Challenging the Fashion Challenged

Right about this time last Sunday, I was preparing for the upcoming week, when I would be visiting one of our facilities.  I was already a wee bit antsy, as DB had strikes planned for Monday, which could potentially make it a real difficulty for me to get to Sömmerda.  Besides that, I was going to be meeting some colleagues for the first time, and naturally wanted to make a decent impression.  The real issue, though, was the fact that my last business trip was in January, and my wardrobe is much better suited for the colder months.  I just do not have that much "business casual" stuff  that is suited for summer, and as always, I tend to feel a step or two behind the fashion times. 

On the Sunday morning as I was packing my suitcase, I started with the easy stuff:  enough socks and boxers for a five day trip.  My rule is always "days away plus two," which is really easy to do with undergarments.  Because I would only be away from Monday to Friday, I figured on 2 pairs of jeans:  one to wear and one in the suitcase.  Shirts, however, was looking like a problem.  The weather forecast indicated coolish temperatures with a bit of rain.  I looked at the polo shirts I had available, all three of them (that are still presentable), selected undershirts (which, in my world, are t-shirts with the sleeves cut off), and realized I still had two days to plan for.  I figured that a long sleeve button down was not needed, and part of this decision was already made for me, as ironing would be involved, and I just did not feel like putting that much effort into things.  

I was quickly losing interest in the exercise, but knew I had to get it done.  Finally I decided on a henley and a long sleeve heavy t-shirt.  Not optimal, but doable, on the grounds that I was not going to be meeting with customers, but rather colleagues within the repair facility.  

Packing completed, I quickly went through the rest of my to-do list.  I needed ciggy and cash (not necessarily in that order), and had plans to meet up at the pub for the late afternoon football match. As I walked down the street towards my bank, I ran into some friends, a couple who were soon to be headed away on their summer holiday.  We chatted briefly, and the man complained about trying to pack for their trip, noting that some of his clothes no longer fit, heavily due to the events of the past 18 months, where people were doing less clothes shopping and to some extent being less active than other times, based on lock-down restrictions and whatnot.  

I kind of chuckled, then told the man that I was going through a similar problem.  Some of my clothes probably do not fit as well as they once did, and certainly some new articles of clothing are probably needed.  However, because I have not done a lot of travel this year, I am not altogether clear what I should be wearing.  

This may sound like a very ridiculous question, but let me explain.  

In service logistics facilities, including our repair sites, most of the employees that work on the repair lines, either as technicians or material handles, tend to wear jeans and some sort of ESD protective clothing.  One of the big trends these days is for the ESD apparel to be more trendy.  There are polos and both long and short sleeve t-shirts offered to the employees, all with company logo and ESD protection.  Effectively the employees all look like they are wearing a uniform.  

The program and operations managers tend to wear the business casual stuff, just like I have done for most of my career.  Now, in this slightly different role, I am not sure if I can continue to get away with wearing ops type clothing, or if I need to spruce up a bit to wear more something more suitable to business development. 

The question is, what exactly should a business development guy be wearing?  Generally, a suit is almost too formal for this kind of business, and one of the rules of thumb is to sort of mirror what your customers might wear.  So, I have been thinking about these things and decided to do additional research during the week in Sömmerda as I met with some other colleagues in my department.  I was glad that I had not invested too much time or money in buying new work clothes at the beginning of the year, but knew that now is probably the right time. 

There were some tricky bits during the train ride on Monday, but I got to my destination without too much delay.  I greeted some of the colleagues I had first met in January, then met some new colleagues, all the while kind of making mental notes as to what people were wearing. 

One of the guys that I was meeting personally for the first time is at my same level of management, which basically means we were dressing similarly.  When we arrived at the hotel, he pulled out a hanging bag, and I immediately thought, "oh now, this guy is going to wear suit tomorrow."

It turned out that it was just a shirt, and his routine was to simply bring the stuff on hangers if he were travelling by car.  No need to pack and fold if you do not need to. 

One of the German colleagues wore a waistcoat over a white shirt.  He looked smart, but a little too trendy for my tastes, especially since he completed the outfit with jeans and white tennis shoes.  I have seen a few other people dressing similarly (though mostly without the sneakers), but rather than a vest, I would prefer wearing a blazer, if required.  In fact, the typical business casual German fashion is a blazer with a jeans and a shirt.  I can do that without any problem, but in summer, it tends to be way too warm for that, despite the fact that German summer temperatures are nowhere near like they might be in southern Europe.  

