Around the turn of the century, for that matter, the turn of
the millennium; I found myself making a spontaneous trip to the United Kingdom.
I was to rendezvous with an acquaintance from London, Ian, and his junior
associate, Mark. Ian was a few years older than I and had served as a commando
in the Royal Marines during the Gulf War. Although he felt a sense of comradery
towards me due to the fact that we had served on the same side in the same
conflict, he never missed an opportunity to call me ‘nurse’, and I would always
remind him that I had seen enough tough guys calling for their mamas, while I
dodged bullets trying to drag their sorry asses to safety. If you have read any
of my earlier stories, you will know that I am exaggerating. As I have said
before, I didn’t have to treat any combat injuries, only accidents. But Ian
didn’t know this, though if he is reading this, he does now.
Mark, on the other hand, was straight out of the university.
He was born and raised in Brixton, so he had quite a fight to get as far as he
did and I extended him a level of respect that I usually did not to someone of
his age. I even let it slide when he would jokingly refer to the United States
as ‘the Colonies’. But not before I reminded him that we handed them their
Imperial asses.
I had had previous contact with both Ian and Mark over IRC
over the past couple of years, but when I heard that Marcel had set up a face
to face with Ian and was flying in from Geneva, Switzerland, I grabbed the first
flight I could to London. Marcel was a solid operator, cold as ice but a bit of
a loner. This earned him the nickname ‘Blue Wolf’. My dealings with him in the past had not gone
very well, on more than one occasion he sniped targets out from under me. He
was that good, and I was glad we were on the same side. I just hoped he would
remember that when we finally were in the same room. I’m not the kind to hold
grudges, no point crying over spilled milk. I hoped Marcel felt the same.
We still had a few hours until Marcel's flight was to arrive,
so Ian and Mark decided to take me for a short tour of London. I hadn’t eaten
all day, and though our meeting was in an Italian restaurant later, I needed
something now. It was 2 P.M. so I was looking for a place to eat lunch. Both
Ian and Mark were nearly useless when it came to finding something for me to
eat, as apparently I’m ‘too picky’. But seriously, the food in the UK is
definitely not my taste. I ended up in Chinatown, where at least I saw things
on the menu that sounded familiar and appetizing. The food there was decent, but the service
was kind of a shock in comparison to what I was used to in an American or a
German Chinese restaurant. This became very clear when the waitress, instead of
politely asking “What would you like?” she asked instead in a very aggressive
and less than friendly manner “What do you want?” So I tipped accordingly. My
British friends only ordered a beer and waited for me to finish. Only later
telling me how brave I was to eat there and jokingly, at least I hope,
questioning from which animal the chicken in my sweet-sour chicken came from.
My guides showed me around Piccadilly Circus, which was
actually much smaller than I’d expected. I had seen pictures of it before and I
had envisioned something like Times Square. But it seemed to me to be one of
those places where if you’ve seen it once, then that’s enough. Besides the big
lighted billboards, the only other similarities were the dense traffic and the
use of pedestrian crossing signals. It would appear that only tourists wait for
the light to change before crossing. This was nearly my undoing, as I forgot
that the traffic flows the other way in the UK. So looking left when I should
have been looking right, I was about to step into the street only being pulled
back by Mark a second before a big red double-decker bus went speeding by.
We continued on without further incident to Covent Garden.
Ian said that he had made arrangements to meet Marcel at the Apple Market.
Since Marcel didn’t know that I was going to be there, we decided that Ian and
Mark would meet him and I would join them as they were walking towards the
Italian restaurant. Slowly I closed in on the trio approaching as casually and
quietly as I could and just as I reached out to tap Marcel on the shoulder, I
heard him say ‘Don’t even think about it, Yank’. We had a laugh and I asked him how he knew I
was there, of course he said something to the effect that ‘Amis’ stink of
hamburgers and french fries. Of course I wasn’t gonna let that slide and said ‘at
least we don’t stink like cheese fondue and think that yodeling works as a
mating call.’ So our little rivalry was still on. Nothing too serious though,
just a little elbowing. Truth was he saw me before I split from Ian and Mark. I
have to say, the ‘wolf’ had very sharp vision.
At the restaurant Ian, Mark, and I ordered ‘penne arrabiata’
while Marcel scanned the menu longer until the waiter grew impatient and
finally asked him what he was looking for. When Marcel answered with ‘pizza’
the waiter exploded! ‘This is a RESTAURANT not a PIZZARIA!!!’ He was so mad, he threw us all out so we
decided just to go to a pub and get fish and chips and drink a couple beers. We
had a pretty good time despite of the bad food. We swore that we’d do this
every year, but as life goes, we never had the chance. (But that’s not a story
for now – Eat, drink, and be merry.) I still don’t remember how I got to my
hotel room.
The next morning I was on my way to the breakfast room.
Passing an older gentleman, I politely said ‘good morning’ and he answered in
kind. A few minutes later, he walked up to me and started a conversation… in
German. After a nice little chat about London and Germany I decided to ask ‘How could you possibly know that I speak German? I’m
an American in London!’
Apparently my brain played tricks on me going to my default language when not
in America because he replied ‘Because you said Guten Morgen’.
I hope you've enjoyed this episode of "Tales from the Dorkside".
Be sure to recommend, if you did.
Thank you
