostly has to do with their surprise that we are able to speak German in the first place; all too often many ex-pats, particularly in Frankfurt, only speak English, which is never a problem for most German natives, as they all tend to have a good grasp of English themselves.
What made last Saturday night a little interesting is that upon our arrival at the table, I gave our drink order to the waitress, who I noticed was not a German native herself. I had not looked at the menu yet, but said restaurant differentiated between a margarita classic and a frozen margarita. Normally, I consider a "classic" margarita to be one with a mid-range tequila and served either frozen or on the rocks. I had not see the selection of frozen margaritas in the menu, so I kept trying to order a classic frozen margarita, which confused the waitress.
Eventually the drinks came and were correct, but I thought, maybe I should speak Spanish with the girl, as that might make things easier. My friends placed their food order in German, then I gave my order in Spanish. Well, the girl's face lit up and she exclaimed, "Wow, what part of Spain do you come from?"
Of course I had to explain where I came from and how I knew Spanish, but I was really flattered by how she thought I was actually a Spaniard, instead of simply a guiri.
Through the rest of the weekend, I wondered about how it can be that I seem to speak Spanish almost accent free (if anything, I sound like I am from Madrid), even though I do not speak the language all that frequently. Meanwhile, my accent while speaking German has not diminished.
No need to dwell on it. I am just thankful I can actually do the two languages.
And finally, I come to my last little tale for this post. With all the heavy East German drama I have watched during the month, I felt the need for something a little lighter. Fortunately for me, one of the German broadcasters started showing some original version episodes of a British television series, "Poirot," obviously a series about the famous detective.
The original series was broadcast from 1989 (yes, the same year as the wall fell), but somehow I missed the series when it was broadcast on PBS in the states. What an enjoyable hour of television. True, I am a big Agatha Christie fan, and I am really enjoying each week when the German broadcaster puts an episode out for viewing. I was delighted further when suddenly an episode of "Marple" was available each week, too.
Thus, every Friday this month I have had a date on my couch to watch a few hours of delightful British mystery. And, on the first Friday of the month when I picked up a pizza for dinner, it just seems right to keep right on with the routine. The little brick oven pizzeria down my street is perfect and speedy.
So, yes, I already know how I am going to spend my Black Friday. And I am thankful for it.
see you out there
bryan
Thursday, November 28, 2019
Sunday, November 10, 2019
Just Another Week Learning About Culture Shock and Language
Forgive the title of this post; I couldn't come up with anything more descriptive that would help capture the events of the week. I blame it on television, at least from the stuff I happened to watch this past week.
The week started off okay for me. Although I was looking forward to another visit to Flensburg, I was feeling a little apprehensive about the meeting with the customer, as well as some members of the supply chain company. I was prepared for the meeting based on the agenda topics that my customer had sent out, but my experience with them usually involves a few surprises. Furthermore, my direct counterpart at the repair site was going to be out of the office until late Wednesday, leaving us almost no time to make quick last minute preparations before our face to face meeting (with all parties) on Thursday.
My Chinese customers and supply chain folks had all wanted to meet earlier in the week, but, due to the scheduling conflicts, I had to mandate that we could ONLY visit the site on Thursday, once my counterpart was back in house. The customer hadn't accepted my plea to postpone the meeting for one week, which would have allowed us a bit more time for preparations.
I, myself, was not altogether clear on when I would need to be in Flensburg, since the customer was being rather vague about when he would be arriving there. Finally, I made one last firm statement that indicated that I would travel to Flensburg on Wednesday, arriving mid to late afternoon, and that we would all convene on Thursday morning. I sent that email out on Monday afternoon, only to find out the following morning that the Chinese were already gathered in Flensburg, but at least not on site at my repair partner.
One of the elements of my job involves the coordination of such visits, and each time I have met with this customer, it has been way more complicated to do the actual coordinating, since they never seem to communicate their own plans, except for five seconds before they actually do something.
Yes, it may sound like I was overcomplicating matters and getting worked up for nothing, but there is a certain amount of etiquette that we try to follow in the repair service business, and a big point, here, involves site visits. A repair site normally has a lot of operational things going on (as one might imagine), so it is not as if they are sitting around waiting on someone to visit them. When I worked in a repair center, we always wanted our customers to come visit, but with sufficient notice so that we could plan and arrange things accordingly.
Like I said, our customer has a tendency to start doing whatever they feel like doing, including popping up unannounced at a place of business. They tend to show their dissatisfaction when you open the door with surprise, and are never patient when you scramble around trying to accommodate them.
It's right up there with how you feel when, as you are hosting a party, the first guest shows up 3 hours before the time stated on the invitation.
At any rate, Tuesday evening, I headed over the pub for a couple of beers and a little friendly company before starting my journey the following morning to Flensburg, where I would spend the rest of the week.
Tuesday night was enjoyable as I celebrated a friend's birthday one day early. I had one beer too many, but woke up ready to dash to the train station Wednesday morning. The train ride calmed me down, and I arrived mid-afternoon to my hotel in Flensburg, and found that my room was not quite yet ready for check-in.
I had a coffee from the little place next door to the hotel, and sent a proper Happy Birthday message to my friend and also to Chris and Lori, whose youngest daughter was also celebrating her birthday.
Finally, the girl at the reception desk told me my room was ready, and I took my card key and went to my room, where I found myself feeling a little deflated. I had stayed in a different hotel during my last visit, and while the current hotel was OK, it was a far cry from my previous experience.
I didn't want to be snooty, but the last hotel had been incredible, and the current one, which I had to book because the other had no vacancies, just paled in comparison. It was a little irritating because the room rates were pretty similar, and now I was having to settle for less.
Things started getting a little surreal when I turned on the television, only to find an episode of Hogan's Heroes showing, obviously in German language. I actually stopped unpacking for a moment, just to allow myself a moment to comprehend. Those familiar with this sitcom from the 1960s know full well what the show is about, and I found it really strange that such a show would be showing in Germany.
I watched a further couple of minutes in amusement before switching over to a news channel. I had no real interest in watching TV, but was just settling in the room and logging on to my computer. I wanted to catch up on a few emails before the end of the work day, as well as go over my preparations for the following day's meeting.
Fortunately, I got to speak with my counterpart for a few minutes; he had just arrived back to Flensburg himself. We felt like we were ready for the following day, despite any surprises the customer might bring along. And, immediately after we hung up, the customer texted me to confirm the meeting time for the next morning, then went on to text 5 or 6 other questions. I responded with a short text expressing my interest in speaking via telephone; it would be easier than having to wear out my thumbs trying to type the answers.
After 30 minutes, the guy did not respond, so I decided I would head out for something to eat. Just as I walked downstairs, a simple "see you tomorrow at 9am" text came through, and I just left it at that. If he did not want to speak directly, so be it. If texting is the preferred method of communication, then why in the hell did I just spend most of the day traveling?
I felt like a hamburger for dinner, and found a little cafe on the high street. The evening was rainy and a little cold (typical Flensburg), but I just wanted some quiet time. The meal was adequate, but not overwhelming, and again I thought of the super meals I had eaten during my last visit. Na ja.
Back in the hotel room, it was still too early for bed, but I was tired, so surfed through the channels looking for something to distract me until I fell asleep, and this is why I found myself watching Avatar in German language.
"Wow, first Hogan's Heroes, now Avatar, and this only days after I watched Braveheart," I thought to myself. The two epic movies obviously share some exciting rallying of the warriors prior to the battles that serve as the climactic points to the stories, and even the following morning as I finished my shower, I kind of said "Freiheit!" to myself, perhaps as a way of mentally preparing for my day.
And what a day it was.
We spent the next 8 hours discussing all of the points from our agenda, and I considered it to be semi-productive. As always, I was discouraged that the reactions (or lack their of) from the supply chain folks did not show their understanding of the challenges that their lack of performance were making. Multiple times throughout the day, I wondered if I was actually on another planet, as the words I kept saying, words I thought were from my mother tongue, were just not being understood.
Was it me? Was it my pronunciation? Was it my way of communicating? Or, did my audience simply not understand the topic we were discussing? The supply chain folks, since our repair program has started, have repeatedly failed to comprehend the task at hand. For example, they tend to only supply a minimal amount of materials, which results in my repair partner being unable to complete the repairs of the units they are trying to fix.
I won't go into a lot of detail, since the business isn't the most exciting, but to put it in layman's terms, we are constantly facing shortages of materials that are incredibly important, despite their low value.
Ask yourself this: would you ever start baking a cake or cookies at home without first making sure you had all the ingredients? It is not as if you put all the ingredients in the mixing bowl, start zipping along, then go, "hey, I don't have any sugar!"
During our visit to the repair site materials warehouse, we experienced a perfect example of where things were not functioning as we needed. One of the materials handlers held up a little plastic bag with ONE small label inside.
This label would normally be used to print (or reprint) a serial number, which would then be put onto a major component. The problem is, the label has to be put into a printer, a printer that requires a whole ROLL of labels.
I was just getting ready to (with some level of exasperation) ask our guests if they normally went to the grocery store to buy ONE SQUARE of toilet paper when I realized that they were experiencing a light bulb moment. Finally, it was dawning on them what our problem was: they were not sending us enough materials, and certain materials are needed in really large quantities.
We did manage to get through all the topics by end of day, and I was feeling exhausted as we brought the meeting to an end, but thankful that the next morning I could return home to the sanity of my own flat in Frankfurt.
Surprisingly, the supply chain folks invited us to dinner, and we all went off to a local brewery for a couple of beers, some good food, and what turned out to be some enjoyable lighthearted conversation. With respect to my customer and the supply chain team, who all have many many things going on presently, I had constantly felt frustrated with their approach to things. The Chinese customer had spent at least half the day with a phone to his ear, participating in other calls or meetings. Clearly he was only able to focus on a small percentage of the topics. Likewise, the supply chain folks seemed overly intent on doing everything manually as opposed to systematically; a method that only creates more work for everyone else. Additionally, they had not understood a lot of what had been said out loud, at least not without some extra clarification.
Now, I am not commenting on language ability. I fully understand the challenges and anxiety that come with having to conduct affairs in a foreign language. It can be scary, and not everyone likes the uncomfortable feeling of having to speak, especially when they lack confidence.
I like the challenges of having to bridge the communication gaps, but really get bogged down when it is clear that all parties do not understand the actual subject. My frustrations were related to the fact that the supply chain folks, who are supposed to be the experts, were not able to demonstrate that they knew what they were doing.
But, after a few beers, we were all laughing and smiling with each other, and as I enjoyed myself, I hoped that the relationship will continue to develop, hopefully quickly, so that we can all become a bit more efficient working together. I hoped (to myself) that in the coming days and weeks, the customer will stop sending texts or emails at all hours of the day and night, and instead start sending more concrete communications.
Only time will tell, and until then, I will find a way to make it all work.
see you out there
bryan
The week started off okay for me. Although I was looking forward to another visit to Flensburg, I was feeling a little apprehensive about the meeting with the customer, as well as some members of the supply chain company. I was prepared for the meeting based on the agenda topics that my customer had sent out, but my experience with them usually involves a few surprises. Furthermore, my direct counterpart at the repair site was going to be out of the office until late Wednesday, leaving us almost no time to make quick last minute preparations before our face to face meeting (with all parties) on Thursday.
My Chinese customers and supply chain folks had all wanted to meet earlier in the week, but, due to the scheduling conflicts, I had to mandate that we could ONLY visit the site on Thursday, once my counterpart was back in house. The customer hadn't accepted my plea to postpone the meeting for one week, which would have allowed us a bit more time for preparations.
I, myself, was not altogether clear on when I would need to be in Flensburg, since the customer was being rather vague about when he would be arriving there. Finally, I made one last firm statement that indicated that I would travel to Flensburg on Wednesday, arriving mid to late afternoon, and that we would all convene on Thursday morning. I sent that email out on Monday afternoon, only to find out the following morning that the Chinese were already gathered in Flensburg, but at least not on site at my repair partner.
One of the elements of my job involves the coordination of such visits, and each time I have met with this customer, it has been way more complicated to do the actual coordinating, since they never seem to communicate their own plans, except for five seconds before they actually do something.
Yes, it may sound like I was overcomplicating matters and getting worked up for nothing, but there is a certain amount of etiquette that we try to follow in the repair service business, and a big point, here, involves site visits. A repair site normally has a lot of operational things going on (as one might imagine), so it is not as if they are sitting around waiting on someone to visit them. When I worked in a repair center, we always wanted our customers to come visit, but with sufficient notice so that we could plan and arrange things accordingly.
Like I said, our customer has a tendency to start doing whatever they feel like doing, including popping up unannounced at a place of business. They tend to show their dissatisfaction when you open the door with surprise, and are never patient when you scramble around trying to accommodate them.
It's right up there with how you feel when, as you are hosting a party, the first guest shows up 3 hours before the time stated on the invitation.
At any rate, Tuesday evening, I headed over the pub for a couple of beers and a little friendly company before starting my journey the following morning to Flensburg, where I would spend the rest of the week.
Tuesday night was enjoyable as I celebrated a friend's birthday one day early. I had one beer too many, but woke up ready to dash to the train station Wednesday morning. The train ride calmed me down, and I arrived mid-afternoon to my hotel in Flensburg, and found that my room was not quite yet ready for check-in.
I had a coffee from the little place next door to the hotel, and sent a proper Happy Birthday message to my friend and also to Chris and Lori, whose youngest daughter was also celebrating her birthday.
Finally, the girl at the reception desk told me my room was ready, and I took my card key and went to my room, where I found myself feeling a little deflated. I had stayed in a different hotel during my last visit, and while the current hotel was OK, it was a far cry from my previous experience.
I didn't want to be snooty, but the last hotel had been incredible, and the current one, which I had to book because the other had no vacancies, just paled in comparison. It was a little irritating because the room rates were pretty similar, and now I was having to settle for less.
Things started getting a little surreal when I turned on the television, only to find an episode of Hogan's Heroes showing, obviously in German language. I actually stopped unpacking for a moment, just to allow myself a moment to comprehend. Those familiar with this sitcom from the 1960s know full well what the show is about, and I found it really strange that such a show would be showing in Germany.
I watched a further couple of minutes in amusement before switching over to a news channel. I had no real interest in watching TV, but was just settling in the room and logging on to my computer. I wanted to catch up on a few emails before the end of the work day, as well as go over my preparations for the following day's meeting.
Fortunately, I got to speak with my counterpart for a few minutes; he had just arrived back to Flensburg himself. We felt like we were ready for the following day, despite any surprises the customer might bring along. And, immediately after we hung up, the customer texted me to confirm the meeting time for the next morning, then went on to text 5 or 6 other questions. I responded with a short text expressing my interest in speaking via telephone; it would be easier than having to wear out my thumbs trying to type the answers.
After 30 minutes, the guy did not respond, so I decided I would head out for something to eat. Just as I walked downstairs, a simple "see you tomorrow at 9am" text came through, and I just left it at that. If he did not want to speak directly, so be it. If texting is the preferred method of communication, then why in the hell did I just spend most of the day traveling?
I felt like a hamburger for dinner, and found a little cafe on the high street. The evening was rainy and a little cold (typical Flensburg), but I just wanted some quiet time. The meal was adequate, but not overwhelming, and again I thought of the super meals I had eaten during my last visit. Na ja.
Back in the hotel room, it was still too early for bed, but I was tired, so surfed through the channels looking for something to distract me until I fell asleep, and this is why I found myself watching Avatar in German language.
"Wow, first Hogan's Heroes, now Avatar, and this only days after I watched Braveheart," I thought to myself. The two epic movies obviously share some exciting rallying of the warriors prior to the battles that serve as the climactic points to the stories, and even the following morning as I finished my shower, I kind of said "Freiheit!" to myself, perhaps as a way of mentally preparing for my day.
And what a day it was.
We spent the next 8 hours discussing all of the points from our agenda, and I considered it to be semi-productive. As always, I was discouraged that the reactions (or lack their of) from the supply chain folks did not show their understanding of the challenges that their lack of performance were making. Multiple times throughout the day, I wondered if I was actually on another planet, as the words I kept saying, words I thought were from my mother tongue, were just not being understood.
Was it me? Was it my pronunciation? Was it my way of communicating? Or, did my audience simply not understand the topic we were discussing? The supply chain folks, since our repair program has started, have repeatedly failed to comprehend the task at hand. For example, they tend to only supply a minimal amount of materials, which results in my repair partner being unable to complete the repairs of the units they are trying to fix.
I won't go into a lot of detail, since the business isn't the most exciting, but to put it in layman's terms, we are constantly facing shortages of materials that are incredibly important, despite their low value.