My buddy with the hanging bag tended to wear print shirts for the week, and this something I am also not a huge fan of.  I prefer solid colors, and as we know, these solid colors tend to be extremely dark: black or gray.  

All things considered, my polos did just fine for the week, and as Thursday and Friday approached, I quietly wore my henley without too much fuss.  I realized that I had not made too much progress on deciding on what I needed to extend my wardrobe, but told myself to pay attention on the train ride home to see what other businessmen were wearing.  

I got additional opportunities to see how others are dressing because the train that I was booked on had a technical failure.  The replacement train was simply another train that had to route through our station and pick up the additional passengers.  Thus, the train was quite full for the two hour return trip to Frankfurt. 

That was already a bit stressful, because as much as I like train travel, I do not always enjoy the cattle car experience, and Friday afternoon was leaning in that direction. 

The week was busy and very productive, so I sat in my seat, closed my eyes (I had already peeped at the other businessmen and their attire), and thought about clothes.  

I remembered my years in high school and college, when I wore Stan Smiths a whole lot.   I loved that shoe, not only for tennis, but simply because it was a nice basic all rounder.  I should point out that because of it's simplicity, it was an exceptional shoe to use when kicking a hacky sack.   I continued to wear Stans until the mid 90s, when I finally made the change to Sambas, which has been my casual shoe of choice for over 25 years.  

A few years ago, I was slightly surprised to see Stans (and equivalents) showing up more and more often on peoples feet.  I understand that fashion goes in cycles, but the difference this time was that the shoes were being used more formally.  A prime example comes from the morning television show that I watched this past week while getting ready for work.  The moderator wore a slim fitting suit, certainly trendy, but wore Stan Smiths on his feet.  The look works, but is so trendy, that it puts me off.  I do not think I could ever dress like that, but I could easily see my nephew sporting that look.  This is not a negative comment towards my nephew, but just the acknowledgement that people have their styles and looks. 

When I was coming to the end of my time wearing Stans, I still wore khakis semi-regularly, and actually still wore some shirts that maybe didn't have prints, but they might have had more color, and possibly some stripes.  Some of this was because I was still wearing clothes from high school, and there was a time when you had to wear khaki pants because your mom made you.  

One of the very last times that I wore a more colorful shirt was one warm summer evening in 1994. It was a Friday afternoon, and Pablo came by to pick me up so that we could go to my sister's wedding rehearsal.  Both of us were involved in the wedding, Pablo called into action due to the need for Spanish translators as well as being a personal friend not only to me, but also my sister and the rest of my family. 

My mother specifically stated that I was NOT to attend the wedding rehearsal wearing jeans or overly dark clothing, which was my tendency, so I pulled out a shirt, one that I briefly quite liked, that had vertical stripes in a very soft blue and pastel red.  If someone were to see me wearing that today, they would certainly raise an eyebrow, since they are not used to seeing me in something like that.  But, that Friday evening it was the best option.  That and my khaki pants.   Pablo picked me up at my place, handed me a beer from the console in his car, and we enjoyed a happy hour beer as we headed downtown.  Yes, consumption in an automobile was kind of frowned upon, if not illegal, but sometimes you just did it anyway.   

We should have expected traffic, but left it late (casual as we tended to be), and found ourselves arriving to the rehearsal a good 20 minutes after it had started.  No mobiles back then, so no way to tell everyone (particularly mom, who was none too pleased) that we would be delayed. 

The beer tasted good, we had a few laughs, parked, and strolled into the church sanctuary, and thank goodness Pablo turned on the charm and had everyone chuckling within seconds, even though my grandfather (who performed the ceremony) was a bit irritated by the interruption. 

Stateside culture calls for wedding rehearsals to be followed by a rehearsal dinner, an opportunity hosted by (usually) the groom's family with special guests and family members the night before the wedding.  Pablo played a key role in this because the groom's parents did not speak any English, and the bride's parents could not speak any Spanish.  Hence the need for bilingual folks to be strategically placed in the restaurant to help keep the festivities flowing, and to help make everyone feel more comfortable.  You have to appreciate that besides Pablo and a couple of others, the only person who was bilingual was my sister, the bride.  She, of course, was preoccupied with the wedding stuff, and needed less pressure on having to do ALL the translating.  

