Fully intending to go to work that day - my first day of work, I hasten to add - I woke early (7.30am is extraordinarily early for me), and headed off to the tax office once more. A little nervous about them not understanding English, I had the note in Hungarian my colleague had written down for me. In spite of the nearly two hour wait, and a woman who looked rather like a character from Bo Selecta, I managed to get my tax number, and was on my way to the heady world of the Hungarian workplace. Or so I thought...Calling the HR man (here after referred to as "the douche"), he informed me, in a way that made it clear I was unimportant to him, that he would be able to see me that afternoon at 2pm, after lunch. Though it was not quite 10 in the morning, apparently there was no way he could fit me in sooner, even though it had been arranged for a month that this would be my starting date at the firm. God forbid I disturb him, and especially his hour-long lunch. Douche.
So there I was, left to my own devices for the next four hours. Knackered I took advantage of a little lie down with an episode of something on my laptop, and enjoyed the opportunity to relax. (I'd nearly fallen asleep earlier, in the tax office.) Checking the various online websites I use, I arranged to meet a New Zealand guy, who was passing through town, for a coffee. An hour or so later, we met in Blaha Lujza Square and headed off. Spotting a picture outside a sort of restaurant that looked something like congealed custard, he decided it looked simply devine and that he must try it. Tentatively I agreed, considering that it would at least be interesting to see if it could actually manage to be any worse than it looked. When he sat down to eat it, it was apparently delicious: I was not convinced.
As it turned out he was the classic anglo-saxon gay male from western society I have become so very used to. Quickly it became apparent that he felt he was better than me, and spending time in my presence was a terrible bore. What made me laugh was that he was an aspiring novelist, and in spite of being ten years older than me, he couldn't see the incredible cliche that he was. His novel was a) everso interesting b) something everyone who read it had loved and c) far more compelling an idea than mine. It reminded me of one of the poor ITV attempts at writing 'new' Miss Marple episodes. Of course this means it'll probably be highly marketable, like Dan Brown, or the novel is Tom Sharpe's fun book The Great Pursuit. Two douches in one day, I was clearly on a roll.
Later at the office I signed all the various forms thrown at me. I couldn't understand, given that the douche had had all my information for weeks he hadn't figured out a way to copy and paste it across them, before requiring me to do just that by hand. Next he informed me of a small exam I'd have to take next month, something which apparently had slipped his mind, and then, the piece de resistance, he had forgotten to get me to take my medical. I'd been there over a week, and at any other point, while I was fannying around with nothing to do, I could easily have got it done. He told me not to mention it to anyone, since strictly speaking I should have had it before I started, but oh well. The douche.
The afternoon passed reasonably, meeting with all my new colleagues, and instantly forgetting all their names. I asked the girl I sat next to to help me right a quick aide de memoir of them all. The big joke though, was that they'd given me reams of paper about fire safety, etc, but because of budget cut backs on stationery I got one pad and one pen for the next three months. "We have to request it quarterly," she told me. The punitive measures are clearly causing staff morale to falter.
That night I met up with an English guy I met through a friend of a friend on Facebook. I've come to accept that spurious connections should not make you think twice, and are just as rewarding. We went to a sports bar to watch the Man U v AC Milan match. The first one we went to was called Champs (sports bars all over the world truly have the most ridiculous names), and was full of men I found a little scary, because they all looked decidedly able to beat me up. We headed off because there was literally no where to sit or even stand really. Even the table with car seat chairs was gone! (Probably a favourite with regulars.) So we headed off. Tim, decided the one offering girls girls girls sounded just a touch seady, so we wandered off to Legends. Of course the streets near it each had strip joints on, with those freaky men outside trying to lure you in...or should that be leer you in??
I headed home after the match, a little worse for wear, given the double whisky chaser I added to the large beer. Tim was adamant that Prague is superior on all counts. I told him he should go and marry it then. I managed a meat-spread sandwich, and fell asleep...
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