Ask yourself this: would you ever start baking a cake or cookies at home without first making sure you had all the ingredients? It is not as if you put all the ingredients in the mixing bowl, start zipping along, then go, "hey, I don't have any sugar!"
During our visit to the repair site materials warehouse, we experienced a perfect example of where things were not functioning as we needed. One of the materials handlers held up a little plastic bag with ONE small label inside.
This label would normally be used to print (or reprint) a serial number, which would then be put onto a major component. The problem is, the label has to be put into a printer, a printer that requires a whole ROLL of labels.
I was just getting ready to (with some level of exasperation) ask our guests if they normally went to the grocery store to buy ONE SQUARE of toilet paper when I realized that they were experiencing a light bulb moment. Finally, it was dawning on them what our problem was: they were not sending us enough materials, and certain materials are needed in really large quantities.
We did manage to get through all the topics by end of day, and I was feeling exhausted as we brought the meeting to an end, but thankful that the next morning I could return home to the sanity of my own flat in Frankfurt.
Surprisingly, the supply chain folks invited us to dinner, and we all went off to a local brewery for a couple of beers, some good food, and what turned out to be some enjoyable lighthearted conversation. With respect to my customer and the supply chain team, who all have many many things going on presently, I had constantly felt frustrated with their approach to things. The Chinese customer had spent at least half the day with a phone to his ear, participating in other calls or meetings. Clearly he was only able to focus on a small percentage of the topics. Likewise, the supply chain folks seemed overly intent on doing everything manually as opposed to systematically; a method that only creates more work for everyone else. Additionally, they had not understood a lot of what had been said out loud, at least not without some extra clarification.
Now, I am not commenting on language ability. I fully understand the challenges and anxiety that come with having to conduct affairs in a foreign language. It can be scary, and not everyone likes the uncomfortable feeling of having to speak, especially when they lack confidence.
I like the challenges of having to bridge the communication gaps, but really get bogged down when it is clear that all parties do not understand the actual subject. My frustrations were related to the fact that the supply chain folks, who are supposed to be the experts, were not able to demonstrate that they knew what they were doing.
But, after a few beers, we were all laughing and smiling with each other, and as I enjoyed myself, I hoped that the relationship will continue to develop, hopefully quickly, so that we can all become a bit more efficient working together. I hoped (to myself) that in the coming days and weeks, the customer will stop sending texts or emails at all hours of the day and night, and instead start sending more concrete communications.
Only time will tell, and until then, I will find a way to make it all work.
see you out there
bryan
Saturday, November 02, 2019
I Only Watched for the Scenery!
Yes, I admit it. Several times during the last couple of weeks I have simply lounged on the sofa and watched a few (erm, perhaps more than a few) made for TV films, all of which are put into the romantic film category.
Part of this came about because I seem to have run out of intense crime shows (in German language) to watch that are more like a mini-series instead of a longer running series, something with 30 plus episodes per season. I much prefer a full feature film that I can start and finish in the same sitting. ER was the probably the last series that I watched regularly with any real interest, and that was 25 years ago.
Anyway, I was browsing through the German broadcasting apps, and found the section Herzkino, where I noticed that there were a few movies that took place in Sweden. I thought, "I like the detective films set in Sweden a lot, so let's see what the less violent films are like?" Part of the attraction for me is the scenery, and Sweden is a rather beautiful country. You can make a similar comparison to the popular English show "Midsomer Murders," where people (like my parents) love watching the program because of the scenic country villages where the show is set. There is something about the contrast between the picturesque setting and the fact that the murder rate is approximately 400%.
The thing about crime series is that they can be pretty gripping, but as much as I like them, I do need to watch something lighter from time to time. And romance movies set in Sweden just seemed like the right option.
I will ask for your forgiveness, since some of this is a little new to me, so I may comment on it with a bit of naivety.
Indeed, the scenery in these films is beautiful. In fact, everything is pretty much as perfect as you can imagine. All the characters are good looking and wealthy. In the unlikely event that there trash in any of the scenes, it, too, is quite pretty. Likewise, the starving artists tend to earn more than six figures in annual salary, and come to that, all of the successful business people don't seem to have to work but 30 minutes per day. In one of the films, the young female doctor moved to the countryside to work as local village practitioner, and she spent almost as much time having cake and coffee with the patients as she spent treating them. In another episode, a ballerina who's career ended prematurely due to injury quickly launched an interior decorating shop in a small village, and although she did receive the odd client, she mostly helped a choreographer with his upcoming dance show.
The problems (that are used to develop the inciting incident and lead to the climax in the plot line) are extremely light, but overly dramatic. I had expected this, but was still a little surprised. The country doctor was in a real pickle because she wasn't getting enough "likes" on her practice's satisfaction survey. The dancer inadvertently fell in love with the choreographer, who happened to be unknown son of her husband. It's all about plausibility, of course.
Well, it was a way of spending a quiet evening at home. A couple of days later, I decided to see what else might be on offer, and this time found a few romantic films set in the southwest region of England, in Cornwall. Again, the characters were overly attractive, extremely rich (one out of work fisherman was driving a brand new Land Rover) and the plots were just as drippy as they were in Sweden.
One of the things that made these films a little more interesting (in a "what the hell?" sort of way) is that all of the characters had English names. This is totally understandable, as the setting was in England, but the fact that it was a German production sort of made this unusual. In one movie, the beautiful young attorney returns to her home village, where her family ran a generations old fishing company. The name of her law office was something so incredibly English, it was almost ridiculous, especially listening to all the German pronunciation. All the dialog is obviously in German, but whenever anyone says an English word (company name, newspaper title, or whatever), one notices the accent. (if you must know, the office was called Higgenboot, Scodley, and Nudson)
Again, the plots were a good ways away from plausible, but I couldn't bring myself to stop watching; somehow I just wanted to see what would happen to make everything a happy ending. My patience was tried, however, when the young lawyer somehow believed what someone told her, even though just 5 minutes before she had clearly stated "I never believe what he says." She went on to drive down the coast in her cute little cabrio in a huff, throw the expensive silver necklace that her lover had just given her into the grass at the side of the road, then, during the final moments of the movie as she made up with her lover, she told him that he would need to buy her a new necklace.
The second movie I watched that night was slightly more plausible, but almost a little too close for comfort. The story revolved around an exceptionally attractive 30 year old (gee, really?) who was in a relationship with someone 30 years older. Where the plausibility waned is that this good looking woman had a best friend who was equally good looking, and she, too, was in a relationship with a man twice her age.
I am deliberately not making any comment about the morality of these stories. It would only derail the plot. There is always going to be a young woman who has to have an affair with the charming surfer. The fact that said surfer is also a nuclear physicist only makes the ending to the story all the happier.
However, late in the week as I was back flushing my espresso machine and cleaning and seasoning my iron skillet (try doing that in a romance movie) I did reflect on one of the other films I had seen. A wedding planner was happily organizing a wedding for a young couple who were excitedly preparing for their dream wedding. Then, it came to light that, due to a one night stand that her mother had had, the bride-to-be daughter was actually the sister of her fiancee. I actually laughed out loud at that.
Sigh.
Thank goodness it's the weekend. Tonight I plan to move away from all the fantasy from the week and get back down to earth. What film, you ask?
"Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulain."
It's just so real.
see you out there
bryan
Part of this came about because I seem to have run out of intense crime shows (in German language) to watch that are more like a mini-series instead of a longer running series, something with 30 plus episodes per season. I much prefer a full feature film that I can start and finish in the same sitting. ER was the probably the last series that I watched regularly with any real interest, and that was 25 years ago.
Anyway, I was browsing through the German broadcasting apps, and found the section Herzkino, where I noticed that there were a few movies that took place in Sweden. I thought, "I like the detective films set in Sweden a lot, so let's see what the less violent films are like?" Part of the attraction for me is the scenery, and Sweden is a rather beautiful country. You can make a similar comparison to the popular English show "Midsomer Murders," where people (like my parents) love watching the program because of the scenic country villages where the show is set. There is something about the contrast between the picturesque setting and the fact that the murder rate is approximately 400%.
The thing about crime series is that they can be pretty gripping, but as much as I like them, I do need to watch something lighter from time to time. And romance movies set in Sweden just seemed like the right option.
I will ask for your forgiveness, since some of this is a little new to me, so I may comment on it with a bit of naivety.
Indeed, the scenery in these films is beautiful. In fact, everything is pretty much as perfect as you can imagine. All the characters are good looking and wealthy. In the unlikely event that there trash in any of the scenes, it, too, is quite pretty. Likewise, the starving artists tend to earn more than six figures in annual salary, and come to that, all of the successful business people don't seem to have to work but 30 minutes per day. In one of the films, the young female doctor moved to the countryside to work as local village practitioner, and she spent almost as much time having cake and coffee with the patients as she spent treating them. In another episode, a ballerina who's career ended prematurely due to injury quickly launched an interior decorating shop in a small village, and although she did receive the odd client, she mostly helped a choreographer with his upcoming dance show.
The problems (that are used to develop the inciting incident and lead to the climax in the plot line) are extremely light, but overly dramatic. I had expected this, but was still a little surprised. The country doctor was in a real pickle because she wasn't getting enough "likes" on her practice's satisfaction survey. The dancer inadvertently fell in love with the choreographer, who happened to be unknown son of her husband. It's all about plausibility, of course.
Well, it was a way of spending a quiet evening at home. A couple of days later, I decided to see what else might be on offer, and this time found a few romantic films set in the southwest region of England, in Cornwall. Again, the characters were overly attractive, extremely rich (one out of work fisherman was driving a brand new Land Rover) and the plots were just as drippy as they were in Sweden.
One of the things that made these films a little more interesting (in a "what the hell?" sort of way) is that all of the characters had English names. This is totally understandable, as the setting was in England, but the fact that it was a German production sort of made this unusual. In one movie, the beautiful young attorney returns to her home village, where her family ran a generations old fishing company. The name of her law office was something so incredibly English, it was almost ridiculous, especially listening to all the German pronunciation. All the dialog is obviously in German, but whenever anyone says an English word (company name, newspaper title, or whatever), one notices the accent. (if you must know, the office was called Higgenboot, Scodley, and Nudson)
Again, the plots were a good ways away from plausible, but I couldn't bring myself to stop watching; somehow I just wanted to see what would happen to make everything a happy ending. My patience was tried, however, when the young lawyer somehow believed what someone told her, even though just 5 minutes before she had clearly stated "I never believe what he says." She went on to drive down the coast in her cute little cabrio in a huff, throw the expensive silver necklace that her lover had just given her into the grass at the side of the road, then, during the final moments of the movie as she made up with her lover, she told him that he would need to buy her a new necklace.
The second movie I watched that night was slightly more plausible, but almost a little too close for comfort. The story revolved around an exceptionally attractive 30 year old (gee, really?) who was in a relationship with someone 30 years older. Where the plausibility waned is that this good looking woman had a best friend who was equally good looking, and she, too, was in a relationship with a man twice her age.
I am deliberately not making any comment about the morality of these stories. It would only derail the plot. There is always going to be a young woman who has to have an affair with the charming surfer. The fact that said surfer is also a nuclear physicist only makes the ending to the story all the happier.
However, late in the week as I was back flushing my espresso machine and cleaning and seasoning my iron skillet (try doing that in a romance movie) I did reflect on one of the other films I had seen. A wedding planner was happily organizing a wedding for a young couple who were excitedly preparing for their dream wedding. Then, it came to light that, due to a one night stand that her mother had had, the bride-to-be daughter was actually the sister of her fiancee. I actually laughed out loud at that.
Sigh.
Thank goodness it's the weekend. Tonight I plan to move away from all the fantasy from the week and get back down to earth. What film, you ask?
"Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulain."
It's just so real.
see you out there
bryan
Sunday, October 27, 2019
Sleeplessness and Size
Last night we set our clocks back by an hour as part of Daylight Saving, known as Sommerzeit in Germany. The last Sunday in October marks the Ende der Sommerzeit, and obviously the hour is moved back by one hour so that we go back to Normalzeit.
As a child we learned the little reminder "spring forward, fall back," as a way to make sure we did not adjust the clocks incorrectly. I like the autumn and winter months very much, and I quite like it when it gets darker earlier, so kind of look forward to this change. Of course, this is my own preference, as I know that many others much prefer longer days when it stays light longer.
Despite my fondness for autumn and winter, I have noticed over the past years is that in the weeks leading up to the time change, I don't seem to sleep as well; I experience lots of restlessness and generally do not feel particularly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I have always assumed (and still do, to an extent) that this is just a normal part of the body cycle, and that as I got myself physically and mentally adjusted, then things go back to, erm, normal. I think normal is somewhat relative, here, since what the hell is really normal? Everyone's definition seems to vary to some degree.
With my work excitement increase in recent weeks, I also have quite a bit on my mind at any given time. This already has created some restlessness nights, but for the most part, I have done really well at finding ways to calm myself down and allow for my thoughts to slow down enough so that I can sleep. There have been a couple of exceptions, however.
Just a couple of weeks ago during my trip to Flensburg, I was comfortably (so I thought) drifting off to sleep in the cozy bed when suddenly I was thinking about my next visit stateside, about 2 months away. The thoughts I was having were positive and happy; I was thinking about Tex-Mex places I wanted to visit, people that I would see, places that I would go. (sadly, I now have to strike Preston-Royal shopping center off the list, due to the recent tornado activity in Dallas)
I always look forward to such visits, and, not unlike a child looking forward to Christmas Day ("only 2 more sleeps til Christmas Eve!"), I become giddy. But some 72 days before boarding the plane?
"Only 72 more sleeps til Dallas!" just seems a bit overeager to me, though I am starting to mark the days on the calendar.
My issue that evening was more like, "Why, tonight, of all nights, am I suddenly lying wide awake in bed thinking about these things?" when I really needed my body and mind to rest so that I could get through the remaining challenging meetings with my customer.
I am grateful that they were happy thoughts of anticipation instead of anxious thoughts and questions about work, finances, or other topics that can easily turn dark and scary. That following morning as I had a quick espresso before heading to the meeting, I kind of laughed as I thought, "Did I really need to think about what I would be wearing on the airplane in two months' time?"
This past week, I had another similar experience where I was unable to fall asleep, and found myself contemplating the elements of size. Again, I am quite thankful that the thoughts were not so disturbing, but I was a little perplexed as to why, at 2h30 in the morning, was I thinking about this? I would have much preferred to think about these things outside of my sleep time, despite the interest I was having with the topic.
Let me be clear: it was not as if I was looking for answers to these questions, but the questions just started popping up.
Packets of cigarettes for example. I normally buy a pack of 20 from my local kiosk, and when making this request, I specify the price of the packet, in this case, 7 euro. (nope, this is NOT the time for non-smokers to start commenting on the price of tobacco products). Thus, I might say, "Ein Päckchen für 7 Euro, bitte," to the person at the counter.
At the grocery store, they have a little automated machine which shows the brand, but then shows a little size. Thus, they have Marlboro, Marboro XL. Marlboro XXL. One can very quickly work out that the XL or XXL boxes would be more expensive, but how did we get to this point of using XL, etc to denote the size of the cigarette box?
During the week I was in Flensburg (dreaming about Dallas), I had stopped in a little shop to purchase cigarettes an actually saw the complexity in action. I tried to request a pack for 7 euro, only to find that they were sold out of not only the 7 euro, but also the 8 euro and 9 euro. They did have packs for 10 euro still available, which I discovered happen to be size XXXL. Such size amounts to almost 2 packs of cigarettes, based on my historic experience.
Years ago when I started smoking, they really only had one size - a packet of 20.
I do remember at some point they started offering a "big pack," which contained 25.
At any rate, the cost does not really matter, but I am looking mostly only for the packet which contains 20 cigarettes and costs 7 euro. All the other boxes are larger and don't fit so well in my pockets.
From tobacco product sizes, I moved on to coffee and drink sizes, which alone accounted for 45 minutes of my wide-awakeness. Thirty years ago, I regularly visited my local convenience stores for either a soda or a coffee. Although 7-11 was the main place, I also frequented a place called Stop N Go. Stop N Go sold something called a Stop N Go mug, which was basically a thermos that held 32 ounces of beverage, either hot or cold. It had a handle on it, so was particularly convenient when I was out and about. I actually used this mug during my time at college; it proved particularly beneficial for those days that I felt like having a mixed drink at the football game on campus (where alcohol was prohibited), or when I was at a party and didn't feel like using one of the dinky 12 oz solo cups.