I no longer remember how many people were at the rehearsal dinner, but we had reserved one of the banquet rooms at one of our favorite Mexican restaurants.  Once all the guests had arrived, my father stood up to make some introductions, welcome everyone, and give a toast or two.  He, himself, was wearing a print shirt, some navy blue thing with kind of a paisley print.  This was kind of style in the early 90s, especially for men of his age when they attempted to do the semi-casual look.  

Truth be told, I had a couple of other shirts very similar to that (thanks J-Crew, those were good times), but was no longer really wearing them; clearly my fashion tastes were already well on their way to jeans, boots, and solid black, grey, or white shirts.  

The beers and margaritas were flowing well that evening, and it was a nice event.  As I was interested in enjoying myself as much as possible while still honoring all my wedding duties that are required of the little brother of the bride, I had whispered to Chris that perhaps he should come by the restaurant for a couple of late beers.  He sauntered in at the appropriate moment when the gathering was starting to break up, and after a beer and a tequila shot or two, Pablo, Chris, and I decided the night indeed was still young, and it was time to venture downtown. 

In those days we were frequently on Elm Street, seeing shows with great frequency.  Two doors down from Trees, one of our favorite venues, there was a nice little bar called the Green Room, which had a roof top terrace that was brilliant.   So, that Friday evening, the three of us headed upstairs, found a table, and relaxed during the lively evening.  August in Texas is known for being hot as shit, and that is not good.  But, every once in awhile, the evenings are not so humid, and not so damn hot.  This particularly evening offered a pleasant breeze, good company, nice beers, and all of it made me forget that I was wearing a goofy colored shirt.  

What I do remember about attire from that evening, is that both my friends were wearing their usual styles.  We have all been friends for over 30 years, and with the exception of my migration along the color spectrum to darker colors, none of us have really changed styles.  Like anyone, we have discussed it maybe once or twice through the years, but always more in passing.  We are simply WYSIWYG kind of people.  We know are styles, are comfortable in those styles, and simply get on with it.  

It was a nice memory to reflect on as I got back to Frankfurt Friday afternoon.  I returned home, threw all my dirty laundry into the washing machine, noticing that when all you wear is darks, there is no hassle with sorting.   

As the workweek came to a satisfying close, I figured that in the coming weeks I may indeed need to venture out to a store or two to update my wardrobe, Bryan style.  There is still a bit of uncertainty on whether my style will mesh well with the workplace, but I will focus on staying as what you see is what you get.  After all, one of my target customers is a start up, and they all recently changed their profile photos on business networking sites from pictures of them in suits to pictures of them in hoodies.  True, it is a start up, and maybe that is the hip thing.  So dealing with an account guy who wear steelies and jeans should not be a real big deal for them.  

I celebrated the start of the weekend with a nice trip to the pub, where I caught up with a few friends, and even met some new people, including a woman wearing a summer dress and Stan Smiths (which I found to be a nice look).  Conversation topics in the pub are always spontaneous and enjoyable, but on the particular evening, taking things as they come and individual styles were discussed.  This served as an excellent reminder that I just need to keep on dressing like I want to dress.  The rest of it will sort itself out all in good time. 

Yep, Friday turned out to be a very late night indeed, and perhaps two or three beers too many.  This is why Saturday I spent a lot of time on the couch, not worrying about my team getting ripped apart by their opponents, and just kept trying to get through the hangover.  

But it was worth it. 

As the last little point for today's post, it once again involves Pablo and Chris.  One of our haunts from the neighborhood, an Irish Pub (gee, really?) apparently closed it's doors with a hint of abruptness.  It arrived 20 years ago just when we needed a new place to go to in Dallas, and we all have fond memories from there.  Both guys informed me via text of the news almost at the exact same moment.    

It just serves as another reminder that as friends, we are never been concerned with what we are wearing on our bodies, but instead where we can hang out and enjoy pints and good chats. 

see you out there

Bryan 

An Action-Packed Week of Grübeln and Eingreifen

Three random events from this past week managed to occupy a fair amount of my time and thoughts.  I feel a little fortunate that they spaced themselves out so I never felt totally overwhelmed. 

