I’m back. I survived.
It was not easy, but there were actually some enjoyable parts (please do not say ‘I told you so’).
My employer’s son is the spitting image of him both in body and soul. He spent a lot of the weekend bossing around his minions, namely his parents. Talk about whipped, he has them trained.
The boy has no control with food and his parents simply say with loving tones that their growing boy is hungry and needs nourishment.
Hmm. That ‘nourishment’ included a Big Mac, fries and a Coke in the car on the way to the airport, a big sandwhich at the airport, a sandwhich on the plane (mummy’s too) and then a huge meal including two Cokes, a plate of something fried as a starter and a huge steak and fries for dinner.
I’m only giving an account of this because the little sanctimonious shit COUNTED the glasses of wine I had at dinner. Out loud. He then repeated this little mathematical feat to daddy when he returned Saturday and to his credit I have to say my boss answered this by ordering wine for the table.
Despite everything else, one good thing about my boss is that he hates smokers and not people who have wine with dinner. I will admit I drank more often than normal but the situation called for liquid reinforcement and I credit every glass of wine and brandy for my being able to remain amiable. How else can you make small talk with macho men who like to use words like ‘queers’ and ‘colored fella’ and talk about who has the hottest secretary?
By the way, the Kid would be great after a few smacks and some learnin’. He has no manners. This is no fault of his own, he is an only child to older parents and spoiled rotten. It is amazing he’s not much much worse. The high point of our first evening in Paris (the weekend was in the city as it had been planned for the boss and not me) was while we were eating in perhaps the worst cafe in town.
It was 8pm and totally empty and yet our food took forever. When it finally came it was totally different from the description. I sat there still trying to decipher a way to eat mine when the Kid – having finished already – started lighting pieces of the tablecloth on fire. His mother continued talking and ignored that he was tearing off chunks of the paper table covering and burning them in the candle. Following her lead, the manager’s wife and I made brief eye-contact, then studiously looked away from the growing inferno.
I was grateful to have to get up early and go out to Le Bourget, the old airport, to set up the stand. Afterwards I talked a colleague from a partner company to join me on a bus tour through town and we spent a nice afternoon, including lunch by the Eiffel tower. Totally touristy but very enjoyable.
The rest of the week was at the hotel near the two airports. After a week of hotel food, late nights, early mornings and scratchy bedsheets I am happy to be home.
I’m writing this at the airport as I wait for Oliver’s plane to land. He was on a business trip as well and together we’re driving in our own car back into Munich.
I am very glad to be home.
I am quitting my job tomorrow. ‘gulp’