The mug also proved useful for filling up on ice and water before going to tennis practice, and certainly for all the late nights where I needed unlimited amounts of coffee. The mug was ideal for keeping beverages cold or hot.
In those days, I did tend to drink a lot of soda. Because my parents did not allow us to have soft drinks at home, I looked forward to any opportunity I got to have a coke or Dr. Pepper, or whatever. In college, I was free to drink as much soda as I wanted to, and this included me regularly walking around campus with a 2 liter bottle of soda in tow. My logic was that I could get the 2l bottle at the super market for about the same price as a can of soda from the vending machine.
Yes, it was a crazy time (hopped up on soda), but I quickly lost my taste for cokes, thank goodness.
At the shop I worked at for the first couple of years after college, there was a 7-11 directly across the street. I was no longer interested in the big gulp or super big gulp cup sizes that were on offer for soft drinks, but I did drink a lot of their brewed coffee. We made frequent coffee runs in between customers, and I tended to enjoy the 20oz cup of brewed coffee. The quality was not fantastic, but the price was right, and these were days when I was still drinking drip coffee. But I always stuck with the 20oz size.
A couple of years later I moved on to espresso based coffee, lots of lattes and caps, but a fair amount of espresso as well. Because this was still kind of a new concept for north Texans, the options were few and far between, and until Starbucks came on the scene, you really could not get any kind of espresso coffee. I spent a lot of money in those stores over the next 10 years before moving out of the country, and while I do give them credit for helping to develop the coffee consuming market, I did become more and more dismayed as it became harder and harder to get an espresso or double; all the serving cups were for Grande, Venti, and even bigger. Even now, when I do make a brief visit to a Starbucks during a stateside visit, the staff tend to look at me with surprise when I try and order a "tall." After all, I didn't want to have a latte with a full glass of milk, but rather an espresso with a bit of milk...
The gradual (or is it explosive) increase in consumption we have experienced over the years certainly has led to a change in the way we look at sizes. And as I continued to lie away in my bed thinking about size, I started thinking about clothing sizes.
When I was a senior in high school, I tended to wear shirts sized XL. Back then, I think we all liked looser fitting clothing, and I usually wore layers, a long sleeved shirt over a t-shirt. The long sleeved shirt wasn't what I would call baggy, but it was certainly was not snug. I had some buffalo plaid shirts from the Gap that I absolutely loved. They were roomy without looking like they were 2 sizes too big for you. Sure, there were always a few guys in school who were a bit more slender, and sometimes the style didn't fit them as well, as they looked like they were wearing a sail rather than a shirt.
However, eventually people bulk up, or the styles change. For me, it has been a combination. I still wear XL sized shirts, and although my height has not changed in 30 years, I did sort of bulk up for a decade or two, and have sort of maintained the same size for the past 10 years or so, not without some effort.
The thing is, is that during the 90s when everybody in the gym including myself was getting bulkier, it was still only the HUGE guys that were suddenly having to wear XXL clothing, and suddenly I noticed more XXL items in various clothing shops.
Fast forward another decade, and now we are seeing XXL as almost the norm, and XXL and even XXXL are regularly stocked in the various stores. Part of me is sitting here thinking, "Gee, maybe those will be sizes for cigarette boxes one day," and part of me is a little surprised that from time to time, the XL size is actually too big for me and that I now need a size L. (Wait, is that a tall or a Grande)
I do not shop for clothes too often, so maybe the size changes come more of a shock to me since I don't keep up with fashion trends as much. Instead, I just decide on what I like, and stick with it. Even then, I experience the odd challenge. Most recently a couple of years back, I bought a couple of sweaters at a boutique, liked them a lot, and decided the following year to return and purchase a couple more similar articles. On my second trip to the shop, I found that I was no longer an XL, but now an XXL. This contradicts with my statement in the above paragraph, and I think this is why I was lying in bed unable to sleep, since I was confused as shit as to what size I actually am.
If from one year to the next, I weigh 87 kilo with a height of 1,82m, purchase 20 count cigarette packs, and order short (formerly tall) Starbucks beverages, then I should probably be the same size, right?
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
As a child we learned the little reminder "spring forward, fall back," as a way to make sure we did not adjust the clocks incorrectly. I like the autumn and winter months very much, and I quite like it when it gets darker earlier, so kind of look forward to this change. Of course, this is my own preference, as I know that many others much prefer longer days when it stays light longer.
Despite my fondness for autumn and winter, I have noticed over the past years is that in the weeks leading up to the time change, I don't seem to sleep as well; I experience lots of restlessness and generally do not feel particularly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I have always assumed (and still do, to an extent) that this is just a normal part of the body cycle, and that as I got myself physically and mentally adjusted, then things go back to, erm, normal. I think normal is somewhat relative, here, since what the hell is really normal? Everyone's definition seems to vary to some degree.
With my work excitement increase in recent weeks, I also have quite a bit on my mind at any given time. This already has created some restlessness nights, but for the most part, I have done really well at finding ways to calm myself down and allow for my thoughts to slow down enough so that I can sleep. There have been a couple of exceptions, however.
Just a couple of weeks ago during my trip to Flensburg, I was comfortably (so I thought) drifting off to sleep in the cozy bed when suddenly I was thinking about my next visit stateside, about 2 months away. The thoughts I was having were positive and happy; I was thinking about Tex-Mex places I wanted to visit, people that I would see, places that I would go. (sadly, I now have to strike Preston-Royal shopping center off the list, due to the recent tornado activity in Dallas)
I always look forward to such visits, and, not unlike a child looking forward to Christmas Day ("only 2 more sleeps til Christmas Eve!"), I become giddy. But some 72 days before boarding the plane?
"Only 72 more sleeps til Dallas!" just seems a bit overeager to me, though I am starting to mark the days on the calendar.
My issue that evening was more like, "Why, tonight, of all nights, am I suddenly lying wide awake in bed thinking about these things?" when I really needed my body and mind to rest so that I could get through the remaining challenging meetings with my customer.
I am grateful that they were happy thoughts of anticipation instead of anxious thoughts and questions about work, finances, or other topics that can easily turn dark and scary. That following morning as I had a quick espresso before heading to the meeting, I kind of laughed as I thought, "Did I really need to think about what I would be wearing on the airplane in two months' time?"
This past week, I had another similar experience where I was unable to fall asleep, and found myself contemplating the elements of size. Again, I am quite thankful that the thoughts were not so disturbing, but I was a little perplexed as to why, at 2h30 in the morning, was I thinking about this? I would have much preferred to think about these things outside of my sleep time, despite the interest I was having with the topic.
Let me be clear: it was not as if I was looking for answers to these questions, but the questions just started popping up.
Packets of cigarettes for example. I normally buy a pack of 20 from my local kiosk, and when making this request, I specify the price of the packet, in this case, 7 euro. (nope, this is NOT the time for non-smokers to start commenting on the price of tobacco products). Thus, I might say, "Ein Päckchen für 7 Euro, bitte," to the person at the counter.
At the grocery store, they have a little automated machine which shows the brand, but then shows a little size. Thus, they have Marlboro, Marboro XL. Marlboro XXL. One can very quickly work out that the XL or XXL boxes would be more expensive, but how did we get to this point of using XL, etc to denote the size of the cigarette box?
During the week I was in Flensburg (dreaming about Dallas), I had stopped in a little shop to purchase cigarettes an actually saw the complexity in action. I tried to request a pack for 7 euro, only to find that they were sold out of not only the 7 euro, but also the 8 euro and 9 euro. They did have packs for 10 euro still available, which I discovered happen to be size XXXL. Such size amounts to almost 2 packs of cigarettes, based on my historic experience.
Years ago when I started smoking, they really only had one size - a packet of 20.
I do remember at some point they started offering a "big pack," which contained 25.
At any rate, the cost does not really matter, but I am looking mostly only for the packet which contains 20 cigarettes and costs 7 euro. All the other boxes are larger and don't fit so well in my pockets.
From tobacco product sizes, I moved on to coffee and drink sizes, which alone accounted for 45 minutes of my wide-awakeness. Thirty years ago, I regularly visited my local convenience stores for either a soda or a coffee. Although 7-11 was the main place, I also frequented a place called Stop N Go. Stop N Go sold something called a Stop N Go mug, which was basically a thermos that held 32 ounces of beverage, either hot or cold. It had a handle on it, so was particularly convenient when I was out and about. I actually used this mug during my time at college; it proved particularly beneficial for those days that I felt like having a mixed drink at the football game on campus (where alcohol was prohibited), or when I was at a party and didn't feel like using one of the dinky 12 oz solo cups.
The mug also proved useful for filling up on ice and water before going to tennis practice, and certainly for all the late nights where I needed unlimited amounts of coffee. The mug was ideal for keeping beverages cold or hot.
In those days, I did tend to drink a lot of soda. Because my parents did not allow us to have soft drinks at home, I looked forward to any opportunity I got to have a coke or Dr. Pepper, or whatever. In college, I was free to drink as much soda as I wanted to, and this included me regularly walking around campus with a 2 liter bottle of soda in tow. My logic was that I could get the 2l bottle at the super market for about the same price as a can of soda from the vending machine.
Yes, it was a crazy time (hopped up on soda), but I quickly lost my taste for cokes, thank goodness.
At the shop I worked at for the first couple of years after college, there was a 7-11 directly across the street. I was no longer interested in the big gulp or super big gulp cup sizes that were on offer for soft drinks, but I did drink a lot of their brewed coffee. We made frequent coffee runs in between customers, and I tended to enjoy the 20oz cup of brewed coffee. The quality was not fantastic, but the price was right, and these were days when I was still drinking drip coffee. But I always stuck with the 20oz size.
A couple of years later I moved on to espresso based coffee, lots of lattes and caps, but a fair amount of espresso as well. Because this was still kind of a new concept for north Texans, the options were few and far between, and until Starbucks came on the scene, you really could not get any kind of espresso coffee. I spent a lot of money in those stores over the next 10 years before moving out of the country, and while I do give them credit for helping to develop the coffee consuming market, I did become more and more dismayed as it became harder and harder to get an espresso or double; all the serving cups were for Grande, Venti, and even bigger. Even now, when I do make a brief visit to a Starbucks during a stateside visit, the staff tend to look at me with surprise when I try and order a "tall." After all, I didn't want to have a latte with a full glass of milk, but rather an espresso with a bit of milk...
The gradual (or is it explosive) increase in consumption we have experienced over the years certainly has led to a change in the way we look at sizes. And as I continued to lie away in my bed thinking about size, I started thinking about clothing sizes.
When I was a senior in high school, I tended to wear shirts sized XL. Back then, I think we all liked looser fitting clothing, and I usually wore layers, a long sleeved shirt over a t-shirt. The long sleeved shirt wasn't what I would call baggy, but it was certainly was not snug. I had some buffalo plaid shirts from the Gap that I absolutely loved. They were roomy without looking like they were 2 sizes too big for you. Sure, there were always a few guys in school who were a bit more slender, and sometimes the style didn't fit them as well, as they looked like they were wearing a sail rather than a shirt.
However, eventually people bulk up, or the styles change. For me, it has been a combination. I still wear XL sized shirts, and although my height has not changed in 30 years, I did sort of bulk up for a decade or two, and have sort of maintained the same size for the past 10 years or so, not without some effort.
The thing is, is that during the 90s when everybody in the gym including myself was getting bulkier, it was still only the HUGE guys that were suddenly having to wear XXL clothing, and suddenly I noticed more XXL items in various clothing shops.
Fast forward another decade, and now we are seeing XXL as almost the norm, and XXL and even XXXL are regularly stocked in the various stores. Part of me is sitting here thinking, "Gee, maybe those will be sizes for cigarette boxes one day," and part of me is a little surprised that from time to time, the XL size is actually too big for me and that I now need a size L. (Wait, is that a tall or a Grande)
I do not shop for clothes too often, so maybe the size changes come more of a shock to me since I don't keep up with fashion trends as much. Instead, I just decide on what I like, and stick with it. Even then, I experience the odd challenge. Most recently a couple of years back, I bought a couple of sweaters at a boutique, liked them a lot, and decided the following year to return and purchase a couple more similar articles. On my second trip to the shop, I found that I was no longer an XL, but now an XXL. This contradicts with my statement in the above paragraph, and I think this is why I was lying in bed unable to sleep, since I was confused as shit as to what size I actually am.
If from one year to the next, I weigh 87 kilo with a height of 1,82m, purchase 20 count cigarette packs, and order short (formerly tall) Starbucks beverages, then I should probably be the same size, right?
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Sunday, October 20, 2019
A Week of Out of Order
Yes, I had one of those weeks where almost everything didn't go remotely like I had expected it to. And it almost proved to be just a wee bit too much...
Last Saturday morning, I woke up and switched on the espresso machine, like always. I then logged on to my laptop, but quickly found that there was no internet access. Thinking it was just a brief outage, I did some quick troubleshooting, including doing a reset of my router. I continued to wait for my coffee machine to warm up and kept an eye on the router, which has to go through a little reset process.
A few minutes later, coffee in hand, my router seemed stuck on the "connection to online" status; it could only get power and show it was operational in my house. But no service.
I thought back to the evening before when I had spoken via telephone with my father. He, too, had had internet problems, and they seemed hardware related. I considered the coincidence, but didn't feel too bent out of shape. After all, it was the weekend, and I had plenty of other things I could do that did not require online connectivity. I used the time wisely, and sat in my easy chair in my living room, simply enjoying the quiet Saturday morning and the fact that I was effectively not "connected."
Around noon, I still did not have any connectivity, and I was a little skeptical of my router. I had one router go bad on me a couple of years back, which prompted me to scurry across town on a busy shopping afternoon to purchase a replacement fritzbox. I hoped I would not have to do the same thing, but decided to continue waiting a little longer. Meanwhile, I glanced at one of my mobiles, the one that also has the same service provider as my internet, and noticed that the mobile had no service.
I deduced that this was indeed a Telekom problem. I still was not sure if it was just a Bryan Telekom problem or if the issue extended wider, but decided to just accept it and move on. If things were back on line by Monday morning (when I would definitely need internet access), I would deal with it then. Take it as it comes.
During the early afternoon, I went to the supermarket to pick up a few items, noticing a large handwritten sign right in the entrance to the store indicating that due to an internet outage, NO electronic payments (credit or debit card) were possible. This posed no problem to me, as I always use cash. I completed my shopping list, then stood in line with the other people waiting for checkout.
As per protocol, the cashier asked each person if they were going to be able to pay in cash, and I was a little surprised when the person looked shocked as they said, "Er, no, I was planning to pay with credit card."
From there, the cashier kind of said, "Didn't you see the sign smack in the front of the store that said we have no internet connection right now?" and the customer had to respond, "No, I did not see the sign."
Fortunately, said customer had enough cash to pay for their items.
This cycle repeated itself 3 more times (it was a busy Saturday), and each time, I got a little more surprised at just how many people had failed to see the sign in the one entrance to the supermarket that clearly indicated that cash payments were the only option that day. Furthermore, I was surprised at the reaction each customer had; they all seemed really irritated and insulted by the inconvenience.
When it came time for me to pay, I answered "Yes, I am paying with cash," and completed my checkout without any further fuss, then returned home to find that my internet was working again. Hooray!
I spoke briefly again with my father, who had managed to solve his own issue, and I told him about my morning without connectivity, then went on to enjoy the rest of my weekend.
Monday evening at the kiosk during a break in conversation topic, Ali asked me if I had experienced an internet outage at the weekend. Suddenly we all were discussing it, and it turns out that the entire neighborhood was out for all of Saturday morning. Mono had been somewhere else in the city for a few minutes, and had been able to ascertain that the outage would be restored by Saturday lunchtime, which is pretty much what happened.
What's funny about these things, is that when the whole community is without connectivity, it is not as if you can go on to the internet to try and find out about the outage. Likewise, there is no town crier who comes through and shouts to everyone that there will be no internet connectivity until 13h on Saturday.
Those of us who meet up on Kioskabend are all pretty logical; each of us had restarted our routers once (or twice), then said, "Whatever. We will wait for service to resume." Then, we all just got on with things.
On Tuesday evening, I went to catch my U-Bahn to get to an appointment in the city, and I started getting a little antsy when the train did not depart once all the passengers had gotten on. Instead, we sat for another 5 minutes, then another 5. I was standing in the very last car, as it was convenient for the stop where I would have to get off. From my vantage point, I could see all the people coming down the stairs to wait on the U-Bahn. (Ironically, the escalator was out of order). In these situations, when someone notices that a train is still waiting, they immediately make a mad dash to try and catch THAT train, instead of having to wait another 7 or 8 minutes for the next one.