It started on Monday evening at the Kiosk.  Although we rarely struggle for conversation topics, there was a brief lull as the three of us stood there. 

"Hey, there is no longer a No Drama Lama ice cream available," Denny said.  

We looked at the poster advertising ice cream bars hanging tantalizingly at kid's eye level and saw that he was right.  

Over the years as we gather each Monday evening at the local Kiosk, we get to watch many people come and go, picking up cigarettes, take away beers, chewing gum, snacks, and of course, ice cream bars.  Often this generates some very interesting experiences, or peculiarities, if you will.  Once, a guy came up to the window and ordered 3 Heinies, an affectionate term for Heineken. 

All of us found this rather amusing, and probably me most of all, since I knew the term from the playground at my elementary school.  "Ha ha ha, he fell on his heinie," some kid would shout gleefully, partly because the incident was funny, but mostly because the word is just funny to say. 

My German friends appreciate this concept of saying funny words, which is why last summer we got kind of curious about the No Drama Lama ice cream bars.  None of us really wanted to purchase the item, but every time a kid walked up to the kiosk, we hoped that they might order one and tell us what it tasted like. At the very least, we were able to say No Drama Lama pretty regularly. 

Monday evening is beer night, so no one is ever looking for a tasty treat.  But, we all comment regularly on our childhood when we did look forward to any time that we got to eat ice cream.  The Kiosk ice cream bar sign gives us a regular reminder of those days. 

And right after we confirmed that there was no more drama or lama, we did look more closely at the Magnum ice cream bars on offer.  I remarked that I was always disappointed that the picture of the ice cream bar was about 10 times bigger than what you actually got to eat.  

So, I went home that night with ice cream bars on the brain.  A friend of mine sometimes experiences that urgent need for ice cream, and from time to time, I go through a brief phase where I want ice cream, too.  

I made a mental note to look in the freezer section of my supermarket during my next shopping run, which was planned for later in the week.  It turned out to be Thursday, and so as to bring this first random incident to a close, I can report that I ate 3 Magnums on Thursday evening, and another 3 last night . 

That is me done with ice cream for the next little while.  The urge hit me, I addressed it, and while 3 ice cream bars in one sitting seems excessive, they were rather small.  

The second incident of the week involved my mobile phone charger.  My mobile has a monster battery in it; I usually have to charge once every 6 or 7 days.  Sure, I am not surfing or doing much of anything that would drain the battery so quickly, but I kind of like seeing how long I can go between charges.  

Last Saturday, however, I encountered a small hiccup. Suddenly, my phone was not performing like I expected it to.  I ended up having to let the device charge overnight, and even then, it was not quite at a full charge.  I decided to wait and see what would happen over the course of the week.  I figured I would monitor the drain on the battery and determine further action.  

Due to a trip to my company headquarters on Wednesday, my phone was a bit more active, as my train app sends me regular alerts during my ride.  ("Hi, your train leaves in one hour!" or "Hi, you have reached your destination!")  While helpful, I do not necessarily need these messages, but also am too lazy to switch off the alert. 

That, combined with a brief video call with my father and grandmother on Thursday night, pretty much had my battery at 4-5% by Friday morning.  I plugged my phone back into the charger, and was somewhat dismayed to see that again, the phone was not taking a charge. 

I have a business trip next week, and rather than find myself with a phone that I truly cannot charge, I made a quick decision to replace the charger, since they can fail from time to time.  I went online, found a suitable charger for my mobile, and placed the order with expedited shipping, so that I would receive my package this morning. 

Sure enough, the DHL guy rang my doorbell at 9am this morning.  I immediately plugged my phone into the new charger, and presto, 2 minutes ago (at around 11h30 in the morning), my device is fully charged. 

Problem solved.  It was the charger and not the phone.  As I sat eating my final Magnum last evening, I wondered when the package would come, and was rather pleased that it came so early in the day.  

The truly thought-provoking event of the week started Wednesday evening.  I was talking to a friend of mine whose son recently developed an interest in playing guitar.  A lot of teens discover music around this age, and I was immediately intrigued.  I have not yet spoken with the son directly, so was asking my buddy a barrage of questions.  What kind of guitar?  How is he learning?  Is he progressing? What kind of music is he playing?

