Thursday, June 09, 2005

London-to-Bavaria

To wake up in Central London one morning and do the plane, train and car routine to rural Bavaria by late night makes for a hectic day, especially when you throw in a series of job interviews.

The people I held discussions with where all pleasant and unassuming; nothing overtly stuffy about anyone. There were no requests or questions like 1) describe your strengths and weaknesses; 2) what is your proudest accomplishment; 3) where do you see yourself in five years. I appreciated the absence of such dreck.

Q: Why do you want this position?
A: Frankly, I’m excited about this challenge.

[Real answer: Look folks, I just want to earn some decent, FUCKING money for once in my life.]

Essentially, I was simply myself – for better or for worse. Who else can I be? My background for the position is solid enough. The rest is human chemistry and the quick appraisal of personalities. Can we make a go of it?

I really don’t expect this to go anywhere – though it is flattering to be invited to the party; especially when the host picks up the travel tab.

However, if I jumped the hoops properly, I will be called back for a second-round of interviews. This could happen again next week.

I left feeling there was very good chemistry between me and the overall director. But, who knows? My instincts have betrayed me countless times in the past. If it happens, it happens.

The commute from near Cambridge to Central London would be daunting: probably 90 minutes one way. Yet it’s common for people in Brighton – on the Channel, to make the daily commute.

Sunday evening, while I had plenty of time, I meandered a few blocks in St. John’s Wood and stopped in Cottage Chicken – a third-world restaurant you’d expect to find in the food court of a shopping mall in Riyadh, Paris or Los Angeles. This place is operated by Turks. As I sat near the opened doorway, people casually cruised along the sidewalk. I lost track of how many foreign languages I heard. London is chock full of people from every corner of the earth. It’s hard to pick out a regular English bloke, anymore.

Anyway, it was a taxi back to Paddington Station (and London taxis are wildly spacious – not to mention expensive: it cost $22), the Heathrow Express to the airport, and a 90-minute flight to Frankfurt. By 7:20 p.m., I was back in Germany. I waited about an hour, and then caught the next train to Wurzburg. My son met me at the train station, and I was home by 11 p.m. A long day, to say the least.

Early the next morning, my wife and I headed back to Frankfurt on the autobahn to meet her parents at the airport. I have not seen my in-laws in two years; that’s how long I’ve been away from the United States. I always enjoy being with them; at first my mother-in-law didn’t think I’d last a year as a husband. Now I like rubbing it in that I have set the record as the son-in-law.

My sister-in-law is a serial bride and has been married four times already. That spam-sucking, trailer trash slut is merely reality impaired. At first she loves to keep her legs up in the air, and then she throws the switch – this drives the husbands away every time. So far, we’ve missed all four weddings, but remain optimistic about more opportunities.

My in-laws are visiting because today is the big day for our son: high school graduation, and then his real education begins. Graduation night will start off with a test for him: his current girlfriend is also a senior and last year’s girlfriend – the student at Washington University, will also attend the ceremonies with her parents.

I’m so glad I’m not 17-years-old. Though if I could figure out what I want to be when I grow up, maybe I’d be happy.

1 Comments:

Blogger EuroYank - Virginia Hoge said...

As an American in Luxembourg born in Germany, I really like your blog and views.

8:44 AM  

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