Because of a 10 minute delay, this happened about 60 times, with various people casually walking down the steps, noticing the train car, putting on a hopeful facial expression as they suddenly leap off the last 3 steps and sprint a few steps to the train car.
Yes, I have done this countless times myself.
At any rate, the U-Bahn delay was going to result in me arriving late to my appointment, so I quickly phoned to apologize for my tardiness, and right then the U-Bahn Fahrer announced that we would have to EXIT the train, as it was no longer in service, due to a fault.
Well, the other passengers reacted as if this was the biggest inconvenience in the world. In fact, such events do happen with some regularity, and it's just one of those things. I did feel bad for inconveniencing the person I was going to meet. I actually wondered why I had not taken an earlier U-Bahn so as to guarantee that I would be punctual for my appointment, rather than take the one I had intended, which would have normally gotten me to my destination right on time.
A couple of minutes later, another U-Bahn arrived, and we were all a bit overcrowded on the train. I got to my appointment, apologized profusely, then upon completion, headed back to the U-Bahnt o return home.
3 stops from home, the train pulled into the station, but one of the automatic doors could not close all the way. It happened to be in the car I was in, so I watched as the driver had to come out of his little cabin and try to force the door closed. Meanwhile, I watched a few people walking down the steps, suddenly their eyes got wide as they immediately sprang for the waiting U-Bahn. ("Hurry Eunice, the train is still there! We can make it!")
After a few minutes of fiddling about, the driver finally force closed the door. He did this with a bit of elbow-grease. But, once he was back in his little driving cabin, he announced over the P.A. "Hey, everybody out, this U-Bahn is now out of order. Due to a technical fault."
Damn.
So, we all got out and waited for the next car, which arrived about 3 minutes later. I proceeded home and kind of chuckled. Again, a first for me: I have never had 2 consecutive trips on the U-Bahn cancelled for the same reason on the same day. But, take it as it comes. And live with it.
Earlier in the day, I had received some new sheet music, and I had already spent a couple of minutes sight-reading during my lunch break. With some dismay, I discovered that despite how simple the tunes sounded, particularly the bass part, my left hand was not cooperating. The music was quite a bit more technically challenging than I had initially anticipated. I realized that I would need to do some exercises to strengthen my left hand. I did not feel annoyed, but rather challenged. After all, this is something I can influence myself. Furthermore, music is EASY, it just may be unfamiliar.
When we used to stand around and kick the hacky-sack in college, Pablo would always make a reference to a Daniel Day Lewis movie when he was unable to complete a kick or touch with his left foot; those readers with a strong familiarity with the sport can easily understand. We tend to use our dominate hands and feet whenever possible, and sometimes the lack of coordination is noticeable in the less capable hand or foot.
As I went about my business on Tuesday evening, I reflected on my week so far. Yes, I had experienced several instances where things were out of order, but for the most, order had been somewhat restored without too many headaches.
Then came Wednesday. I got a call from my boss, who asked me to consider making a decision that would have a negative impact on my livelihood. This brought the week of out of order to a whole new level, one with a different type of meaning. I won't go through too many of the details of the request, but I will say that I felt hurt, insulted, and dismayed. I felt like I had been kicked in the gut once again, and it really wiped me out.
Wednesday was pretty much a write off as days go. I managed to find a small important high point by wishing young Pablo a happy birthday where I celebrated simply by picking up my dry cleaning from the shop down the street. To help put things in context, the little bell that they have the counter of the cleaner's wasn't working, so I had to actually shout and try to announce myself to the woman who was in the back operating the noisy laundry equipment.
That night, I just sat on the couch in bewilderment. I was angry, confused, frustrated, and just felt sick to my stomach. I did not want to leave the house, so just stared at some program on television until I fell asleep.
For the next couple of days, I did not sleep well, did not feel well, as I deliberated on how I was going to answer my boss's request. I was not really feeling much better Thursday evening, but I trudged over to the pub and had a little chat with a couple of friends. It helped to discuss things, and I was somewhat thankful that my friends were supportive and thoughtful. They recognized that I was in a really shitty situation. Things were definitely out of order.
As the evening progressed, I did reflect on the conversations I had already had, with my father, my friends, a few other Kumpels, and with myself.
I did not sleep any better Thursday night, and I woke up really feeling in a dark mood Friday morning. By this time, I had made my decision, but was not looking forward to giving my answer to my boss. During the course of the work day, I had a couple of chats with some colleagues, and I got the impression that they were in similar predicaments, and feeling just as lousy as I was.
As we neared the end of the work day, I hoped desperately to have another chat with my father, but he was offline and doing other things. Finally, just before Feierabend, I informed my boss of my decision, and had to deal with the fact that he wanted to know my reasoning or reasons behind my decision. I elected not to share those details (again feeling a bit put out that the question was even raised) but I did reveal how lousy I had been feeling for the past 48 hours.
At the close of our conversation, I was on OK terms with my boss, and we actually shared a couple of jokes. That sort of helped my mood, as did the fact that I had at least brought some closure to the topic. From there, I will have to live with any consequences or whatever else might happen, but at least I can be proud of me for making my decision and believing in my decision. I felt a little bit of emotional release as I decided also NOT to spend or waste time second guessing, but instead, getting on with things.
I felt like I just wanted to be by myself in a dark room, but I told myself that first, I would go have a couple of beers at the pub, as quietly as possible.
As I walked the few steps to the pub, my mobile alerted me to a text from a friend of mine who had just gotten in to town, and did I want to meet up. I quickly texted back that I was just entering the pub and would be around for a couple of beers, but would definitely be having an early night.
A few minutes later, she walked into the pub, and we greeted each other. I had just gotten through updating Mono on the past 24 hours (we had spoken the previous evening, so he knew what was on my mind), but then got to give Susie the full story from start to finish.
And, it really helped to share the experience, particularly since it was a thing of the (recent) past.
Discussing the whole thing one more time was actually helpful in the "restoring order" part of the process. I felt reassured that I had conducted the right (for me) decision making steps, and I felt better as we wrapped things up for an early evening.
I was still feeling absolutely wiped out, as one understandably would feel after having gone through such an emotional period. I just wanted to cook a little dinner and collapse on the couch, which is exactly what I did.
Saturday morning I felt a bit more rested, but opted for a rather quiet day. I actually made some impressive progressive with my left hand on the new music, and my mood improved as I got to speak again with my father, and later on with my sister. Of course, during our weekly conversations (usually every Saturday), my sister and I take turns answering the question, "How was your week?" so yesterday I did have relate the whole experience one more time, but again, it was okay.
No one likes to be put into an unpleasant situation, and I don't think anyone looks forward to dilemmas that put so much emotional strain on a person, but we have all been there. My boss didn't like being put into the position to have ask me the question in the first place. And my left hand was not overly thrilled to be pushed into an uncomfortable position earlier in the week.
But again, and I cannot stress this enough, it's about effortless mastery for me. This week proved that there was an element of effort required, but through it all, I managed to contribute to restoring order.
What happens tomorrow or the day after is something that I will simply deal with when the time comes. I am reasonably sure that it is going to be exciting.
see you out there
bryan
Last Saturday morning, I woke up and switched on the espresso machine, like always. I then logged on to my laptop, but quickly found that there was no internet access. Thinking it was just a brief outage, I did some quick troubleshooting, including doing a reset of my router. I continued to wait for my coffee machine to warm up and kept an eye on the router, which has to go through a little reset process.
A few minutes later, coffee in hand, my router seemed stuck on the "connection to online" status; it could only get power and show it was operational in my house. But no service.
I thought back to the evening before when I had spoken via telephone with my father. He, too, had had internet problems, and they seemed hardware related. I considered the coincidence, but didn't feel too bent out of shape. After all, it was the weekend, and I had plenty of other things I could do that did not require online connectivity. I used the time wisely, and sat in my easy chair in my living room, simply enjoying the quiet Saturday morning and the fact that I was effectively not "connected."
Around noon, I still did not have any connectivity, and I was a little skeptical of my router. I had one router go bad on me a couple of years back, which prompted me to scurry across town on a busy shopping afternoon to purchase a replacement fritzbox. I hoped I would not have to do the same thing, but decided to continue waiting a little longer. Meanwhile, I glanced at one of my mobiles, the one that also has the same service provider as my internet, and noticed that the mobile had no service.
I deduced that this was indeed a Telekom problem. I still was not sure if it was just a Bryan Telekom problem or if the issue extended wider, but decided to just accept it and move on. If things were back on line by Monday morning (when I would definitely need internet access), I would deal with it then. Take it as it comes.
During the early afternoon, I went to the supermarket to pick up a few items, noticing a large handwritten sign right in the entrance to the store indicating that due to an internet outage, NO electronic payments (credit or debit card) were possible. This posed no problem to me, as I always use cash. I completed my shopping list, then stood in line with the other people waiting for checkout.
As per protocol, the cashier asked each person if they were going to be able to pay in cash, and I was a little surprised when the person looked shocked as they said, "Er, no, I was planning to pay with credit card."
From there, the cashier kind of said, "Didn't you see the sign smack in the front of the store that said we have no internet connection right now?" and the customer had to respond, "No, I did not see the sign."
Fortunately, said customer had enough cash to pay for their items.
This cycle repeated itself 3 more times (it was a busy Saturday), and each time, I got a little more surprised at just how many people had failed to see the sign in the one entrance to the supermarket that clearly indicated that cash payments were the only option that day. Furthermore, I was surprised at the reaction each customer had; they all seemed really irritated and insulted by the inconvenience.
When it came time for me to pay, I answered "Yes, I am paying with cash," and completed my checkout without any further fuss, then returned home to find that my internet was working again. Hooray!
I spoke briefly again with my father, who had managed to solve his own issue, and I told him about my morning without connectivity, then went on to enjoy the rest of my weekend.
Monday evening at the kiosk during a break in conversation topic, Ali asked me if I had experienced an internet outage at the weekend. Suddenly we all were discussing it, and it turns out that the entire neighborhood was out for all of Saturday morning. Mono had been somewhere else in the city for a few minutes, and had been able to ascertain that the outage would be restored by Saturday lunchtime, which is pretty much what happened.
What's funny about these things, is that when the whole community is without connectivity, it is not as if you can go on to the internet to try and find out about the outage. Likewise, there is no town crier who comes through and shouts to everyone that there will be no internet connectivity until 13h on Saturday.
Those of us who meet up on Kioskabend are all pretty logical; each of us had restarted our routers once (or twice), then said, "Whatever. We will wait for service to resume." Then, we all just got on with things.
On Tuesday evening, I went to catch my U-Bahn to get to an appointment in the city, and I started getting a little antsy when the train did not depart once all the passengers had gotten on. Instead, we sat for another 5 minutes, then another 5. I was standing in the very last car, as it was convenient for the stop where I would have to get off. From my vantage point, I could see all the people coming down the stairs to wait on the U-Bahn. (Ironically, the escalator was out of order). In these situations, when someone notices that a train is still waiting, they immediately make a mad dash to try and catch THAT train, instead of having to wait another 7 or 8 minutes for the next one.
Because of a 10 minute delay, this happened about 60 times, with various people casually walking down the steps, noticing the train car, putting on a hopeful facial expression as they suddenly leap off the last 3 steps and sprint a few steps to the train car.
Yes, I have done this countless times myself.
At any rate, the U-Bahn delay was going to result in me arriving late to my appointment, so I quickly phoned to apologize for my tardiness, and right then the U-Bahn Fahrer announced that we would have to EXIT the train, as it was no longer in service, due to a fault.
Well, the other passengers reacted as if this was the biggest inconvenience in the world. In fact, such events do happen with some regularity, and it's just one of those things. I did feel bad for inconveniencing the person I was going to meet. I actually wondered why I had not taken an earlier U-Bahn so as to guarantee that I would be punctual for my appointment, rather than take the one I had intended, which would have normally gotten me to my destination right on time.
A couple of minutes later, another U-Bahn arrived, and we were all a bit overcrowded on the train. I got to my appointment, apologized profusely, then upon completion, headed back to the U-Bahnt o return home.
3 stops from home, the train pulled into the station, but one of the automatic doors could not close all the way. It happened to be in the car I was in, so I watched as the driver had to come out of his little cabin and try to force the door closed. Meanwhile, I watched a few people walking down the steps, suddenly their eyes got wide as they immediately sprang for the waiting U-Bahn. ("Hurry Eunice, the train is still there! We can make it!")
After a few minutes of fiddling about, the driver finally force closed the door. He did this with a bit of elbow-grease. But, once he was back in his little driving cabin, he announced over the P.A. "Hey, everybody out, this U-Bahn is now out of order. Due to a technical fault."
Damn.
So, we all got out and waited for the next car, which arrived about 3 minutes later. I proceeded home and kind of chuckled. Again, a first for me: I have never had 2 consecutive trips on the U-Bahn cancelled for the same reason on the same day. But, take it as it comes. And live with it.
Earlier in the day, I had received some new sheet music, and I had already spent a couple of minutes sight-reading during my lunch break. With some dismay, I discovered that despite how simple the tunes sounded, particularly the bass part, my left hand was not cooperating. The music was quite a bit more technically challenging than I had initially anticipated. I realized that I would need to do some exercises to strengthen my left hand. I did not feel annoyed, but rather challenged. After all, this is something I can influence myself. Furthermore, music is EASY, it just may be unfamiliar.
When we used to stand around and kick the hacky-sack in college, Pablo would always make a reference to a Daniel Day Lewis movie when he was unable to complete a kick or touch with his left foot; those readers with a strong familiarity with the sport can easily understand. We tend to use our dominate hands and feet whenever possible, and sometimes the lack of coordination is noticeable in the less capable hand or foot.
As I went about my business on Tuesday evening, I reflected on my week so far. Yes, I had experienced several instances where things were out of order, but for the most, order had been somewhat restored without too many headaches.
Then came Wednesday. I got a call from my boss, who asked me to consider making a decision that would have a negative impact on my livelihood. This brought the week of out of order to a whole new level, one with a different type of meaning. I won't go through too many of the details of the request, but I will say that I felt hurt, insulted, and dismayed. I felt like I had been kicked in the gut once again, and it really wiped me out.
Wednesday was pretty much a write off as days go. I managed to find a small important high point by wishing young Pablo a happy birthday where I celebrated simply by picking up my dry cleaning from the shop down the street. To help put things in context, the little bell that they have the counter of the cleaner's wasn't working, so I had to actually shout and try to announce myself to the woman who was in the back operating the noisy laundry equipment.
That night, I just sat on the couch in bewilderment. I was angry, confused, frustrated, and just felt sick to my stomach. I did not want to leave the house, so just stared at some program on television until I fell asleep.
For the next couple of days, I did not sleep well, did not feel well, as I deliberated on how I was going to answer my boss's request. I was not really feeling much better Thursday evening, but I trudged over to the pub and had a little chat with a couple of friends. It helped to discuss things, and I was somewhat thankful that my friends were supportive and thoughtful. They recognized that I was in a really shitty situation. Things were definitely out of order.
As the evening progressed, I did reflect on the conversations I had already had, with my father, my friends, a few other Kumpels, and with myself.
I did not sleep any better Thursday night, and I woke up really feeling in a dark mood Friday morning. By this time, I had made my decision, but was not looking forward to giving my answer to my boss. During the course of the work day, I had a couple of chats with some colleagues, and I got the impression that they were in similar predicaments, and feeling just as lousy as I was.
As we neared the end of the work day, I hoped desperately to have another chat with my father, but he was offline and doing other things. Finally, just before Feierabend, I informed my boss of my decision, and had to deal with the fact that he wanted to know my reasoning or reasons behind my decision. I elected not to share those details (again feeling a bit put out that the question was even raised) but I did reveal how lousy I had been feeling for the past 48 hours.
At the close of our conversation, I was on OK terms with my boss, and we actually shared a couple of jokes. That sort of helped my mood, as did the fact that I had at least brought some closure to the topic. From there, I will have to live with any consequences or whatever else might happen, but at least I can be proud of me for making my decision and believing in my decision. I felt a little bit of emotional release as I decided also NOT to spend or waste time second guessing, but instead, getting on with things.
I felt like I just wanted to be by myself in a dark room, but I told myself that first, I would go have a couple of beers at the pub, as quietly as possible.
As I walked the few steps to the pub, my mobile alerted me to a text from a friend of mine who had just gotten in to town, and did I want to meet up. I quickly texted back that I was just entering the pub and would be around for a couple of beers, but would definitely be having an early night.
A few minutes later, she walked into the pub, and we greeted each other. I had just gotten through updating Mono on the past 24 hours (we had spoken the previous evening, so he knew what was on my mind), but then got to give Susie the full story from start to finish.