My friend is a fellow music fan; we share very similar tastes.  Over the years we have traded stories about concerts, album listening experiences (which turn into marathons), and can enthusiastically discuss music for hours on end. 

When I received the answer to my question what songs is he learning, I immediately responded, "I do not like that band."

"Me neither," said my friend. 

And that is where the pondering has started.  

What do you do when you don't like the music that your kid is learning to play?

This sounds like a very naive question, and certainly clarifies that I am not a parent.  But, I think back to my own childhood, and all the music lessons I took.  Likewise, I think of all the music I have loved and listened to over the years. 

My parents had their own musical tastes, and while I certainly was exposed to their favorites, I never really became a fan.  Too much happened between their generation and mine, so we never really had overlapping tastes.  In short, I did not like their music too much, and they sure as hell did not like my stuff, whether it be progressive rock like The Who or Yes, or the industrial electronica, the new wave, the ska, and the punk.  My parents took a bit of an issue with the punk, which I guess I can understand to some degree. 

The difference now is that my friend's kid is liking music and bands that my friend is very familiar with. In fact, he probably already has some of the albums, has seen the band in concert, or whatever, simply because the generations are a little more closely aligned.  

My dilemma, despite the fact that it really is none of my business, is that because my own passion for music is the same as my friend, we have a tendency to express our opinions, usually in a friendly way. Back in high school I might have been a bit more aggressive when making statements like, "that band is crap," or "I hate that album."  Over the years, I toned that down a bit, so as not to kick someone's legs out from underneath them. 

After all, if you want to listen to a shitty album, go right ahead.  

That seems like a snobbish remark, but I mean it very politely and respectfully.  My tastes are my tastes, and someone else's tastes are their own.  I do not expect someone to love all the things that I listen to, and everyone is free to express their opinion. 

That being said, when I started playing more and more rock piano, my parents were not familiar with any of the stuff that I was learning or playing.  The closest thing my parents could relate to was Jerry Lee Lewis, but I was not playing that kind of rock piano.  

Sure, my parents encouraged me to pursue my musical interest, my passion for piano, expression, etc.  And likewise, my friend is also encouraging his son to take the interest as far he wants.  To be clear, it is very early days, but we shall see. 

Right, so I think I am doing a lousy job of expressing my point.  For me, my musical tastes were so distant from my folks, that we simply had a mutual respect that we each had favorites.  If I think of my mother, I think immediately of Nat King Cole or Frank Sinatra.  My dad was a pretty big Elvis fan, and also quite likes country western music.  

In my friend's case, it is a different situation.  He and his son are listening to remarkably similar stuff, from pretty much the same era. Like my friend, I never listened to bands just to irritate my folks (well, ok, maybe a few times), but I did really find myself enjoying the alternative stuff, which has that connotation with rebellion. 

Now, my friend and his son are listening to these same bands, and it is simply a musical taste issue.  I think part of me would want my kid liking my music, but the other part of me wants to keep my music for myself.  And selfishly, I would prefer my child not to develop a liking for the bands I did not like from my own adolescence, however unfair that sounds. 

I am certainly not going to solve this question here, and probably will never quite get my head around it, but as I play a Joy Division album later today, I am quite sure that some 15 year old, somewhere, is also listening to it, and perhaps even liking it.  Despite the 30 year gap, I would be curious as to what made them choose the record, since I cannot see how a youth of today could really connect with JD, other than the music is brilliant. 

And who knows? Maybe my dad will show up in Germany next visit wearing a Siouxsie shirt and wanting to talk with me about the JAMC.  

see you out there

bryan

 

Eine Roller-coaster Woche oder Zwei

This time last Saturday, I was sitting at home thinking of how to start the week's post.  Not just start it, but also finish it.  And put in the middle part, too. 

The previous week had been good, if not pretty darn good, but somehow I was at a loss as to how to formulate some thoughts on to paper.  Rather than waste away the Saturday sitting in front of the laptop, I got on with things and expected the thoughts to flow, eventually on to paper.  No luck. 

Sunday was not much better from a "sit down and bang out a post" perspective, but I made up for it by catching up on the domestic chores; the sheets got changed, the floors got hoovered and mopped, and orange oil cleaner had my bathroom smelling like a little orange grove.  

