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Can Am Story

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by Oliver Rill




  Imprint

  Copyright© 2018, 2019 Oliver Rill, Nicky Johnson

  1st Edition

  Translated by: Nicky Johnson

  Cover image by: Marion Kittel

  Publisher: Amazon.com Inc. 2121 7th Ave, Seattle, WA 98121, USA

  AISN: B07TCBN358

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Some characters and events in this book are fictional. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the authors.

  The use of this book and the implementation of the information contained therein is explicitly at your own risk. The publisher and also the author cannot take over any liability for any accidents and damages of any kind, which result from the attendance of places specified in this book (e.g. due to missing safety references), for any legal reason. Legal claims and claims for damages are excluded. The publication including all contents was compiled with the greatest care. Nevertheless, misprints and false information cannot be completely excluded. The publisher and the author assume no liability for the topicality, correctness and completeness of the contents of the book, nor for printing errors. No legal responsibility or liability in any form can be assumed by the publisher or author for erroneous information and the resulting consequences. The operators of the respective websites are exclusively responsible for the contents of the websites printed in this book.

  Email: oliverril@gmx.de

  Can Am Story

  “Hey, Oli, how do you fancy LA?” My old friend, Marie asked. She was a designer, her job as insecure as the firm that she worked in. Lately … ah, well not just lately, generally. She worked into the late evening and often at weekends as well. And that is what she had done now, even though she knew that the company would close in the near future.

  “Oh, yeah, L.A? I am always up for that!” I broke off my unpacking and sat in the armchair. Two days ago, I came back home from an eight month long trip from my favorite little island, Sifnos. I had stayed over summer and worked with friends at a restaurant there.

  “Do you know what, Oli, I still have some holiday that I will lose unless I take it and I have air miles that I need to take, or they will go the same way. And the only person that gives me a definitive ‘yes’ and who I can fly away with spontaneously is you.” Marie said in defense of her invitation. Just a moment – was that an invitation?

  “And the only one who wants to ship me off abroad is you! Ok, what about you? What’s happening with the company?”

  Marie sighed. “Oh, don’t ask. It’s so stressful. The way it looks, we’ve got three months. Anyway, until the end of the year and then that will be it. I’m wondering if I should go to Thailand then. I have an offer in Hamburg, but what would I do in Hamburg?”

  “And how much holiday do you still have to take? And when do you want to go? And how long do you want to stay? And do you want to go to L.A. or somewhere else? I know, loads of questions!”

  I looked around my lounge and at the untidily open suitcase. Actually, my own home was quite nice. There was no reason to constantly run away. My pictures on the wall showing Berlin and Sifnos, the couch that you could sink into and didn’t want to get out of again, my enormous TV that you could watch films until you fell asleep …

  “Really I have my full six weeks, Oli. But I want to take them in two chunks of three weeks. The last three weeks at the end, Christmas and New Year … Perhaps I’ll fly to Thailand or Sri Lanka.”

  “Oh wow! That’s nice too!”

  “How was Sifnos? Was everything ok?”

  “Like a dream as usual, Marie. Actually, it was almost too good to be true. I loved working in the restaurant and I have three offers for next year. One in a five-star beach club in Santorini and two on Sifnos.”

  “Oh lovely, then will you do that all the time, winter in Berlin and summer in Greece?”

  I hadn’t really thought about that. It had worked out that way so far. And everyone I met was either envious or said that they would do it if only they could. It was naturally great for me too, but I kept asking myself how long I could keep this work - life model up – how long I wanted to. I had let my apartment – and was still doing so. Luca, my Italian lodger would normally have to move out now, but I had said he could stay on because I wanted to spend winter in London with my friend Aristoteles. I had just come home to Berlin to pack and visit friends and family.

  “I haven’t really made my mind up to spend winter here. What I’d really love to do is go to Cuba, but guess what, Aristo is working in London again and has a two bedroomed apartment. He invited me over and wants to find a job there for me.”

