Coward's Way

A couple of disparate events from yesterday:

1. Recovery, not rescue

Yesterday I took a coward's approach to chasing up my abandoned shirt and tie: I sent an sms to the number I was given weeks ago for the boss, "Matt".

I accidentally sent him the sms before finishing it, so all it said was: "Amici's?" Such brevity is usually more indicative of a drunken booty call; or perhaps an impromptu dinner invitation to someone who is busier and more popular than you.

Nevertheless, "Matt" returned said sms by saying he worked for a company which manages the Amici's coffee franchisee on my street. So I sent him another message asking for information on how to escalate a "major" complaint.

I how realise how unlikely it is that my little hostages will ever be released. Indeed, they may have already been terminated. I can see them now, being filmed while kneeling in front of hooded baristas and reading their "confession".

I haven't heard back from Matt yet but I feel it's going to be quite embarrassing when I finally detail the nature of my complaint and my subsequent actions and concerns. It is going to be a very difficult tale to re-tell to Matt with any degree of dignity.

So what did I do? I begged R to call Matt directly and pretend to be me. If it was someone else's indignity I would have no problem making this call myself but when I am directly involved it seems easier to outsource.

Be that as it may, I do realise that there is little hope my shirt or tie will ever be worn again. This search is fruitless. I know (exactly) what it must feel like to be in the Brazilian airforce at the moment.

2. No one wants to play with Hitler (any more)

In Vietnam, when little kids decide to pick on another kid or generally exclude, they point their pinky at them and call them Hitler. Basically, this sounds like "Hit Lair"

When I learned this on the weekend I took much delight in this fact because it's now become my new nickname at a local bar here. When I walked in this evening, the waiter smiled, pointed his little finger at me and said "Chau Antoni! Hit Lair!". To rub it in further, he switched to R and put his thumb up, said "Hi R - friend! Come and play!" and then turned back at me, switched back to pinky and said "Hit Lair".

It was actually a lot sweeter than it sounds here in playback.

So I guess that's it. Hitler. Oh well ... there's quite a ring to it isn't there? I see no reason why not to embrace my new nickname.