This past week started well, and once or twice I announced to myself "I am all clean," in that way that a child says upon coming out of the bathtub.  (Hey, it works for me).  Monday evening was our first return to the Kiosk for the traditional Monday gathering.  It was great to be back in front of Papri's Kiosk, but it was also a little awkward for us. For the past three months we had been gathering on a quiet plaza, where we hardly came into contact with anyone.  The sudden contrast to suddenly having lots of people walking by on the street, as well as making purchases at the Kiosk was something that all of us commented on.  

A big advantage of being back on the main street is the opportunity to see folks that (in many cases) we had not seen in some time.  Sure enough, a couple that I know very well stopped to chat with us for a few minutes as they were making their way home.  It was great to see them and exchange news, find out about the family, recent happenings, etc.  This past week was technically the Kerb, which is a 414 year old festival that starts on a Saturday (last Saturday) and ends on a Wednesday.  The Monday in between is usually a semi-quiet evening, but during Kerb, our Kiosk evenings always had a little extra something, especially since semi-quiet is a relative term.  Mondays during Kerb have an extra little buzz. 

Indeed, there were a fair amount of folks out and about on Monday evening. Pleasant weather during the summer months just allows an opportunity that people do not want to pass up.  They want to be outside. Again, because we had gone so many months without seeing so many people all at one time, it required a little adjustment period. This also gave us more things to observe and comment on. 

Take e-scooters, for example.  These have been increasingly more popular in Germany over the past year, despite the pandemic.  This summer particularly has shown an increased number of vehicles on the streets.  There are several companies who offer the rental services, which effectively enables one to rent the scooter on demand, take it to wherever they want to go, then park.  

I do not have a tremendous problem with this new "craze."  It makes sense, is eco-friendly, and gives us something more to talk about.  The issue I really have is with the rider's behavior.  Last summer I was a little apprehensive about the number of accidents that would be caused, since my previous job had involved a manufacturer of such vehicles; Italy and Spain went first to market, and a couple of years ago they went through very similar challenges.  But, I am still not talking about guys double or triple riding (which is illegal) or riding while intoxicated (which is also illegal).  I am actually over those things. 

What bugs me, is the simple disregard that the riders have upon arrival at their destination.  They simply stop, and get off the vehicle.  

That could be in front of someone's house door, or simply on the sidewalk. 

This is my issue.  

From our Kiosk vantage point that evening, we watched multiple people just abandon the scooter wherever the hell they felt like.  This obviously creates a bit of a nuisance to those pedestrians who have to circumnavigate the bulky thing, which is equally annoying and dangerous.  

As we were standing there that night, I was reminded of my childhood when we finished riding our bikes.  From time to time, we might have arrived home needing to take an urgent trip to the bathroom, and because of that, we might have left our bike in the middle of the driveway or perhaps not in it's correct parking spot in the garage. 

The obvious problem, of course, is when someone arrived home from work in a car (let's call him Dad) to find that he could not park his car in the driveway or garage, because someone left their bike in the way. 

In my household, we had a few chats about things like this, and as a result, I did learn to think about my actions, and not least of all, on how to make sure my bike was properly parked. 

I see the same opportunity on the streets of Germany.  What is dismaying is that the (predominate) age group or e-scooter riders should KNOW better than to simply leave something lying dangerously as an obstacle in the pedestrian path of someone older, younger, or simply not paying attention. 

Biking rules are pretty strict, and it is rather amazing how cyclists, of which there are many, take particular care to park (and lock) their bikes in appropriate places.  What is hard for me to understand is that a cyclist is just as likely to park an e-scooter without this same level of attention and care.  That makes no sense to me. 

As you might have noticed, this topic bugs me.  As we stood there Monday evening, we discussed our frustrations about the whole thing, and also recognized that cities and regions are also finding it difficult to combat the problem.  One of the ideas being kicked around is to keep charging the rider if the scooter is not parked in a proper place.  How to facilitate that is a pretty good question. 

I finished the Monday evening not by solving the problem, but by talking enthusiastically with Ali about the start of the football season. 