And, it really helped to share the experience, particularly since it was a thing of the (recent) past.
Discussing the whole thing one more time was actually helpful in the "restoring order" part of the process. I felt reassured that I had conducted the right (for me) decision making steps, and I felt better as we wrapped things up for an early evening.
I was still feeling absolutely wiped out, as one understandably would feel after having gone through such an emotional period. I just wanted to cook a little dinner and collapse on the couch, which is exactly what I did.
Saturday morning I felt a bit more rested, but opted for a rather quiet day. I actually made some impressive progressive with my left hand on the new music, and my mood improved as I got to speak again with my father, and later on with my sister. Of course, during our weekly conversations (usually every Saturday), my sister and I take turns answering the question, "How was your week?" so yesterday I did have relate the whole experience one more time, but again, it was okay.
No one likes to be put into an unpleasant situation, and I don't think anyone looks forward to dilemmas that put so much emotional strain on a person, but we have all been there. My boss didn't like being put into the position to have ask me the question in the first place. And my left hand was not overly thrilled to be pushed into an uncomfortable position earlier in the week.
But again, and I cannot stress this enough, it's about effortless mastery for me. This week proved that there was an element of effort required, but through it all, I managed to contribute to restoring order.
What happens tomorrow or the day after is something that I will simply deal with when the time comes. I am reasonably sure that it is going to be exciting.
see you out there
bryan
Sunday, October 13, 2019
A Sunny Week of Rain
This new project I am involved with at work brings a lot of excitement, expectation, and energy, and a whole lot of stress. All of this comes really as no surprise; I commented a few weeks ago that I had anticipated this, and I would even go so far as to say that I embrace it. True, I am still feeling a little out of practice with the overall pace of things. Additionally, getting comfortable with all of the communication and cultural styles is still very unfamiliar to me. For example, I had not counted on my customer expecting me to micromanage our repair partner, and I absolutely had not counted on my customer micromanaging me micromanaging the partner. This seems ludicrous to me.
As a result, I notice myself getting a little more wound up more frequently than I would like. And, when there is a brief break in the action, the fatigue hits and I tend to feel wiped out.
The other week during my visit to Budapest, my customer informed me that they were sending a representative to my German partner for 15 days. 15 DAYS!?!? Normally a supplier visit should last no longer than 2-3 days, so 15 days was about 2 1/2 weeks too long. Fortunately I was able to help the customer understand that maximum 4 days would be sufficient, on condition that the customer clearly indicate their agenda. The whole email exchange I had with the customer on this topic was exhausting enough; I could only wonder how the actual visit to the partner would be.
It was challenging enough to get the customer to provide their travel plans (which would then allow me to coordinate the visit with the partner), but on the 1st of October, I finally got my hotel booked in Flensburg. I would have to travel on a Sunday, then return the following Friday.
The first week of October includes a German public holiday, which this year fell on Thursday. I was relieved to have the 4 day work week, especially since I knew I would have the following weekend cut short. I did not intend to stay out so late on the night before the holiday, but it was one of those special nights when all the stars align. I kept bumping into friends I had not seen in awhile, and spent the whole evening really enjoying myself. When I did get to bed, I winced as I looked at the clock: 3:30am. But only slightly.
Fortunately, I had Thursday for a recovery day, then back to work on Friday. Friday evening, I met up with a couple of friends for dinner, and again, had an enjoyable evening.
Then, the anxiousness crept back in. I felt a little tense as I prepared for my week in Flensburg. I resented having to travel on a Sunday, but I pretended that it would be like a little holiday. This little jedi-mind trick worked for about 5 seconds until I remembered that there would a customer in tow for the entire week. But, I opened my mind and reminded myself to simply accept whatever would happen.
I caught a mid-day train from Frankfurt to Hamburg, which was really poor planning on my part. The train was full of Sunday travelers, and even more so because of the autumn school break. Lots of families were on board with younger travelers. Thus, no seat reservations were available, and I put all my hopes in grabbing a seat in the restaurant car of the train. Turns out, a lot of other people had this same idea, so I eventually found myself standing at the other end of restaurant car in the snack bar area, which only provides a few little places to stand at.
Of course I was slightly overdressed, as I was anticipating the weather in the north of Germany. In a crowded railway car, I started sweating, which did not help my mood.
30 minutes outside of the city, the conductor came on to the PA system and asked if any doctors on board could urgently come to car number 5 to help attend to a passenger who had fallen ill. I must say I was rather impressed to see about 4 people scurry through the snack area on their way to the other end of the train (car 5); I really appreciate witnessing people's willingness to help others in need.
Well, the ailing passenger did need additional treatment, so the train made an unscheduled stop at the next station. Here, we waited for about 40 minutes as the ambulance people collected the passenger and went to hospital. I have experienced many things in my years of traveling with Deutsche Bahn, but this was the first time for something like this.
We were scheduled to arrive in Hamburg around 17h, which would have been sufficient time for me to visit the lavatory and grab a snack before taking the regional train from Hamburg on to Flensburg, a further 2 hours to the north. With the delay we had experienced, we were now going to be pulling into Hamburg about 90 seconds before my connecting train would depart. This is one of the disadvantages to railway travel (or airplane travel, for that matter), but I am usually okay with the delay. I know from experience never to schedule any important event (or meeting) so close to my travel arrangement, preferring instead to create as big a buffer as possible. (Hence the reason I was traveling on a Sunday, so as to be able to meet with the customer on a Monday, AFTER a night's rest.)
What this particular delay meant, however, is that I would have to use the toilet on the train, and normally I tend to exclude the train lavatories from my list of safe havens. To be fair, the facilities on the ICE trains are quite superior to those on the regional trains, but there is one little point I always dread: the sliding door to the facility. Over the years, I have had the door mysteriously slide open during my activity, and I am rather helpless to do anything about it. My father has encountered the same situation multiple times during his visits to Germany, most recently on our trip to Vienna. (On that particular occasion he waited until we were eating dinner before telling me of his adventure earlier on the train when we were pulling into a particular station, where he ended up giving a show to all the passengers who were waiting to leave the train.)
So, I like to avoid these situations whenever possible. But, when you gotta go, you gotta go.
I cannot express how relieved I was to find that in this particular train, the sliding toilet door had a seemingly secure latch that would ensure that I could have an undisturbed moment. Despite the secure latch, I was still rather terrified that it would magically unlock itself and the door would slide open. (What's behind door number 3, Monty?)
Personal business seen to, I prepared myself for the train's arrival to Hamburg, and tried to calculate how many people I would have to hurdle when scurrying from platform 14 to 11, which requires one to go up a flight of stairs, cross the terminal to the appropriate track, then go back downstairs to the actual train platform.
The train itself finished service service in Hamburg, so everyone has to get off. Most of the time, everyone has to get a connecting train, so in short, everyone is in the same situation; pressed for time and in danger of missing their connection.
Anyone who has experienced the race through a train station or an airport to catch their connection knows that it is exhilarating only if you actually make the connection. Otherwise, it just sucks.
Sometimes I don't even make the effort to try to catch the connection, knowing that I can simply wait for a few minutes and catch the next train. However, the train from Hamburg to Flensburg runs every hour, and it's a two hour ride. I wanted to make this connection.
And I did. Barely.
With seconds to spare, I found myself at one end of the regional train in the car reserved for people with bicycles and other bulky things. Luckily, I did manage to find a jump seat that I could sit in. Again, the train was rather full of passengers, not a huge surprise as it was the local means for people who live outside of Hamburg to go back home after a day out in the city.
I closed my eyes for a moment to try and relax myself, then was startled awake as a group of what seemed to be one or two families crowded into the seats next to me. They had a few small children with them, which meant they had two bulky strollers, and because of the energy that kids have, it was not easy for them to get settled. Instead, the kids bounced around and excitedly ran around in the train car.
In total, the group amounted to about 10 people, which was confirmed when they presented their tickets to the conductor. Deutsche Bahn has something called the Happy Weekend Ticket, which enables a group of up to 5 people to travel on the regional train for a really really low price, something like 30 euro. It is very practical, and I have used such ticket myself. (For comparison purposes, my own ticket cost about the same as their ticket for a group of 5)
At any rate, I casually observed the group, who were chatting mostly in Arabic, but from time to time I heard a bit of German. The kids were energetic and cute. Due to the ages of the travelers, I could not quite figure out who was an older brother or sister, who was an uncle or aunt, or which kids belonged to which families. I like to people watch, so spent most of the journey being entertained by the two families. One group got off in a town about an hour outside of Hamburg, and the other family continued on with me to the final stop of Flensburg. I got to help out from time to time to collect the pacifier off the ground; one of the kids kept throwing it gleefully.
It was already 19h30 by the time we got to Flensburg, and I was really looking forward to getting to the hotel. One of the guys at my repair partner had booked me into a rather nice hotel that was reasonably priced. It also had an extremely nice restaurant that my colleague had raved about, so I was hoping for a good experience.
Well, the hotel was awesome. It's right on the waterfront of the harbor in Flensburg, and has sort of a maritime theme. For example, instead of having a check-in and check-out date, I had an embark and disembark date. The guy at the reception desk did not actually greet me with an "ahoy" but I could tell that he thought about it.
It had been a long day, particularly as I had stood for the 4 hour train journey to Hamburg, so I quickly unpacked, then went back downstairs to the restaurant, having noted that my hotel room was really really nice. The restaurant was also impressive, and I was treated to exceptional service from the young, professional waitstaff.
I had checked out the hotel website prior to my arrival so was already aware that the restaurant prices were going to be a little more expensive than my normal eating out experiences tend to be. I decided on a nice starter, then went with the chef's suggestion of a main dish, and I was duly satisfied with the experience. I enjoyed a nice after dinner espresso, then settled the bill against my room, then went upstairs to relax and fall asleep. The coming week was going to be intense.
Since Flensburg is right on the water, the weather tends to be a little interesting. The temperatures were certainly cooler than in Frankfurt, and I was glad that Sunday evening and Monday morning had no rain. I ate breakfast in the hotel, then did work from my room until midday, before heading over to visit the repair partner. We needed to strategize in advance of the arrival of our customer the following morning.
I was still feeling a little resentful because I had had to travel on a Sunday, so as to be ready for a Monday morning customer visit onsite at the partner. During the previous week at somewhat late notice, I discovered that the customer would in fact arrive Monday evening, to be on site from Tuesday through Friday. As I had already booked my hotel (noncancelable) for the Sunday evening, I had to travel the day earlier. Furthermore, I never like Monday morning visits, as it is unfair to a repair partner who needs sufficient time to get the working week started operationally. This is why I didn't try to get over to see them until the Monday afternoon.)
My afternoon visit was productive enough. At least we thought we would be ready for the customer to be on site with us the following morning. I did not stay any longer than necessary, so returned to my hotel shortly before 17h. I took a little walk around the water front, then headed back to the hotel restaurant for dinner.
I had already explored and was enjoying my accommodations. In fact, I was treating the whole experience as a little holiday for myself, albeit a working holiday. The hotel is rather new and has modern fixtures. Thus, it had one of those awesome rain shower shower heads, where you can stand there and just have lovely water come down on you. (I am never sure why we all love these rain shower heads in our bathrooms, but always hate to go outside when it is raining...)
The way our company handles the travel expenses is kind of the norm for German companies. You receive a daily food allowance that has no bearing on where you actually eat. I already knew that the daily allowance would not come close to covering the meals I would be enjoying in the hotel restaurant, but I did not care. I was on vacation.
Monday evening one of the waitstaff greeted me, recognizing that I had been a guest the previous evening. This time, I chose a different starter and entree. Again, I was really impressed. The restaurant was busy, but not full. Thus, I had time to sit with my book, relax, and eventually I found myself lost in thought. I was thinking about the next few days with the customer, but I also allowed my thoughts to wander freely.
Sometimes when I am traveling on my own, especially if I am eating alone in a restaurant, I imagine myself as a restaurant critic, perhaps an eccentric one. If the restaurant is particularly nice, like the one in the hotel, I pay closer attention to the presentation and the overall experience. So, that Monday evening I took extra interest in my entree of roast chicken breast with a beet medley. (the German translation is more eloquent). I counted about 5 different types of beet, which was surprising in its own right, based on my inexperience with the particular vegetable.
The food was really good, but I was also impressed by the waitstaff. Everyone was quite young, but always smiling and professional. Sure, there was a head waiter (or waitress) who seemed to help direct traffic, but overall I was amazed that the kids held their own, showing attentiveness and knowledge that was beyond their years. Earlier, I had been outside side in the courtyard on the rear of the hotel and had seen some of the staff arriving for the dinnertime service. They were dressed in hoodies and sneakers, and on any given day if you met any of them out and about, you would assume that they were on their way to (or coming from) a skate park.
I tend to try not to judge people too often, but like everyone, I may develop my own biases, based on my experiences. The folks that work in my local pub are of similar age, similar dress, but unfortunately several of them don't exhibit the same level of professional effort while on the job. I took a moment to reflect on my own experiences working as a teenager, back in 1988. I was just as much of a dipshit then as I am now, but there was always a certain amount of flair. And not least of all, I did take the job seriously, and this is what impressed me about the hotel restaurant staff. During their breaks or personal time, they might have been just as inclined to surf grocery carts in the parking lot (as I did with Whitman years ago on the way back inside to Albertson's) or do whatever, but still maintain their professional attitude.
A third beer was in order for the evening, and I continued to sit and reflect. I found myself reminiscing of other events from 1988, including a few interesting drives around the city in the Nugget, and countless hours spent at Bill's records and tapes. After all, allowing the mind to wander freely is a nice thing to do while on vacation.
Tuesday started with buckets of rain, typical for Flensburg. I got a taxi to the repair partner, and met our customer, a young woman who had been tasked by her boss to spend the next several days with us on site discussing the repair operations. As expected, the day was stressful and chaotic. I found myself feeling really frustrated with the customer, and noticed my colleague from the repair partner showing similar signs of strain. I think we were both rather pleased when the customer announced that she wanted to return to her hotel for the evening, thus relieving us from any obligation to do the "wining and dining" crap that sometimes happens on these kind of trips.
This effectively gave my colleague and me freedom to head off to a local favorite restaurant, where we focused on enjoying our beers and the chat more than anything else. I have know this particular repair partner for several years, but I needed some one on one time with my direct counterpart so as to get to know him better outside of work. We had a great evening, and were able to laugh together about the absurdities we were experiencing with a customer who was intent on micromanaging me and the repair partner.
The colleague and myself are similar in age, and we certainly have quite a bit more experience than our customer, but in these situations, we always have to respect that we have a customer. This means that we have to find ways to communicate and accommodate each other. Most people know that I do not subscribe to the "Customer is always right" philosophy, but I never forget that we have a customer.
This alone creates a shitload of stress, since I usually find myself having to work harder (and less efficiently) with customers who might have unreasonable requests. I often struggle in such situations, particularly when it seems that the customer is unwilling to look for any flexibility or compromise. A specific example happened during the course of the week with said customer, who seems hell bent on doing things manually, despite my best efforts to demonstrate why using the system to drive a solution that will result in a fewer opportunities for human error.
It's enough to drive you bat shit.
Wednesday and Thursday were pretty much repeats of our Tuesday work day. The days were long and frustrating, but I learned from the experience and made the most of things. I learned how I can better communicate with the customer, and also with my repair partner. Fortunately, I was able to take a nice shower in a rainstorm each morning, and enjoyed a couple more lovely meals in the hotel's restaurant. During the course of the week, the waitstaff got used to me spending a couple of hours each evening in the restaurant, graciously enjoying time to myself.
My head was full of some many thoughts, so even though my hotel room was cozy and comfortable, I did not sleep as restfully as I wanted. By Thursday, I was really looking forward to the journey back to Frankfurt, just in time for the weekend. Finally a chance to rest.
Each day was full of rain and sun, as seems to be the norm in Flensburg. Two days in a row I woke up with nice sunlight in my hotel room, and as I peered out the window to the rear courtyard, I kept thinking, "hey, that's really cool that they have a big fountain that makes it look like it is raining outside."
Then, when I actually looked more closely, I realized that it was raining heavily, even though the sun was shining brightly. I loved it.
That Thursday evening, after I had concluded the business trip with the partner and the customer, I taxied back to the harbor, then stopped off at a little shop to buy cigarettes and a couple of bottles of water; this had been my little routine during the week. As I paid for my items, I chatted with the shop lady, who asked where I came from. This prompted us to have a little discussion about the German language and my accent, partially influenced by where I live in a different region of Germany, and partially because I simply have an accent.
