The luggage sales girl

My suitcase was nearly totally devastated, so I decided to purchase a new one. There are several suitcase shops in Sliema. One has a really good selection, but outrageous prices. The other one has cheap Chinese stuff. As I am a cheapskate I decided to go to the one with the Chinese stuff. It has the great sounding Franco-Italian name Jean Valise, Pelleteria, but really belongs to a Maltese woman called Jeannette, so was neither French nor Italian. The shop catered to tourists as it was open all day, really Maltese shops are closed between noon and 4 pm. I entered it and there was just a small sales girl there, maybe 1.55, a bit curvacious, but good looking, she even had an attractive face. So I was looking forward to a nice shopping experience.

I went to the back of the shop, where the suitcases were lined up. I needed a large light one with wheels. I tried to lift up several ones, but they were so cramped that it was difficult to get to them. The sales girl approached me: “Do you need help?” “ I am looking for a large light suitcase.” “This one is cheap”. She pointed to a suitcase. “How large is it?” “It is a large one.” “I mean, what are the measurements?” “We don't measure it, we just say large, medium or small.” As airlines have size restrictions on luggage, this obviously didn't hold water. So I responded: "If you can't measure it, I can't buy it.”, to which she replied, “OK, I will measure it” and came with a worn out meter. She measured it and said “78 cm”. The suit case did not look that large, so I took the meter and measured it myself. I came to 72 cm. “You must measure until the end of the wheel”, she told me. “Why? Can I put anything into the wheel?” “You are a bit rude to me!” she replied. This kind of response did not shake me at all. “It is you, who are rude to me” I replied. “I don't think so, why?”. “Because you tell me, how I 'must' measure it.” “I did not mean to be.” she retreated. “Do you have anything else in the EUR 50 price range?” “No”. The hoped for nice shopping experience did not seem to materialize.

She seemed to agree, as she went back to the desk with the tiller and left me alone. There was no larger light suitcase around. The problem was, this one was a bit overpriced, but after this encounter with her the salesgirl would certain not rebate it for me.

Fortunately, Jeannette was entering the store at this moment, unaware of the incident. Jeannette was in her end-forties, but still very attractive and must have been a beauty, when she was young. “Can I help you?”. I nodded: “What price can you make me on this one?” “It is 49.95, I can give it to you for 48.” I smiled: “That is a Chinese suitcase, it costs less than EUR 10.” “I am not the agent, I am paying much more, I have to eat, too. 47 is the best price.” “For women it is better not to eat too much”, I responded. She did not find that funny at all and looked at me, as if she would have loved to slap my head with the suitcase, maybe 47 times: “I can't give you EUR 5 off on this one. It is all new.” “ Do you want to keep it, until it becomes old? And I only need EUR 4.95 off ?” I have no idea why, but totally unexpectedly she accepted the logic. Maybe she just wanted me out of her shop desperately and not be reminded of me by the suitcase. I paid EUR 45 for a badly made Chinese suitcase and the hatred of two pretty women.

© GG 2012  

  

All content purely fictional, any similarities to real persons, places, firms, etc. are purely coincidental. 

Paul, the stealth beer drinker

 

One of the regulars at the Exiles is Paul. He may be in his late thirties or early forties and is of average stature. His face, however, is not average at all, but superficially attractive. On first glance he looks like a very nice person, but then more like a very nice shark, though not like a big one. It is not clear to me, whether the regular shape of his teeth is due to jacket crowns or natural. Paul is never to be seen without his iPhone, which is always connected to the web. In any conversation he will use it in order to find an interesting piece on the topic from the web and impress and entertain his partner with it.

Paul has at least two remarkable properties: First he can lead a conversation for hours without boring his companion. He seems to experience so many interesting things, that his inventory of stories is always full. He seems to go out every evening and to the most interesting places, so that he can always replenish his inventory with a great story. In order to give you an example, he was in Bangkok for several days. There he always found great restaurants, run by expats. Actually, this is not that easy in Bangkok. After one dinner in a particularly nice one, run by an American, the owner pointed out to him a special night club. When Paul went there he saw a lot of older Thais with extremely beautiful, young girls. The girls, he insisted, were “normal” girls, mostly wearing Burberry clothes. The significance of this attire with respect to a Bangkok girl is lost on me, but I am not such a Bangkok insider like Paul.  After Paul had just spent twenty minutes in that night club, several of these beautiful girls went over to Paul and his friends in order to spend the night with them. Such is the attraction of Paul on young women, but only on great looking ones.

Secondly, while Paul is holding forth, he steadily, but moderately, sips a beer. But as he can hold forth for hours, he will have sipped several beers in the afternoon. This allows him to establish a good beer base for the evening, on which he can build, assuring him of a permanent good mood and interesting experiences in the evening.