  “You jammy devil! That’s unbelievable. When do you fly to London?!

  “I wanted to go in about three weeks, Marie. Unpack, pack, do the washing in between, see friends and my mom is naturally not that enthusiastic and I’m a little sorry to leave her here alone. But hey … I haven’t booked yet. So. When should we go? And how long do you want to stay?” I noticed a shiver of excitement run through me. To be on the road, beautiful weather – Ok I had just had a load of sunshine for eight months, but you can never get too much.

  “What do you say to Sunday? I have to work till Friday anyway.”

  “Hmm. That’s in four days … Let me look and see who’s playing in GMF.” I tapped in the URL on my laptop for GMF, my absolute favorite night club in Berlin. “Neither Superdandy nor Cesco were on. Ok we can set out Sunday.”

  “Oli, is your passport valid for that long? Should we meet your friend from the travel agents at six? Do you think he can book air miles?”

  “I am sure he can. I’ll call and ask. If I don’t get back to you, then we’ll meet at six at the travel agents, ok?”

  We said good bye and ended the call. I dialled Olaf Liebert’s number on my cell phone to see if he was even in the office today and if he could book flights using air miles. He was under the gun just then and didn’t have time to speak, but he could book the flights using Marie’s air miles and six o’clock was a good time to meet. Over and out.

  Then I called my mom and told her the bad news. Even less time in Berlin. But surprisingly, she was happy for me and wanted to make sure that we go for a meal before I disappeared again. Of course, but not today. We would see tomorrow, and I would try to drum up a group of us for Friday evening.

  I was under stress again, but a nice type of stress somehow. My lodger, Luca was working, his sister, who was also somehow based at my place, wasn’t in Berlin anyway. I went down to the cellar and started to fill the machine with the first wash. Then I fetched the boxes with my winter clothes out. I opened them carefully to see what was on top. Luckily, it occurred to me that I wouldn’t need any thick jackets or woollies in L.A. and I closed the box again with relief. I didn’t have to look at the other five boxes. That was one job I didn’t have to do! It was also a blessing that I only had two machine loads to wash. Most of the things I had brought back from Greece were clean. Just a suit … maybe I should take one with me … So, I dug through the boxes again.

  I really didn’t want to look at the post. My neighbor had been holding it the whole summer long and I would have to steel myself to look at it. The tax office was also getting greedy for my nest egg. I would need to call Juri and get an appointment before my trip to London.

  Hey Juri, the tax office is getting awfully nosey. Do you have time for me next week?

  I got the answer half an hour later.

  Are you back? We could do, but only if you have everything ready for me.

  It was fiv
e o’clock. I replied to Juri saying that I wanted to organize a meal out with a group of friends on Friday and he said he would come.

  I rang my friend Martin, he could make it and would let his parents know. Shit! Time was running away with me and I still had to shower. However, I still had to call my Dad and invite him too. And Tobias and Andrea. Marie was bound to be able to come and that should be all of them, really.

  I found a parking place fairly easily in Wilmersdorfer Straße and stormed into my friend Olaf’s Reisebüro just in ahead of the busy shopping area. Three desks stood alongside each other, walls painted a bright sunny yellow and posters with dreamy scenes of sandy beaches, the Golden Gate Bridge, Sydney’s Opera House whetted your appetite for travel. Olaf was about my age, around 40 with an open friendly smile. You could see that he liked his food and he spoke very quickly in an unmistakably, slightly throaty voice.

  We chatted a while and looked for flights, while we waited for Marie. There were places on Sunday leaving from Frankfurt. He could book those, but I wanted to wait for Marie.

  Stressed, but in good spirits Marie made her entrance. Marie was about ten years older than I. Her straight black hair was cut in a pageboy and she was enveloped in layers of alternative pullovers, scarves and things hung around her. She embraced me, found my tan a cheek and we did in fact get those flights. Marie booked economy plus for us, but we wouldn’t be able to sit together Olaf said. “Perhaps you can wrangle something at the gate.”