While I don't want to say that the e-scooter problem is ruining my life, I will admit that I was feeling a little down on Tuesday morning, but told myself to make it a good day.  The work day did go well enough, and at 18h, I logged in to my online German course, which was restarting after a week's hiatus. 

At the end of the previous week, I had received a message from the language learning company informing me that a new teacher was set to continue our courses.  I confirmed with them that I still had six remaining sessions (at 90 minutes each), and while I am still a little irritated about how the previous teacher was treated, I was open for the next stage of this saga. 

Well, it turns out that I was the only student present on Tuesday.  I had no explanation as to where the other students were, but figured I would simply take advantage of the one on one session.  The teacher was competent enough, but was located in another country.  I had no problem with that, but was a little irritated that the instructor was not a native speaker.  Despite the competence of the guy, I found it difficult to get engaged in the class.  I prefer a very informal, personable learning experience, and this guy is the exact opposite.  

Because we were just the two, I had sufficient time (all in German, of course) to explain how the previous class had been structured (rather unstructured, truth be told), and then proceeded to explain my background, my previous learning experiences, etc.  Despite the fact that my German was almost flawless, it immediately became clear that he was simply going through the motions, and not listening to me. 

I had just gotten through explaining that the class was almost through (we started in May), when he finally realized that we only had a handful of sessions remaining.  The whole 90 minute session was kind of a stressful situation, since he wanted to do things his way without considering the current situation. In short, he did not have the ability to react and be flexible. 

I was really hacked at the end of Tuesday evening, which did nothing but sour my mood.  I tried to look at things from his side, and did concede that he had been called into action kind of spontaneously, and in fairness, I think he is the type of online language instructor that can be very effective. 

Let us just say that we did not immediately hit it off. 

As usually happens when things are bugging me, my body responds.  I woke up Wednesday feeling like I had been kicked in the gut, and these tummy troubles found a way to stay with me over the next couple of days. 

I met up with some friends Wednesday evening at the pub, and as enjoyable as it was, I could not help looking at things from the negative perspective.  This would have been Bernemer Mittwoch, the highlight night of the Kerb.  Instead of thousands of people getting absolutely blotto in the plaza in front of my house, it was just another summer evening.  Ironically, I am no longer quite the fan of the huge gatherings, but I missed it all the same. 

Thursday was a pretty rough day, and not just because of the one too many beers the previous evening. My stomach continued to act up, there were a couple of work challenges that intimidated me, and to top it off, I was set to have another session with a teacher who did not seem to listen. 

I pulled it together, and logged on at the appropriate time, and was delighted that one of my classmates showed up.  She is the other student in our group that has been in Germany the longest, and while she is a bit quiet, I did realize that she is rather clever, not only as a German student but also in her profession.  

Of course, she had not yet had an experience with our teacher, so we went through another little rodeo, but as we finished our 90 minutes, I did feel better about the course structure.  I had opened up to the idea that not every teacher is going to be the same, and my priority was to learn and get something out of the experience, which I did.  

I celebrated with some beef taquitos and an episode of Inspector Barnaby (in German) before going to bed at the unusually early hour of 22h. 

Friday morning, I woke up with that anticipation of "opening day."  Football was starting up again, and because of the interest in television rights and money, most leagues now have one of the matches played on a Friday evening.  Arsenal were scheduled in the season opener, against a small team that just got promoted to the top league after 74 (yes, that number is correct) years.  

I started the day early, got my leg exercises out of the way, started working early so that I could nip out mid-morning to get a haircut.  The work week was wrapping up rather nicely: meetings have been going well, and preparations for next week were also looking good.  The weather was nice, although perhaps a tiny bit too warm, and I was looking forward to the weekend and the start of football. 

My last meeting was at 14h with a couple of guys in the US.  I decided that I would finish up a little early, so after our call, I made a quick shopping run, and then put myself in weekend mode. 

As part of my Friday routine, I normally pick up some pizza, then decide whether to have a quiet evening on the couch with hot pizza and a movie, or spend a couple of hours in the pub, eating cold pizza a bit later. 

This routine actually requires a bit of planning, as I tend to check in with my father on Friday afternoon or evening. Once or twice in recent weeks, no sooner have I phoned my pizzeria and placed a takeout order when suddenly my father is on skype.  When this happens, I have to cut our call short so that I can pop down the street and pick up the pies. 