When Paul was sitting at the Exiles with a friend, sipping his beer, a girl, maybe 18 years old, came to his table, kissed him and sat down. She was looking absolutely stunning. She had a beautiful face, long brown hair, was maybe 1.70 m tall, which was difficult to estimate, as she wore rather high heels. Her body was best described as perfect. Even her English was excellent, although she probably was Maltese. Her outfit was “tres chique”, and she was obviously in love with Paul, because she said, that she started smoking, since she got to know him. She also insisted that Paul was “the laziest person in the world”, which he denied, and that she was not his girlfriend, to which he quietly and smilingly responded: “What else are you then?” To this she responded with additional proofs of love like hitting him lightly several times, putting her legs around his waist and complaining about him. Finally she exasparatedly left him, but not before embracing and kissing him sensuously.

There are lots of good looking girls at the Exiles, but Paul's girl friend was in a league by herself, as she was not just a perfect beauty, but also had style and temperament and was a great flirter. She therefore could not escape catching the attention of one of the two bartenders. While usually the bartender did not react at all to any of the sexy stuff always floating around there, Paul's girl friend got the bartender so excited, that he took a beer, left his workplace at the bar and joined Paul at the table in order to congratulate him on his extraordinary conquest.

Paul thanked him graciously and started showing him photos of the girl's house which was extremely luxurious. So this girl did not just have high class, but even belonged to the upper class. The bartender did not know, how to counterimpress Paul and stammered something about how he sold his racing boat and derived lots of income from the proceeds.

Paul rightfully moved the conversation back from personal finance to personal companion and showed the bartender pictures, that he had shot of his girl friend. These photos got the bartender so excited, that he showed Paul his watch and told him, how valuable it was. Paul inspected the watch and immediately detected the mark “Made in Japan”, which raised a question mark about its value in Paul´s eyes. In the eye of the bartender, however, this was considered a sign of value, maybe because it was not made in China. Paul, who because of his many nightly exploits was very knowledgeable of the thinking of bartenders, saw to cooling his man down and therefore invited him to a further beer. He then started to tell him a story, how he, Paul, once got into a brawl with a Scottish guy in a bar, who turned out to be a professional kick boxer and who knocked him out unconsciously.  As the bartender was a former kick boxer, too, his self-esteem got a lift. And when Paul confirmed to him, that he had his head kicked lots of times, the bartender was at ease again. Paul and the bartender continued to drink a few more beers and parted as the best of friends.

 

 

 

© GG 2012  

  

All content purely fictional, any similarities to real persons, places, firms, etc. are purely coincidental. 

The night and fight of the young tourist drinkers

While nearly all people would only come to the Exiles in groups or at least pairs, I prefer to go their on my own. If it is quiet at the Exiles, one can enjoy the rumbling of the waves, which I find the most relaxing sound of all. One would miss it in company. If it is busy, it is a great place in order to watch the other guests and sometimes overhear unique conversations. One can't do this in company either, as one would be bored by a social conversation, like “I find this hamburger too well done” or “I have to go to the hairdresser tomorrow”. My companion may state the foregoing with great weight and expect a reaction, which, if not considered to be sufficiently empathetic, would result in an immediate attack on me preventing me to enjoy the Exiles.

I was once there at about 11 am, and, shortly after I arrived, three young tourists sat down at the table next to me. They were between 1.70 and 1.80 m tall, well built, around twenty years old and had blond hair. I did not find them particularly attractive. One of them had a large bandaid on his forehead.

They were there in order to have a light breakfast (beer and hamburger and beer and beer) and to discuss their last night, which they considered to be the best they ever had in their (short) life. Why was it the best night? Because they never had been so drunk before than yesterday. As they were so drunk, they had forgotten parts of what happened during the night and tried to reconstruct it during breakfast.

One of the things, that they remembered, was that they were at a place, where one could drink to ones heart's desire for a fixed charge of Euro fifteen. It seemed that they had big hearts. Big hearts result in big desire, resulting in lots of drinks. Unfortunately other patrons of this joint had big hearts, too, especially a group of Latvians. One of the Latvians apparently looked at one of the young tourists in what was considered an unsuitable way, resulting in an argument and a brawl. The Latvian, unfortunately, was a kickboxer, and wanted to check his maximum kicking height, so took aim at the young tourists forehead. Apparently the Latvian was in good kicking shape and had no problem reaching the young tourist's forehead with sufficient force to cause a 7 cm long wound. Blood was dripping from the wound, so the bar owner called the police, because he feared that the bloodstains may be difficult to remove from the furniture (most joints in this area have blood resistant furniture, but this one apparently could not afford it, because of the low priced all-you-can-drink charge).