  “Come on that doesn’t matter. The main thing is we will be able to stretch our feet out and then we will be together for ten days. If we can swap seats great, if not we’ll survive.”

  Olaf looked to see what Marie thought. She nodded. Wonderful!

  Then there was the difficult task: choosing a hotel! Marie had a tendency (more of a fixation, I would say) for luxury hotels. It had to have at least five stars; located at the top of the building; no carpet; modern furnishings; a cool location; a view and preferably a suite. A junior suite if necessary, but that was the only compromise she was prepared to make. I knew that from previous trips and always found it tiresome choosing hotels with her, as I had practically no requirements at all.

  An hour later we had agreed on one. Well, she and Olaf had agreed. I kept out of it, or at least tried to. Even if Marie did keep asking me to look at them. I would have been happy in a Motel Six, even if only because I knew that Marie probably wouldn’t have her regular, embarrassingly high monthly income flowing into her account by the end of the year. Having a nice time was important to me and – ok – renting the convertible was really something that I wanted to do for myself. We booked that as well.

  “So, Sunday! Wow Marie, I am so excited. Shall we go out and eat to celebrate?” We went for a meal. I ignored the messages on my cell phone. I would check them later.

  I got home at ten and Luca was there. The small, sweet, slightly hairy Italian who I had met and should have really been a one-night stand. Coincidently he had needed an apartment and so it happened that before I went to Greece, he moved in with me. He was twenty-eight, a petite dancer, with a sweet Italian accent and could kiss very well. In all a funny, charming and passionate person. He greeted me with an erotic kiss and then I asked if we could get a table at his restaurant for about ten people. Marie, her boyfriend, Martin and his parents, Mom, Dad his girlfriend, Tobias and Andrea, Juri and Jose – that would be 13! Uh oh, unlucky thirteen! Great, that was sorted!

  I told Luca that he was unlikely to see much of me in the coming three months, because I would spend a third of the time in California and London and what would he do? He said that in that case, we should kiss faster. He is sweet, my Italian boy!!

  Friday – phew – it was a rowdy rabble. Everyone wanted to speak, some even listened to each other, some just interrupted getting louder and louder to make themselves heard. I wondered when the waiter would throw us out, but no, he was Italian too. He was used to it.

  On Saturday I went with Martin to our favorite bar. It was the same as ever. Even though I still found it great, I hadn’t missed it in the past eight months while I was in Greece. A few pretty boys, a few older ones that moseyed on in. Groups, partners, hunters and an interesting mix of music. I was happy to be here, no question. Martin and I exchanged our experiences over summer and I found out what I had missed in Berlin. By the end of the evening, one thing was certain. I had not missed much in Berlin. It was just the same as ever. My favorite bar was the same, the people were the same, the music hadn’t changed. Waiters had gone, and new ones brought us our drinks. I could honestly reply to the continuous questions of whether I missed Berlin while I lived and worked on my favorite Greek Island with a definite NO.

  Of course, I had a slight hangover as I got up the next morning after a whole three hours sleep, but it was really only a small one. I had packed almost everything yesterday. Quick shower, coffee, cigarette, toiletries into the suitcase. Hopefully there was a car sharing vehicle nearby otherwise I would have to take a taxi. I was in luck. A little further down the street was a Mini. I grabbed it. On the way to the car I thought how easy (and cheap) it is today to get to the airport. I paid around ten euros for it. A taxi would have easily been 30 and I would have had to put up with the senseless babble from the driver at that time of day. I left the car in the drive way, went into the apartment to get my case, loaded it and I was off! Driving through Berlin at 5:40!

  At the airport I dropped my – the car – well the shared Mini – at the gas station and walked to the terminal. Marie called and let me know that she was at Gate four and, where was I? “I’ll be there in ten minutes”, I huffed. I power-walked to the terminal. Such a stress at this time in the morning! That is so crass!