It made for an interesting conversation, and just added on to the experience of the week. A few days prior, I had been standing outside the hotel where another couple were having a chat. I couldn't help but overhear them, but quickly realized that I was not fully understanding what they were saying in German. I was not trying to deliberately follow the conversation, but found myself a little mystified that I couldn't fully understand the dialect.
When the penny dropped and I realized that they were actually speaking Danish, I figured it was time to head back home to Frankfurt.
The Friday morning, I elected to take a mid-morning train back to Hamburg, so enjoyed the breakfast buffet and a couple of espressos before checking out of the hotel. I was a little sorry to leave, as the hotel and meal experience had been so nice. That being said, I was exhausted from the intensity of the week, and was more than ready to go back home.
I found a seat on the regional train, which begins its run from Flensburg. This was particularly important because two stops later (10 stops between Flensburg and Hamburg), about 20 teenagers got on the train, all with overnight bags. The train had already filled up quickly, and regional trains don't have reservations. Sometimes the trains can be overflowing with passengers, and other times they can be almost empty. Having a seat is always a bonus.
We arrived to Hamburg on time, and once again I was reminded of just how chaotic that train station is. I had 45 minutes before my connecting high speed departed for Frankfurt, so, as always, I located the little boys room, but kind of wished I hadn't. Still, it was likely going to be better than the train facilities, even if the doors latched properly.
My Frankfurt train left promptly at 13h, and I luckily found a seat in the restaurant car. I got a little work done over the next four hours, and felt fairly relaxed. Another passenger and I had a little chitchat during the last hour of our journey, which made for a nice way to complete the travel.
Once we reached Frankfurt, I grabbed the next U-Bahn to my neighborhood, and by 17h30 was unpacking my suitcase and just feeling delighted to be home. The week had been long, stressful, but for the most part productive.
I managed to have a skype call with my father for 45 minutes, something I had missed during the week. We normally chat every couple of days, but with me being on the business trip, that was not possible.
By just past 19h, I walked into the pub, glad to be back in normal routine. I greeted some friends that I hadn't seen for the past week, and enjoyed the comforts that a Friday night in the pub always bring. The week was catching up with me, and I felt really tired, but stayed a little longer in the pub with a couple of friends before finally heading home to my own bed.
The chilly rainy weather (mixed with moments of sunshine) in Flensburg is in the past. Frankfurt has had mild temperatures through the weekend, and it is pleasant enough.
In fact, it's time to finish this post and get outside and enjoy the weather. Monday will come soon enough.
see you out there
bryan
As a result, I notice myself getting a little more wound up more frequently than I would like. And, when there is a brief break in the action, the fatigue hits and I tend to feel wiped out.
The other week during my visit to Budapest, my customer informed me that they were sending a representative to my German partner for 15 days. 15 DAYS!?!? Normally a supplier visit should last no longer than 2-3 days, so 15 days was about 2 1/2 weeks too long. Fortunately I was able to help the customer understand that maximum 4 days would be sufficient, on condition that the customer clearly indicate their agenda. The whole email exchange I had with the customer on this topic was exhausting enough; I could only wonder how the actual visit to the partner would be.
It was challenging enough to get the customer to provide their travel plans (which would then allow me to coordinate the visit with the partner), but on the 1st of October, I finally got my hotel booked in Flensburg. I would have to travel on a Sunday, then return the following Friday.
The first week of October includes a German public holiday, which this year fell on Thursday. I was relieved to have the 4 day work week, especially since I knew I would have the following weekend cut short. I did not intend to stay out so late on the night before the holiday, but it was one of those special nights when all the stars align. I kept bumping into friends I had not seen in awhile, and spent the whole evening really enjoying myself. When I did get to bed, I winced as I looked at the clock: 3:30am. But only slightly.
Fortunately, I had Thursday for a recovery day, then back to work on Friday. Friday evening, I met up with a couple of friends for dinner, and again, had an enjoyable evening.
Then, the anxiousness crept back in. I felt a little tense as I prepared for my week in Flensburg. I resented having to travel on a Sunday, but I pretended that it would be like a little holiday. This little jedi-mind trick worked for about 5 seconds until I remembered that there would a customer in tow for the entire week. But, I opened my mind and reminded myself to simply accept whatever would happen.
I caught a mid-day train from Frankfurt to Hamburg, which was really poor planning on my part. The train was full of Sunday travelers, and even more so because of the autumn school break. Lots of families were on board with younger travelers. Thus, no seat reservations were available, and I put all my hopes in grabbing a seat in the restaurant car of the train. Turns out, a lot of other people had this same idea, so I eventually found myself standing at the other end of restaurant car in the snack bar area, which only provides a few little places to stand at.
Of course I was slightly overdressed, as I was anticipating the weather in the north of Germany. In a crowded railway car, I started sweating, which did not help my mood.
30 minutes outside of the city, the conductor came on to the PA system and asked if any doctors on board could urgently come to car number 5 to help attend to a passenger who had fallen ill. I must say I was rather impressed to see about 4 people scurry through the snack area on their way to the other end of the train (car 5); I really appreciate witnessing people's willingness to help others in need.
Well, the ailing passenger did need additional treatment, so the train made an unscheduled stop at the next station. Here, we waited for about 40 minutes as the ambulance people collected the passenger and went to hospital. I have experienced many things in my years of traveling with Deutsche Bahn, but this was the first time for something like this.
We were scheduled to arrive in Hamburg around 17h, which would have been sufficient time for me to visit the lavatory and grab a snack before taking the regional train from Hamburg on to Flensburg, a further 2 hours to the north. With the delay we had experienced, we were now going to be pulling into Hamburg about 90 seconds before my connecting train would depart. This is one of the disadvantages to railway travel (or airplane travel, for that matter), but I am usually okay with the delay. I know from experience never to schedule any important event (or meeting) so close to my travel arrangement, preferring instead to create as big a buffer as possible. (Hence the reason I was traveling on a Sunday, so as to be able to meet with the customer on a Monday, AFTER a night's rest.)
What this particular delay meant, however, is that I would have to use the toilet on the train, and normally I tend to exclude the train lavatories from my list of safe havens. To be fair, the facilities on the ICE trains are quite superior to those on the regional trains, but there is one little point I always dread: the sliding door to the facility. Over the years, I have had the door mysteriously slide open during my activity, and I am rather helpless to do anything about it. My father has encountered the same situation multiple times during his visits to Germany, most recently on our trip to Vienna. (On that particular occasion he waited until we were eating dinner before telling me of his adventure earlier on the train when we were pulling into a particular station, where he ended up giving a show to all the passengers who were waiting to leave the train.)
So, I like to avoid these situations whenever possible. But, when you gotta go, you gotta go.
I cannot express how relieved I was to find that in this particular train, the sliding toilet door had a seemingly secure latch that would ensure that I could have an undisturbed moment. Despite the secure latch, I was still rather terrified that it would magically unlock itself and the door would slide open. (What's behind door number 3, Monty?)
Personal business seen to, I prepared myself for the train's arrival to Hamburg, and tried to calculate how many people I would have to hurdle when scurrying from platform 14 to 11, which requires one to go up a flight of stairs, cross the terminal to the appropriate track, then go back downstairs to the actual train platform.
The train itself finished service service in Hamburg, so everyone has to get off. Most of the time, everyone has to get a connecting train, so in short, everyone is in the same situation; pressed for time and in danger of missing their connection.
Anyone who has experienced the race through a train station or an airport to catch their connection knows that it is exhilarating only if you actually make the connection. Otherwise, it just sucks.
Sometimes I don't even make the effort to try to catch the connection, knowing that I can simply wait for a few minutes and catch the next train. However, the train from Hamburg to Flensburg runs every hour, and it's a two hour ride. I wanted to make this connection.
And I did. Barely.
With seconds to spare, I found myself at one end of the regional train in the car reserved for people with bicycles and other bulky things. Luckily, I did manage to find a jump seat that I could sit in. Again, the train was rather full of passengers, not a huge surprise as it was the local means for people who live outside of Hamburg to go back home after a day out in the city.
I closed my eyes for a moment to try and relax myself, then was startled awake as a group of what seemed to be one or two families crowded into the seats next to me. They had a few small children with them, which meant they had two bulky strollers, and because of the energy that kids have, it was not easy for them to get settled. Instead, the kids bounced around and excitedly ran around in the train car.
In total, the group amounted to about 10 people, which was confirmed when they presented their tickets to the conductor. Deutsche Bahn has something called the Happy Weekend Ticket, which enables a group of up to 5 people to travel on the regional train for a really really low price, something like 30 euro. It is very practical, and I have used such ticket myself. (For comparison purposes, my own ticket cost about the same as their ticket for a group of 5)
At any rate, I casually observed the group, who were chatting mostly in Arabic, but from time to time I heard a bit of German. The kids were energetic and cute. Due to the ages of the travelers, I could not quite figure out who was an older brother or sister, who was an uncle or aunt, or which kids belonged to which families. I like to people watch, so spent most of the journey being entertained by the two families. One group got off in a town about an hour outside of Hamburg, and the other family continued on with me to the final stop of Flensburg. I got to help out from time to time to collect the pacifier off the ground; one of the kids kept throwing it gleefully.
It was already 19h30 by the time we got to Flensburg, and I was really looking forward to getting to the hotel. One of the guys at my repair partner had booked me into a rather nice hotel that was reasonably priced. It also had an extremely nice restaurant that my colleague had raved about, so I was hoping for a good experience.
Well, the hotel was awesome. It's right on the waterfront of the harbor in Flensburg, and has sort of a maritime theme. For example, instead of having a check-in and check-out date, I had an embark and disembark date. The guy at the reception desk did not actually greet me with an "ahoy" but I could tell that he thought about it.
It had been a long day, particularly as I had stood for the 4 hour train journey to Hamburg, so I quickly unpacked, then went back downstairs to the restaurant, having noted that my hotel room was really really nice. The restaurant was also impressive, and I was treated to exceptional service from the young, professional waitstaff.
I had checked out the hotel website prior to my arrival so was already aware that the restaurant prices were going to be a little more expensive than my normal eating out experiences tend to be. I decided on a nice starter, then went with the chef's suggestion of a main dish, and I was duly satisfied with the experience. I enjoyed a nice after dinner espresso, then settled the bill against my room, then went upstairs to relax and fall asleep. The coming week was going to be intense.
Since Flensburg is right on the water, the weather tends to be a little interesting. The temperatures were certainly cooler than in Frankfurt, and I was glad that Sunday evening and Monday morning had no rain. I ate breakfast in the hotel, then did work from my room until midday, before heading over to visit the repair partner. We needed to strategize in advance of the arrival of our customer the following morning.
I was still feeling a little resentful because I had had to travel on a Sunday, so as to be ready for a Monday morning customer visit onsite at the partner. During the previous week at somewhat late notice, I discovered that the customer would in fact arrive Monday evening, to be on site from Tuesday through Friday. As I had already booked my hotel (noncancelable) for the Sunday evening, I had to travel the day earlier. Furthermore, I never like Monday morning visits, as it is unfair to a repair partner who needs sufficient time to get the working week started operationally. This is why I didn't try to get over to see them until the Monday afternoon.)
My afternoon visit was productive enough. At least we thought we would be ready for the customer to be on site with us the following morning. I did not stay any longer than necessary, so returned to my hotel shortly before 17h. I took a little walk around the water front, then headed back to the hotel restaurant for dinner.
I had already explored and was enjoying my accommodations. In fact, I was treating the whole experience as a little holiday for myself, albeit a working holiday. The hotel is rather new and has modern fixtures. Thus, it had one of those awesome rain shower shower heads, where you can stand there and just have lovely water come down on you. (I am never sure why we all love these rain shower heads in our bathrooms, but always hate to go outside when it is raining...)
The way our company handles the travel expenses is kind of the norm for German companies. You receive a daily food allowance that has no bearing on where you actually eat. I already knew that the daily allowance would not come close to covering the meals I would be enjoying in the hotel restaurant, but I did not care. I was on vacation.
Monday evening one of the waitstaff greeted me, recognizing that I had been a guest the previous evening. This time, I chose a different starter and entree. Again, I was really impressed. The restaurant was busy, but not full. Thus, I had time to sit with my book, relax, and eventually I found myself lost in thought. I was thinking about the next few days with the customer, but I also allowed my thoughts to wander freely.
Sometimes when I am traveling on my own, especially if I am eating alone in a restaurant, I imagine myself as a restaurant critic, perhaps an eccentric one. If the restaurant is particularly nice, like the one in the hotel, I pay closer attention to the presentation and the overall experience. So, that Monday evening I took extra interest in my entree of roast chicken breast with a beet medley. (the German translation is more eloquent). I counted about 5 different types of beet, which was surprising in its own right, based on my inexperience with the particular vegetable.
The food was really good, but I was also impressed by the waitstaff. Everyone was quite young, but always smiling and professional. Sure, there was a head waiter (or waitress) who seemed to help direct traffic, but overall I was amazed that the kids held their own, showing attentiveness and knowledge that was beyond their years. Earlier, I had been outside side in the courtyard on the rear of the hotel and had seen some of the staff arriving for the dinnertime service. They were dressed in hoodies and sneakers, and on any given day if you met any of them out and about, you would assume that they were on their way to (or coming from) a skate park.
I tend to try not to judge people too often, but like everyone, I may develop my own biases, based on my experiences. The folks that work in my local pub are of similar age, similar dress, but unfortunately several of them don't exhibit the same level of professional effort while on the job. I took a moment to reflect on my own experiences working as a teenager, back in 1988. I was just as much of a dipshit then as I am now, but there was always a certain amount of flair. And not least of all, I did take the job seriously, and this is what impressed me about the hotel restaurant staff. During their breaks or personal time, they might have been just as inclined to surf grocery carts in the parking lot (as I did with Whitman years ago on the way back inside to Albertson's) or do whatever, but still maintain their professional attitude.
A third beer was in order for the evening, and I continued to sit and reflect. I found myself reminiscing of other events from 1988, including a few interesting drives around the city in the Nugget, and countless hours spent at Bill's records and tapes. After all, allowing the mind to wander freely is a nice thing to do while on vacation.
Tuesday started with buckets of rain, typical for Flensburg. I got a taxi to the repair partner, and met our customer, a young woman who had been tasked by her boss to spend the next several days with us on site discussing the repair operations. As expected, the day was stressful and chaotic. I found myself feeling really frustrated with the customer, and noticed my colleague from the repair partner showing similar signs of strain. I think we were both rather pleased when the customer announced that she wanted to return to her hotel for the evening, thus relieving us from any obligation to do the "wining and dining" crap that sometimes happens on these kind of trips.
This effectively gave my colleague and me freedom to head off to a local favorite restaurant, where we focused on enjoying our beers and the chat more than anything else. I have know this particular repair partner for several years, but I needed some one on one time with my direct counterpart so as to get to know him better outside of work. We had a great evening, and were able to laugh together about the absurdities we were experiencing with a customer who was intent on micromanaging me and the repair partner.
The colleague and myself are similar in age, and we certainly have quite a bit more experience than our customer, but in these situations, we always have to respect that we have a customer. This means that we have to find ways to communicate and accommodate each other. Most people know that I do not subscribe to the "Customer is always right" philosophy, but I never forget that we have a customer.
This alone creates a shitload of stress, since I usually find myself having to work harder (and less efficiently) with customers who might have unreasonable requests. I often struggle in such situations, particularly when it seems that the customer is unwilling to look for any flexibility or compromise. A specific example happened during the course of the week with said customer, who seems hell bent on doing things manually, despite my best efforts to demonstrate why using the system to drive a solution that will result in a fewer opportunities for human error.
It's enough to drive you bat shit.
Wednesday and Thursday were pretty much repeats of our Tuesday work day. The days were long and frustrating, but I learned from the experience and made the most of things. I learned how I can better communicate with the customer, and also with my repair partner. Fortunately, I was able to take a nice shower in a rainstorm each morning, and enjoyed a couple more lovely meals in the hotel's restaurant. During the course of the week, the waitstaff got used to me spending a couple of hours each evening in the restaurant, graciously enjoying time to myself.
My head was full of some many thoughts, so even though my hotel room was cozy and comfortable, I did not sleep as restfully as I wanted. By Thursday, I was really looking forward to the journey back to Frankfurt, just in time for the weekend. Finally a chance to rest.
Each day was full of rain and sun, as seems to be the norm in Flensburg. Two days in a row I woke up with nice sunlight in my hotel room, and as I peered out the window to the rear courtyard, I kept thinking, "hey, that's really cool that they have a big fountain that makes it look like it is raining outside."
