Fertig
Funny that I spend all my time on a computer, but never in contact with anyone I really know. That is, not a customer.
Aside from cleaning up the apartment some more, spending most of my time with Jo, and going to Deutsch Vorlesungen, not a whole lot has been going on. Well, I did finally get my bumper repaired for $900 (not too shabby).
Except for the time some strange, possibly lost, Italian tried con or kidnap me. I still don't know for certain.
I was just leaving the bank after having deposited my scanty paycheck when a black Infiniti SUV pulls up alongside me. Through the passenger window I hear: "Es'cuzz a me! Es'cuzz a me!" I turn to face a man dressed in a nice black suit, wearing a flashy watch, and reeking of cologne. His tellingly euro-style long man-hair is greying at the temples, but I'd guess he was still young enough to have recently sired young children. I can't recall if there was a wedding band or not.
The thick accent inquires, "You'a speak'a Italiano?"
"No. Aber, ich kann kleine Deutsche sprechen." My best offer. And this was a profound mistake.
From that point onward we try to communicate in pidgen German; his accent was just as bad in that language as well. I couldn't quite make out exactly what he wanted from me, but I found it highly suspicious once things got going.
He offered a business card to me that had GEORGIO ARMANI centered in bold, snooty type. There was something about getting directions to an airport and a car rental, but what I found odd was that he also flashed an envelope of cash and a poker chip, and tried to give me a leather jacket from the same company. The whole time he kept repeating "fertig" over and over. It was a word I'd heard before and should have known, but for some reason couldn't remember. Later, figuring out it meant "finished," I realized it probably would have made the context of his request more intelligible.
Frankly, I find this kind of overwhelming generousity from strangers highly suspect. For one, I could only ask myself what this fancy-pants Italian was doing in the South Bay of all places. Moreover, why he was hanging around a bank to get help. I couldn't help but wonder if he was some kind of predator.
With that, I decided that I should split, and bid him adieu. He started calling after me as I walked back to my truck - at first "please help me!" then "how much you make? How much you make?" I drove off.
Did I overreact? I still can't decide. If he really was genuine, he would have been in trouble; I doubt very much that he would easily find another American that can speak a continental european language. The whole experience left a bad taste in my mouth. But better than kind, eh?
Yesterday, I went to Target Masters with Mia and Jo. We shot a Glock 17 and a snubnose .357 (like the hardboiled detectives have). The latter was like detonating dynamite in your hands. My wrist hurt by the end of my ammo.
Need to write more. Later.
Aside from cleaning up the apartment some more, spending most of my time with Jo, and going to Deutsch Vorlesungen, not a whole lot has been going on. Well, I did finally get my bumper repaired for $900 (not too shabby).
Except for the time some strange, possibly lost, Italian tried con or kidnap me. I still don't know for certain.
I was just leaving the bank after having deposited my scanty paycheck when a black Infiniti SUV pulls up alongside me. Through the passenger window I hear: "Es'cuzz a me! Es'cuzz a me!" I turn to face a man dressed in a nice black suit, wearing a flashy watch, and reeking of cologne. His tellingly euro-style long man-hair is greying at the temples, but I'd guess he was still young enough to have recently sired young children. I can't recall if there was a wedding band or not.
The thick accent inquires, "You'a speak'a Italiano?"
"No. Aber, ich kann kleine Deutsche sprechen." My best offer. And this was a profound mistake.
From that point onward we try to communicate in pidgen German; his accent was just as bad in that language as well. I couldn't quite make out exactly what he wanted from me, but I found it highly suspicious once things got going.
He offered a business card to me that had GEORGIO ARMANI centered in bold, snooty type. There was something about getting directions to an airport and a car rental, but what I found odd was that he also flashed an envelope of cash and a poker chip, and tried to give me a leather jacket from the same company. The whole time he kept repeating "fertig" over and over. It was a word I'd heard before and should have known, but for some reason couldn't remember. Later, figuring out it meant "finished," I realized it probably would have made the context of his request more intelligible.
Frankly, I find this kind of overwhelming generousity from strangers highly suspect. For one, I could only ask myself what this fancy-pants Italian was doing in the South Bay of all places. Moreover, why he was hanging around a bank to get help. I couldn't help but wonder if he was some kind of predator.
With that, I decided that I should split, and bid him adieu. He started calling after me as I walked back to my truck - at first "please help me!" then "how much you make? How much you make?" I drove off.
Did I overreact? I still can't decide. If he really was genuine, he would have been in trouble; I doubt very much that he would easily find another American that can speak a continental european language. The whole experience left a bad taste in my mouth. But better than kind, eh?
Yesterday, I went to Target Masters with Mia and Jo. We shot a Glock 17 and a snubnose .357 (like the hardboiled detectives have). The latter was like detonating dynamite in your hands. My wrist hurt by the end of my ammo.
Need to write more. Later.