  The woman at the counter didn’t look as though she was tired. Fresh and friendly, she explained that she had checked our luggage in, but there were no places next to each other on the long-haul flight. Not in premium economy anyway. Marie shrugged. I saw it … I saw the question coming … “What does an upgrade cost?” The woman tapped at the computer and shook her head. “There are two places in first class, but I can’t offer you anything else.”

  “Fuck it, we will do it now – we’ll just not fly together.” I said and yes, Marie nodded.

  The flight to Frankfurt was boring, the plane as welcoming as a hospital. There was coffee and rolls with various fillings. The exciting part was yet to come - the A380 from Frankfurt. I had never flown with it before and was a little curious. Dad had flown to Asia with one and loved it.

  Marie and I wandered through the shops at the airport. We had some time and I looked for a book but didn’t find one that really spoke to me. On the way to Cuba (our last trip together) I found one that had captivated both of us. A shame, but I thought we wouldn’t have time to read in L.A. anyway. The crowds of people that moved through the terminal, some of them running frantically made the excitement of travelling go to my head all the more. It had simply been too early in Berlin. And Tegel, that sweet little airport simply didn’t have the flair to incite the imagination for a flight the way it should. Here in Frankfurt, it buzzed with international passengers: Indians; Chinese; Americans; Australians; Africans all passing through on their way all over the world. One thing was clear: You were now flying right out of your comfort zone.

  Marie sat below by the window, I on the deck above, but on the aisle in the middle of the machine. So, chatting around a corner wasn’t possible either. We could make visits now and then to see how the other was doing.

  There was an older man sitting next to me. An interesting guy, he looked quite smartly dressed, but had deep worry lines in his face. I shifted in my seat and felt a little, what should I say – almost disappointed? I guess it wasn’t business class. The seat was grey and looked exactly the same as the blue and yellow seats in the economy class. I did have more leg room, its true, and unlike Easyjet or Ryanair, I could adjust the back. Ok, on a long-haul flight you can hardly sit upright the whole way. The screen attache
d to the seat in front was big enough, the menu … mmm … It looked tasty and there was plenty to drink. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do and pondered whether I should curl up a little and try to sleep or ease myself in with a glass of wine. I thought the wine would do for starters – what would people think!

  And as though reading my thoughts, the guy next to me said “I am not sure if I should have a whisky or a wine. What are you having?”

  He was an American and had said it in an open, friendly way. No reason not to answer in the same manner.

  “I was thinking the same and decided to take it slowly with a white wine.”

  “Oh good, then we can drink each other’s health. What are you doing in Los Angeles?”

  I told him I was flying with a friend and that we wanted to do a bit of shopping and relax a little if possible. “Perhaps we will take a trip to San Diego”, I hadn’t told Marie that yet.

  “My name is Ad, Adar Bass. Good to meet you. I was in Frankfurt for a meeting and now I am flying home.”

  “The good old days where companies pay for business class are well and truly over, aren’t they? My name is Oliver. It’s good to have a nice neighbor.”

  “Oh I normally fly in a different class, but I wanted to try it out. What’s your first impression?”

  I told him what I had found: The colors were cold and a little fresh. A warmer color would have endowed a little atmosphere. The same with the light. It was cold and hard, but you can also get warmer lighting. €1,300 was a lot to pay for a flight and you expected something for it. The things that I mentioned weren’t cost any more expensive. The seats could be a little plusher. It was just a question of taste naturally, I added. I liked the personnel so far though.

  “You are a very good observer, I like that. What do you do for a living?”

  “I wasn’t very happy … well I was … you decide. I will tell you about it, we have a few hours to pass.” So I told the middle aged, well-dressed man. He looked a little as if he would not be out of place on a golf course. Great red sweater, over a white shirt; pants of good blue cloth and cool white sport shoes – his wife had probably laid them out for him. Anyway, I gave this complete stranger my life story – that I was an industrial management assistant that I once worked in sales, that I had had a good career in vehicle rentals and that I then changed to e-commerce and had now dropped out.

 

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