Then, when I actually looked more closely, I realized that it was raining heavily, even though the sun was shining brightly. I loved it.
That Thursday evening, after I had concluded the business trip with the partner and the customer, I taxied back to the harbor, then stopped off at a little shop to buy cigarettes and a couple of bottles of water; this had been my little routine during the week. As I paid for my items, I chatted with the shop lady, who asked where I came from. This prompted us to have a little discussion about the German language and my accent, partially influenced by where I live in a different region of Germany, and partially because I simply have an accent.
It made for an interesting conversation, and just added on to the experience of the week. A few days prior, I had been standing outside the hotel where another couple were having a chat. I couldn't help but overhear them, but quickly realized that I was not fully understanding what they were saying in German. I was not trying to deliberately follow the conversation, but found myself a little mystified that I couldn't fully understand the dialect.
When the penny dropped and I realized that they were actually speaking Danish, I figured it was time to head back home to Frankfurt.
The Friday morning, I elected to take a mid-morning train back to Hamburg, so enjoyed the breakfast buffet and a couple of espressos before checking out of the hotel. I was a little sorry to leave, as the hotel and meal experience had been so nice. That being said, I was exhausted from the intensity of the week, and was more than ready to go back home.
I found a seat on the regional train, which begins its run from Flensburg. This was particularly important because two stops later (10 stops between Flensburg and Hamburg), about 20 teenagers got on the train, all with overnight bags. The train had already filled up quickly, and regional trains don't have reservations. Sometimes the trains can be overflowing with passengers, and other times they can be almost empty. Having a seat is always a bonus.
We arrived to Hamburg on time, and once again I was reminded of just how chaotic that train station is. I had 45 minutes before my connecting high speed departed for Frankfurt, so, as always, I located the little boys room, but kind of wished I hadn't. Still, it was likely going to be better than the train facilities, even if the doors latched properly.
My Frankfurt train left promptly at 13h, and I luckily found a seat in the restaurant car. I got a little work done over the next four hours, and felt fairly relaxed. Another passenger and I had a little chitchat during the last hour of our journey, which made for a nice way to complete the travel.
Once we reached Frankfurt, I grabbed the next U-Bahn to my neighborhood, and by 17h30 was unpacking my suitcase and just feeling delighted to be home. The week had been long, stressful, but for the most part productive.
I managed to have a skype call with my father for 45 minutes, something I had missed during the week. We normally chat every couple of days, but with me being on the business trip, that was not possible.
By just past 19h, I walked into the pub, glad to be back in normal routine. I greeted some friends that I hadn't seen for the past week, and enjoyed the comforts that a Friday night in the pub always bring. The week was catching up with me, and I felt really tired, but stayed a little longer in the pub with a couple of friends before finally heading home to my own bed.
The chilly rainy weather (mixed with moments of sunshine) in Flensburg is in the past. Frankfurt has had mild temperatures through the weekend, and it is pleasant enough.
In fact, it's time to finish this post and get outside and enjoy the weather. Monday will come soon enough.
see you out there
bryan
Sunday, September 29, 2019
Buds, Pests, and a Couple of Airport Chuckles
Last Saturday afternoon as I was finishing my packing, I realized that I was feeling a little out of practice with the routine of business travel. The company I work for put some pretty hefty travel restrictions in place several years ago, so for the past three years, I have hardly been on the road. Initially, I was relieved that I would no longer have to travel so frequently, but a couple of years later my opinion changed. I missed being out and about visiting partners in different countries, and the isolated feeling of working at home really started to bug me.
With the new projects I am involved with, I will need to travel a little more often, and that is exciting. The other week I spent a few days in northern Germany, and will be up there again within the next couple of weeks. Meanwhile, I was assigned the responsibility to manage our Hungarian site, so last Sunday I headed to the airport to catch my flight to Budapest, where I would spend most of the week at our repair partner, meeting with the team there, along with our external customer.
I was a little irritated that once again, my weekend was being cut short. However, I did sort of prefer to travel on a Sunday afternoon rather than on a hectic Monday morning. I arrived to Frankfurt airport without any issue, went to the little kiosk to get my boarding pass, then stood in the queue to check my luggage through to Budapest. Unlike many other business travelers, I almost always check my luggage, primarily because I'd be staying away for 4-5 days; you can't really cram all that much clothing into a little overnight bag.
Sunday travel tends to have more non-business travelers, and they all seemed to be standing in the same queue for luggage drop off. I found myself feeling a little tense as I noticed all the blank stares on the other passengers, who seemed not to have the slightest idea how the self service luggage kiosks work. These kiosks have been in place in Frankfurt for at least a decade, and I wondered why the other travelers did not seem to understand how to use the little machines. I took a couple of deep breaths and just smiled to myself. There are always plenty of other things to worry about.
Which is exactly what I encountered a few minutes later when I got to the security checkpoint. For the past 18 years, going through the security check and passing the carry on luggage through the x-ray machine has always been an aggravation. I know others feel equally frustrated with this process. Yes, it is important to have the process in place for our safety. My issue is with the lack of preparation that everyone standing in line (most likely complaining to themselves about the waiting time) who wait until standing at the conveyor before removing items from their pocket, taking their little baggy of liquids out of their purse or backpack, and doing whatever else the clear signs hanging above the area instruct us to do.
When standing in these queues, I always notice the more experienced travelers, who have clearly found their little system that helps them move through the check point as efficiently as possible. I, too, have my own little process, where my belt and my jacket are already ready for the tray. My laptop is already out of my backpack so that it can be scanned separately. And there is never anything in my pants pockets.
Again, I told myself to be patient as I watched people wondering aloud, "What are we supposed to do?" as they stood in front of the conveyor, apparently having completely ignored the very simple and explanatory instructional video on display that we had all just watched for the full period of time we had stood in line.
When it was my turn, I got my trays onto the conveyor, walked through the body scan machine, then went to wait for my items to come out of the x-ray machine. Frankfurt airport has a little separate conveyor for those items that need to be checked separately, or better said, scrutinized. This is not a new thing for me, either. Carrying various technical items always tends to light up the x-ray machine, but this time around, the guy said, "Hey, we really need to go through all of your stuff."
Lovely.
Suddenly, almost all the contents of my backpack were out on the counter, which was not really what I wanted to happen. A second man took the tray that contained my jacket and removed all the contents from the jacket pockets. These contents included passport, wallet, mobile, a packet of tissue, and three disposable lighters.
The security agent informed me that I was only allowed to carry one lighter, so I had to throw the other two away. In fairness, the guy was really relaxed about the whole thing (particularly in comparison to the personnel in various other airports in America), but I was irritated for two reasons: one, I was holding up the process due to my own ignorance, and two, I had to give up some spare lighters.
You might be asking yourself why someone would need so many cigarette lighters, and I can only offer a bit of an explanation. When flying, I never take my zippo, since I know it would be confiscated. Therefore, I always take a disposable lighter with me. In my normal daily routine, I always tend to put a lighter (or two) in my jacket pockets. Many times I have been asked to light someone's cigarette, and depending on the circumstances, I may not always get said lighter back. One particular friend from the pub, an actual employee, NEVER had a light, so always asked to borrow a lighter before going outside for his break. Then, he would forget to return the lighter, and I would forget to get it back from him. Lighters are like ballpoint pens, you ask to borrow one, then put it right into your pocket immediately after using it, simply assuming that it was yours in the first place. In short, disposable lighters are just as likely to disappear as to run out of fluid.
So, I made it through security and headed to my gate, making sure that I knew exactly where my one lighter was. (The other reason I always carry a spare is in case the first one is out of fluid, something that has happened to me more than once.)
Boarding our flight was pretty uneventful, and once on board, I just took a little nap for the 90 minute flight to Budapest.
I was actually looking forward to my return to this city; it has been several years since my last visit. I was trying to remember the set up of the airport, since after awhile, all airports start to look the same. As we arrived, it took me a minute to get my bearings before I located the "good" men's bathroom (safe havens are always important, no matter where you are in the world) and the baggage claim.
While waiting for my luggage, I exchanged some money, then grabbed my suitcase and headed to the taxi stand.
The airport is on the west side of the city, and my destination was actually in a little suburb on the east side of the river, about 35 minutes away by taxi, so long as there was no traffic on the roads.
We made good time, and I got to my hotel and was waited on my a very helpful reception attendant. The hotel was not in a location full of restaurants, the immediate area was a bit more industrial, but it did have a little bar (and restaurant). I unpacked, freshened up, then grabbed my book and went downstairs to have a quiet beer and snack.
The bar was empty when I walked in, so I had my pick of tables, and settled down to enjoy a quiet evening. I ordered a beer and told the waiter that I would likely order something to eat after I had a chance to peruse the snack menu. Hungary is not really known for it's beers, but the local one I was drinking tasted just fine, and I said as such to the waiter as I ordered a second beer along with a sandwich.
Two minutes, 50 people left the hotel restaurant and came straight into the bar. The penny dropped as I deduced that these people were all a part of the same travel group, whose tour coach I had noticed parked outside of the hotel when I arrived. They all seemed to have come from the UK, at least from the accents I was hearing. The bar was not overly large, so all of them spread out to almost all the tables. I was bewildered to find that suddenly, one person from each table then went directly to the bar to order drinks for each table. I do appreciate that hotel bars normally don't staff for onslaughts of patrons, but suddenly we had 10 people standing at the bar, each ordering 4 to 5 drinks to take back to their table.
Part of this seems to be a culture thing; I notice that in a lot of English and Irish pubs, no one seems to understand the concept of table service. The same thing happens frequently in my local pub in Frankfurt. It irritates me every time. In fact, it is almost as annoying as waiting until you get to the conveyor at the airport security check before starting to prepare to go through the checkpoint. (And both of these peeves are right on par with someone who goes to the grocery store, buy shitloads of stuff, then waits until the last item has been scanned before starting to pack their groceries into their shopping bags, before finally paying for their items)
At any rate, I focused on my book and my beer, and tried not to let the interruption bother me too much. True, I couldn't help but overhear snippets of conversation, which revolved around people talking about the trip and various restaurants where they had eaten. I was dismayed to hear several people comment on the Italian meals that they eaten (in Hungary????) or why they had such a good time at the Hard Rock Cafe; I appreciate that not everyone wants to launch into the local culture, but come on. Why would someone not try to sample some local cuisine while visiting another country?
I finished my sandwich and figured it was time to head upstairs for the evening. However, because of the other patrons who continued to order rounds of drinks, the waiter never could get back to my table to check on me. So, I walked up to the bar myself to settle my tab, becoming slightly surprised when he asked if I was going to pay in local currency. In fact, I charged everything to my room, but asked him what currency had he expected from me. He went on to say that all the other guests had either paid with Euro or Pound Sterling. That had not even occurred to me; if the currency is in Forint, then that is what you have to pay with.
As I signed my own bill, I heard a lot of commotion in the lobby, and turned to see another busload of tourists arriving. This group seemed to be predominately Chinese, and I felt fortunate to be finishing up my evening before the bar became even more crowded. (I wonder what currency they would be using later on)
The purpose of the trip was to visit my repair partner, who will soon be taking on the repairs of mobile products for our customer in the Hungarian market. I have worked with this supplier for several years, and was really glad to be back to visit them.
As meetings go, things went really well. We had a lot of things to do during the course of the week, and like always, it generated it's share of stress. Three or four solid days in meetings just takes a lot out of you. More than once I remembered that despite the fact that all the discussions were held in English, I was the only native speaker. I don't intend that statement to be one of arrogance, but more so to highlight the importance of recognizing any potential communication issues. Once, we were looking at an excerpt from a contact, and one of the parties was unable to understand the text. I pointed out that the text did indeed mean what they expected it to mean, it was just stated differently. A very basic example of this is when someone says six or half dozen. To a non native speaker, this may not be so clear.
I always find such moments very endearing. After all, language is challenging, and communication is a bit of an art. I had lived in Germany for the better part of 10 years before I discovered that there was a second word for elevator, and that day was pretty enlightening, I must say.
Our hosts took us out for a couple of meals during our visit, and I was very fortunate to have the chance to visit some local spots for a bit of culture. Unlike some of the pasta loving guests staying at my hotel, I elected to eat more Hungarian cuisine during my visit. One night, a couple of the guys took me to a local pub that did specialize in burgers, which made for an interesting experience. True, the burgers were not necessarily my first choice, but the place was full of locals and that more than made up for things.
By the time Thursday came around, I was ready to return home to Germany. The week had been productive, but intense. One of the guys from our repair partner had mentioned that travel to the airport was a little difficult; sometimes it could take over 2 hours, depending on the traffic. I was booked on a flight that wouldn't leave Budapest until around 19h, but I wanted to avoid sitting in a taxi for multiple hours, so elected to head to the airport around 15h. Fortunately, the traffic was not heavy, so I found myself at the airport entrance at 16h.
Although the airport is not huge, it is busy. Check-in didn't take me long, but as I headed to security I did notice a busload of travelers arriving to check in at the Lufthansa desk; my instincts had worked well, as I realized that they would soon be trying to clog up the security conveyors.
And security was complete chaos. Some girl was feebly trying to direct people into various invisible lanes where the x-ray machines were. Once again, it seemed that everyone had forgotten the security process, and I was just glad that I had my ducks in a row, and only one lighter with me. I smiled as a I recalled the day before when one of my Hungarian host had borrowed my lighter, only to put it right into his pocket immediately after lighting his cigarette, prompting me to have to ask for it back.
Once past the x-ray machine, I stood waiting for my stuff to come through the conveyor. Everyone was a little grabby, but I shared a laugh with another person trying to collect their stuff. I kind of wished that I hadn't said, "it's the same fucking zoo no matter which airport we're in, eh?" as I wasn't expecting him to respond in English, and certainly not a New York accent.
"Have a good flight, Rabbi," I said to the clergyman has we parted ways into the waiting lounge.
I had three spare hours before my flight, and I wanted to find a place to get a good coffee and read my book. As I walked through the lounge, an employee from one of the luxury goods counters attempted to buttonhole me. I say attempted, because I didn't actually have a button hole on my jacket, and even if I did, she was not particularly tall. Certainly not tall enough to grab my jacket lapels.
(pause while I highlight this word buttonhole. Yet another example of an English word that the non-native speaker will very likely not immediately comprehend, at least not in the context in which I have used it here)
Anyway, suddenly a very cute employee was standing in front of me asking me a small question (as opposed to a big one), and I smiled and said, "Why not?"
This was highly out of character for me. In fact, despite the fact that I am a little easy when it comes to girls in ponytails, boots, and an extreme cute factor, I am usually able to smile and continue on about my business. In fact, I really can only recall two moments where I did actually stop to engage in such situations. Once, many years ago, some attractive woman in the grocery store tried to offer me Tom Thumb Turkey Bucks during a Thanksgiving promotion, which prompted me to respond, "Sure, what do I have to do?" even though I did not have the slightest idea what a Turkey Buck was.
The other incident was more recent, in my little corner of Bornheim. One afternoon I was walking home from the U-Bahn when a nice woman talked to me about making a donation to the World Wildlife Fund. Although I did stop to talk to her, I ended up declining to donate on the grounds that I already donate to Oxfam.
So, I suddenly found myself sitting on a stool at a luxury cosmetic counter, where said cute saleswoman talked to me about skin care. As I always tend to do, I noticed very quickly that she was more than just an attractive girl, and was rather a knowledgeable and capable saleswoman. I did not really have any interest in buying any product, but listened to her pitch, then realized that she might have something I needed after all. It turns out that she did, and as I picked myself up off the floor after she told me the price, I thought for a moment, "you know, Bryan, you might actually be saving money if you do buy this product."
In the end, I negotiated a bit of a price reduction, so instead of a ridiculously expensive product, I bought a really expensive product. And am really pleased with it so far. And, it served to take up almost half and hour of my three hour wait before my flight. Time and money well spent.
It was still a bit surreal to have such an experience, but a few minutes later as I was ordering an espresso, I was still smiling.
Until the lady barista told me that the money I was trying to pay with was no longer in use. I looked at the 2000 Forint note in my hand, then looked at her for further explanation. She managed to communicate that the currency changes out every so often in Hungary, and she pointed to one of the other notes in my hand and said that it was OK.
I realized that some of the Forints that I had leftover from one of my Hungarian visits a few years before are no longer legal. Fortunately it was only a few Euro, but still, I felt a little embarrassed. The coffee girl smiled and said no problem, and I sat down with a nice cap and read further in my book for another a couple of hours until it was time to board the flight.