Last evening started a bit more smoothly.  Around 17h, Dad called, and I figured I could arrange for my pizzas after we finished.  He and I caught up on the week's events, and we discussed the sad state of politics in the home state, where it seems they are determined to beat out Florida to see who can fuck things up the most with regard to health and safety of the people.  

This is another topic that is really bugging me as of late, particularly since it stands to affect my family and friends.  Although my father and I do not have identical views, they are very similar, and I am comforted to know that he remains in the more logical and pragmatic group of a seemingly increasingly divided state.  I will take another deep breath as I write this:  I respect people's opinions, but I do start to take issue with people making decisions that will put the health of my family and friends in jeopardy, for no reason other than sheer selfishness. 

I am tired of having to explain to German friends why things are so out of whack in the country where I grew up, and the exhaustion comes not only from having to repeat myself, but the fact that I simply do not understand why it is so out of whack.  I am very capable player when it comes to gray areas, but when something is so black and white, come on. 

But, Dad and I found more positive things to discuss, and at the end of our call, I made my phone call to my favorite pizzeria. 

No answer. 

After two more attempts, I suspected that they were closed, likely on holiday, which is kind of normal for Italian places in Germany during the month of August. 

To be absolutely sure, and with plan B already prepared, I walked the few minutes up the hill around the corner to the place.  Sure enough, closed for a week of holiday. 

Plan B was immediately put into action, so I walked back down the street, stepping over no less than 4 e-scooters randomly lying on their sides on the sidewalk as I headed for my alternative pizzeria, who were just back from vacation, themselves. 

I placed my order at the window, then stood at a table just enjoying the Friday early evening.  No sooner had I lit a cigarette in the sunny start to the evening, out of nowhere a wind blew in, and suddenly it was raining buckets.  It started literally out of thin air, and caught EVERYONE by surprise.  

It was just going six o'clock, and about every patio table on the Berger was filled with folks out starting their weekends.  Those people still on their way home from work normally jealously look at people sipping their beers at all the establishments, knowing full well that they will be right back outside after they change out of their work clothes.  Last evening, most of them were sprinting by, as you do when you fruitlessly try to outrun a downpour.  

I have been there myself, and was grateful that I was already in my casual gear, which was getting fairly soaked even as I stood under one of the umbrellas covering a table.  Water was collecting quickly, I noticed my shoes getting soaked, and I managed to see some guy in a suit do a reasonable reenactment of an Olympic hurdler as he navigated the various e-scooters parked (loosely) haphazardly on the sidewalk.  

This little pizzeria does a fair amount of business, and they are pretty quick.  I expected about a 15 minute wait, and indeed, that was all it took.  The rainstorm lasted 20 minutes, which meant that I, too, had to paddle home with my pizzas in tow.  

No sooner had I walked inside my flat did the rain cease, the sun came back out, and I checked to make sure no water had seeped through the pizza box.  

Klimawandel?  

Absolutely. 

Since I have been in Germany I have never experienced a situation where the weather forecast was 100% different than reality.  I understand that most meteorologists around the world are never going to get it right all the time, but this was crazy.  

Slightly soggy, I decided to go ahead and have a few slices of pizza.  Arsenal were not due to play for another three hours.  I was in that quandary where if I went directly to the pub, I would consume way too many beers BEFORE the match, which was something I wanted to avoid.  On the other hand, I knew that a bit of pizza and some couch time might just lure my body into a "ooh, we are not going anywhere tonight." situation, which I also wanted to avoid. 

In the end, I let my Arsenal buddy down, and switched on the match from the comfort of my living room.  The excitement of opening day quickly wore off as the team never really got going.  Their freshly promoted opponents clearly came prepared to the game, and put on a very good display.  They thoroughly deserved their victory.  I did watch until the end, trading messages with Erik and Chris, where the words "Oofta," and "It is going to be a long season," were thrown about with conviction. 

So, I must say, it was not the way I wanted my evening to go, nor for my team to start their season, but hey, we know that we have to take it as it comes. 

Part of me is glad to have the match out of the way, so that I can now enjoy the rest of the weekend, keeping alert for e-scooter obstacles on the sidewalk and sudden rainstorms out of nowhere. And I won't even have to worry about those when I do my German homework. 

see you out there

bryan