My homeward flight was full of business travelers, which meant everyone was a real jerk when it came time to put things in the overhead compartments, and I was a little surprised (and dismayed) to find two travelers who almost refused to turn their laptops off and put their tray in the upright position before take off. These people had clearly traveled before, so why were they being so difficult?
In the end, we were able to take off, and I dozed during the short flight home. We arrived to Frankfurt around 21h, and I got my luggage without too much hassle, then went outside to find another zoo: the taxi queue.
Normally Frankfurt airport is really efficient, in my opinion. From time to time, I get agitated when we have to take a bus from the apron position to the terminal, but normally the frustration comes more from just wanting to be done with the flight, including luggage collection, etc.
This past Thursday evening, it was if everyone who needed a taxi had completely forgotten all sense of etiquette. It did not help matters that there weren't quite enough taxis, but it really came down to the confusion of where the actual head of the line was supposed to be. There is a little bit of construction going on outside of terminal 1, and even the taxi drivers are not so sure of where they are supposed to pick up the next fare. Again, everyone is in the same position. It is late in the evening, people are weary from travel, and they just want to go home. And they are really close to getting home, just as soon as they can grab a taxi.
After a few extended confusing minutes, I finally got my taxi, and was relieved to experience almost no traffic on the highway. Almost 15 minutes after getting in the taxi, I was pulling up out front of my house, thanks to the light traffic and a taxi driver who apparently plays a lot of "Need for Speed" in his spare time.
I keyed back into my flat, quickly unpacked, then headed over to the pub for a little refreshment before going to bed.
The week had certainly taken it's toll. I was really tired by Friday evening, but have enjoyed a very quiet, relaxing, restful weekend.
I am already looking forward to going back to Hungary, and maybe, just maybe, I might find myself buying some expensive healthcare products.
Why not?
see you out there
bryan
With the new projects I am involved with, I will need to travel a little more often, and that is exciting. The other week I spent a few days in northern Germany, and will be up there again within the next couple of weeks. Meanwhile, I was assigned the responsibility to manage our Hungarian site, so last Sunday I headed to the airport to catch my flight to Budapest, where I would spend most of the week at our repair partner, meeting with the team there, along with our external customer.
I was a little irritated that once again, my weekend was being cut short. However, I did sort of prefer to travel on a Sunday afternoon rather than on a hectic Monday morning. I arrived to Frankfurt airport without any issue, went to the little kiosk to get my boarding pass, then stood in the queue to check my luggage through to Budapest. Unlike many other business travelers, I almost always check my luggage, primarily because I'd be staying away for 4-5 days; you can't really cram all that much clothing into a little overnight bag.
Sunday travel tends to have more non-business travelers, and they all seemed to be standing in the same queue for luggage drop off. I found myself feeling a little tense as I noticed all the blank stares on the other passengers, who seemed not to have the slightest idea how the self service luggage kiosks work. These kiosks have been in place in Frankfurt for at least a decade, and I wondered why the other travelers did not seem to understand how to use the little machines. I took a couple of deep breaths and just smiled to myself. There are always plenty of other things to worry about.
Which is exactly what I encountered a few minutes later when I got to the security checkpoint. For the past 18 years, going through the security check and passing the carry on luggage through the x-ray machine has always been an aggravation. I know others feel equally frustrated with this process. Yes, it is important to have the process in place for our safety. My issue is with the lack of preparation that everyone standing in line (most likely complaining to themselves about the waiting time) who wait until standing at the conveyor before removing items from their pocket, taking their little baggy of liquids out of their purse or backpack, and doing whatever else the clear signs hanging above the area instruct us to do.
When standing in these queues, I always notice the more experienced travelers, who have clearly found their little system that helps them move through the check point as efficiently as possible. I, too, have my own little process, where my belt and my jacket are already ready for the tray. My laptop is already out of my backpack so that it can be scanned separately. And there is never anything in my pants pockets.
Again, I told myself to be patient as I watched people wondering aloud, "What are we supposed to do?" as they stood in front of the conveyor, apparently having completely ignored the very simple and explanatory instructional video on display that we had all just watched for the full period of time we had stood in line.
When it was my turn, I got my trays onto the conveyor, walked through the body scan machine, then went to wait for my items to come out of the x-ray machine. Frankfurt airport has a little separate conveyor for those items that need to be checked separately, or better said, scrutinized. This is not a new thing for me, either. Carrying various technical items always tends to light up the x-ray machine, but this time around, the guy said, "Hey, we really need to go through all of your stuff."
Lovely.
Suddenly, almost all the contents of my backpack were out on the counter, which was not really what I wanted to happen. A second man took the tray that contained my jacket and removed all the contents from the jacket pockets. These contents included passport, wallet, mobile, a packet of tissue, and three disposable lighters.
The security agent informed me that I was only allowed to carry one lighter, so I had to throw the other two away. In fairness, the guy was really relaxed about the whole thing (particularly in comparison to the personnel in various other airports in America), but I was irritated for two reasons: one, I was holding up the process due to my own ignorance, and two, I had to give up some spare lighters.
You might be asking yourself why someone would need so many cigarette lighters, and I can only offer a bit of an explanation. When flying, I never take my zippo, since I know it would be confiscated. Therefore, I always take a disposable lighter with me. In my normal daily routine, I always tend to put a lighter (or two) in my jacket pockets. Many times I have been asked to light someone's cigarette, and depending on the circumstances, I may not always get said lighter back. One particular friend from the pub, an actual employee, NEVER had a light, so always asked to borrow a lighter before going outside for his break. Then, he would forget to return the lighter, and I would forget to get it back from him. Lighters are like ballpoint pens, you ask to borrow one, then put it right into your pocket immediately after using it, simply assuming that it was yours in the first place. In short, disposable lighters are just as likely to disappear as to run out of fluid.
So, I made it through security and headed to my gate, making sure that I knew exactly where my one lighter was. (The other reason I always carry a spare is in case the first one is out of fluid, something that has happened to me more than once.)
Boarding our flight was pretty uneventful, and once on board, I just took a little nap for the 90 minute flight to Budapest.
I was actually looking forward to my return to this city; it has been several years since my last visit. I was trying to remember the set up of the airport, since after awhile, all airports start to look the same. As we arrived, it took me a minute to get my bearings before I located the "good" men's bathroom (safe havens are always important, no matter where you are in the world) and the baggage claim.
While waiting for my luggage, I exchanged some money, then grabbed my suitcase and headed to the taxi stand.
The airport is on the west side of the city, and my destination was actually in a little suburb on the east side of the river, about 35 minutes away by taxi, so long as there was no traffic on the roads.
We made good time, and I got to my hotel and was waited on my a very helpful reception attendant. The hotel was not in a location full of restaurants, the immediate area was a bit more industrial, but it did have a little bar (and restaurant). I unpacked, freshened up, then grabbed my book and went downstairs to have a quiet beer and snack.
The bar was empty when I walked in, so I had my pick of tables, and settled down to enjoy a quiet evening. I ordered a beer and told the waiter that I would likely order something to eat after I had a chance to peruse the snack menu. Hungary is not really known for it's beers, but the local one I was drinking tasted just fine, and I said as such to the waiter as I ordered a second beer along with a sandwich.
Two minutes, 50 people left the hotel restaurant and came straight into the bar. The penny dropped as I deduced that these people were all a part of the same travel group, whose tour coach I had noticed parked outside of the hotel when I arrived. They all seemed to have come from the UK, at least from the accents I was hearing. The bar was not overly large, so all of them spread out to almost all the tables. I was bewildered to find that suddenly, one person from each table then went directly to the bar to order drinks for each table. I do appreciate that hotel bars normally don't staff for onslaughts of patrons, but suddenly we had 10 people standing at the bar, each ordering 4 to 5 drinks to take back to their table.
Part of this seems to be a culture thing; I notice that in a lot of English and Irish pubs, no one seems to understand the concept of table service. The same thing happens frequently in my local pub in Frankfurt. It irritates me every time. In fact, it is almost as annoying as waiting until you get to the conveyor at the airport security check before starting to prepare to go through the checkpoint. (And both of these peeves are right on par with someone who goes to the grocery store, buy shitloads of stuff, then waits until the last item has been scanned before starting to pack their groceries into their shopping bags, before finally paying for their items)
At any rate, I focused on my book and my beer, and tried not to let the interruption bother me too much. True, I couldn't help but overhear snippets of conversation, which revolved around people talking about the trip and various restaurants where they had eaten. I was dismayed to hear several people comment on the Italian meals that they eaten (in Hungary????) or why they had such a good time at the Hard Rock Cafe; I appreciate that not everyone wants to launch into the local culture, but come on. Why would someone not try to sample some local cuisine while visiting another country?
I finished my sandwich and figured it was time to head upstairs for the evening. However, because of the other patrons who continued to order rounds of drinks, the waiter never could get back to my table to check on me. So, I walked up to the bar myself to settle my tab, becoming slightly surprised when he asked if I was going to pay in local currency. In fact, I charged everything to my room, but asked him what currency had he expected from me. He went on to say that all the other guests had either paid with Euro or Pound Sterling. That had not even occurred to me; if the currency is in Forint, then that is what you have to pay with.
As I signed my own bill, I heard a lot of commotion in the lobby, and turned to see another busload of tourists arriving. This group seemed to be predominately Chinese, and I felt fortunate to be finishing up my evening before the bar became even more crowded. (I wonder what currency they would be using later on)
The purpose of the trip was to visit my repair partner, who will soon be taking on the repairs of mobile products for our customer in the Hungarian market. I have worked with this supplier for several years, and was really glad to be back to visit them.
As meetings go, things went really well. We had a lot of things to do during the course of the week, and like always, it generated it's share of stress. Three or four solid days in meetings just takes a lot out of you. More than once I remembered that despite the fact that all the discussions were held in English, I was the only native speaker. I don't intend that statement to be one of arrogance, but more so to highlight the importance of recognizing any potential communication issues. Once, we were looking at an excerpt from a contact, and one of the parties was unable to understand the text. I pointed out that the text did indeed mean what they expected it to mean, it was just stated differently. A very basic example of this is when someone says six or half dozen. To a non native speaker, this may not be so clear.
I always find such moments very endearing. After all, language is challenging, and communication is a bit of an art. I had lived in Germany for the better part of 10 years before I discovered that there was a second word for elevator, and that day was pretty enlightening, I must say.
Our hosts took us out for a couple of meals during our visit, and I was very fortunate to have the chance to visit some local spots for a bit of culture. Unlike some of the pasta loving guests staying at my hotel, I elected to eat more Hungarian cuisine during my visit. One night, a couple of the guys took me to a local pub that did specialize in burgers, which made for an interesting experience. True, the burgers were not necessarily my first choice, but the place was full of locals and that more than made up for things.
By the time Thursday came around, I was ready to return home to Germany. The week had been productive, but intense. One of the guys from our repair partner had mentioned that travel to the airport was a little difficult; sometimes it could take over 2 hours, depending on the traffic. I was booked on a flight that wouldn't leave Budapest until around 19h, but I wanted to avoid sitting in a taxi for multiple hours, so elected to head to the airport around 15h. Fortunately, the traffic was not heavy, so I found myself at the airport entrance at 16h.
Although the airport is not huge, it is busy. Check-in didn't take me long, but as I headed to security I did notice a busload of travelers arriving to check in at the Lufthansa desk; my instincts had worked well, as I realized that they would soon be trying to clog up the security conveyors.
And security was complete chaos. Some girl was feebly trying to direct people into various invisible lanes where the x-ray machines were. Once again, it seemed that everyone had forgotten the security process, and I was just glad that I had my ducks in a row, and only one lighter with me. I smiled as a I recalled the day before when one of my Hungarian host had borrowed my lighter, only to put it right into his pocket immediately after lighting his cigarette, prompting me to have to ask for it back.
Once past the x-ray machine, I stood waiting for my stuff to come through the conveyor. Everyone was a little grabby, but I shared a laugh with another person trying to collect their stuff. I kind of wished that I hadn't said, "it's the same fucking zoo no matter which airport we're in, eh?" as I wasn't expecting him to respond in English, and certainly not a New York accent.
"Have a good flight, Rabbi," I said to the clergyman has we parted ways into the waiting lounge.
I had three spare hours before my flight, and I wanted to find a place to get a good coffee and read my book. As I walked through the lounge, an employee from one of the luxury goods counters attempted to buttonhole me. I say attempted, because I didn't actually have a button hole on my jacket, and even if I did, she was not particularly tall. Certainly not tall enough to grab my jacket lapels.
(pause while I highlight this word buttonhole. Yet another example of an English word that the non-native speaker will very likely not immediately comprehend, at least not in the context in which I have used it here)
Anyway, suddenly a very cute employee was standing in front of me asking me a small question (as opposed to a big one), and I smiled and said, "Why not?"
This was highly out of character for me. In fact, despite the fact that I am a little easy when it comes to girls in ponytails, boots, and an extreme cute factor, I am usually able to smile and continue on about my business. In fact, I really can only recall two moments where I did actually stop to engage in such situations. Once, many years ago, some attractive woman in the grocery store tried to offer me Tom Thumb Turkey Bucks during a Thanksgiving promotion, which prompted me to respond, "Sure, what do I have to do?" even though I did not have the slightest idea what a Turkey Buck was.
The other incident was more recent, in my little corner of Bornheim. One afternoon I was walking home from the U-Bahn when a nice woman talked to me about making a donation to the World Wildlife Fund. Although I did stop to talk to her, I ended up declining to donate on the grounds that I already donate to Oxfam.
So, I suddenly found myself sitting on a stool at a luxury cosmetic counter, where said cute saleswoman talked to me about skin care. As I always tend to do, I noticed very quickly that she was more than just an attractive girl, and was rather a knowledgeable and capable saleswoman. I did not really have any interest in buying any product, but listened to her pitch, then realized that she might have something I needed after all. It turns out that she did, and as I picked myself up off the floor after she told me the price, I thought for a moment, "you know, Bryan, you might actually be saving money if you do buy this product."
In the end, I negotiated a bit of a price reduction, so instead of a ridiculously expensive product, I bought a really expensive product. And am really pleased with it so far. And, it served to take up almost half and hour of my three hour wait before my flight. Time and money well spent.
It was still a bit surreal to have such an experience, but a few minutes later as I was ordering an espresso, I was still smiling.
Until the lady barista told me that the money I was trying to pay with was no longer in use. I looked at the 2000 Forint note in my hand, then looked at her for further explanation. She managed to communicate that the currency changes out every so often in Hungary, and she pointed to one of the other notes in my hand and said that it was OK.
I realized that some of the Forints that I had leftover from one of my Hungarian visits a few years before are no longer legal. Fortunately it was only a few Euro, but still, I felt a little embarrassed. The coffee girl smiled and said no problem, and I sat down with a nice cap and read further in my book for another a couple of hours until it was time to board the flight.
My homeward flight was full of business travelers, which meant everyone was a real jerk when it came time to put things in the overhead compartments, and I was a little surprised (and dismayed) to find two travelers who almost refused to turn their laptops off and put their tray in the upright position before take off. These people had clearly traveled before, so why were they being so difficult?
In the end, we were able to take off, and I dozed during the short flight home. We arrived to Frankfurt around 21h, and I got my luggage without too much hassle, then went outside to find another zoo: the taxi queue.
Normally Frankfurt airport is really efficient, in my opinion. From time to time, I get agitated when we have to take a bus from the apron position to the terminal, but normally the frustration comes more from just wanting to be done with the flight, including luggage collection, etc.
This past Thursday evening, it was if everyone who needed a taxi had completely forgotten all sense of etiquette. It did not help matters that there weren't quite enough taxis, but it really came down to the confusion of where the actual head of the line was supposed to be. There is a little bit of construction going on outside of terminal 1, and even the taxi drivers are not so sure of where they are supposed to pick up the next fare. Again, everyone is in the same position. It is late in the evening, people are weary from travel, and they just want to go home. And they are really close to getting home, just as soon as they can grab a taxi.
After a few extended confusing minutes, I finally got my taxi, and was relieved to experience almost no traffic on the highway. Almost 15 minutes after getting in the taxi, I was pulling up out front of my house, thanks to the light traffic and a taxi driver who apparently plays a lot of "Need for Speed" in his spare time.
I keyed back into my flat, quickly unpacked, then headed over to the pub for a little refreshment before going to bed.
The week had certainly taken it's toll. I was really tired by Friday evening, but have enjoyed a very quiet, relaxing, restful weekend.
I am already looking forward to going back to Hungary, and maybe, just maybe, I might find myself buying some expensive healthcare products.
Why not?
see you out there
bryan
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)