The Latvians were rightfully of the opinion, that it was not them who stained the furniture, so they saw no reason for waiting for the police to come, and as the police usually doesn't like viewers to stand around, they left immediately. When the police arrived, they were gone, so that the police could only interview the young tourists. These, however, had already been so drunk, that they had difficulties understanding a foreign language, and certainly could not express themselves sufficiently for the police to start an investigation. The young tourists were also not sure, whether they even had a recollection of what had and what had not happened at that time. In order to avoid further staining of the furniture, the police asked the young tourists to leave the bar and recommended calling an ambulance in order to transport the bleeding young tourist to a hospital, so that he would not stain the pavement, which was an offense under the local community rules. The young tourist's forehead was sewed and the bandaid applied. The young tourists were very happy about the prompt medical service they received.

One matter, that the young tourists discussed for nearly half an hour, was the color of the hair of a girl, whom one of them had not only kissed. One young tourist clearly remembered that the girl was a blonde, while the other insisted that she was a brunette. It must be taken into account that Malta is a very ecologically minded island, so they economize on electricity, resulting in dimly lit bars. And, as the proverb says, in a dimly lit bar all girl hair looks dark brown. The kissing young tourist staid out of this quarrel, insisting that he had no recollection of the girl whatsoever, except that he did not just kiss her.

After finishing their breakfast the young tourists agreed, that it would be very hard to surpass the last evening, but that they would try their best tonight.

Now I understood why Malta was selected “party island of the year” by a prominent TV network. 

© GG 2012    

All content purely fictional, any similarities to real persons, places, firms, etc. are purely coincidental. 

The waitresses at Paradise Exiles: Isabella, the Hungarian

Isabella was a beautiful, small girl with long black hair extending to the mid of her back. Her boobs were maybe 75a, while her ass was slightly too big for her stature, but still very much ok. When she served a dish with the required smile, the smile emanated a warmth that the other waitresses did not have. Her face was not beautiful in the classical sense, but very attractive, because it was quite regular and symmetric. This symmetry was only interrupted by a small black dot, maybe 1 mm in diameter, next to the tip of her nose, which however, just made the face more interesting. She had quite a big nose, which did not detract at all from the attractiveness of her face but rather gave the observer more space to rest his view on.

I had no idea where Isabella may be coming from. The black hair and big nose may have hinted to Maltese origin. However, Maltese women usually had somewhat curved noses, when those were big, but Isabella's was dead straight. In addition it was an exception that a Maltese girl would be working as a waitress at Exiles. There were no tips as you had to pay at the bar. So it was more for tourists who liked the atmosphere.

I had no idea, how to approach Isabella. When you have no idea, you use the dumbest of all lines: “Where are you from?” After days of fruitless deliberation I did exactly that. She responded “from Hungary”. I was stunned, that I had not thought of this possibility, as I had part Hungarian blood in my veins, too. Now I understood her face: it radiated a bit the charm of a gipsy. Not that I have any idea whether she may have such origins, but it would explain it.

I stammered in nearly inintelligible Hungarian: “my father was born in Budapest”. Isabella was obviously intelligent because she understood the sentence and asked why I did not speak better Hungarian. I explained that I had no opportunity to use it and thus it was always quite difficult for me in the beginning. She nodded understandingly and said, that it would come back with more practice. Therefore she offered to exchange one Hungarian sentence with me per visit. At this rate it was highly unlikely that I could pick her up by the end of the season, as she only worked every second day.

The other days there was a Polish girl, where I had no chance at all. Because first I confused her with a waitress from last year, 2011. Then I compounded this mistake by asking her, where she came from. I understood her response to be “ From Holland.” So I responded: “The only words I know in Dutch are 'Innige Omhelsingen'”, which means “deep felt embraces”. I learned this from a former Dutch girlfriend. On this I got back: “I don't speak Dutch”, to which I retorted: “But you said, you are from Holland?” “No,” she replied”, “from Poland”. 

So 2012 was quite a bad vintage year for me with repect to pickup of waitresses.

 

© GG 2012    

 

All content purely fictional, any similarities to real persons, places, firms, etc. are purely coincidental. 

The waitresses at Paradise Exiles: Donatella, the Sustainable Marine Biologist

When I met Donatella, I wasn't alone, but with my daughter, so I really did not pay too much attention to her. Why? Firstly I see my daughters quite infrequently as they live elsewhere. Secondly my daughter does not like me to talk up young waitresses. And thirdly I couldn't classify Donatella. And when you can't classify a woman it is hard to find the right pickup line.

Donatella was small, maybe 1.60 m and had brown hair. She was a little bit on the curvacious side, but still attractive and looked quite sweet, although a bit earnest. And she wore glasses. I had never seen a waitress at the Exiles wear glasses before. The glasses actually were extremely beautiful, round with many colours, pink, yellow and black and fit her face exceptionally well.

I was sitting with my daughter at the Exiles for many days and talking about lots of personal things in German. We were served by Donatella at least fifty times. Her face always stayed totally detached, which was natural for a waitress who did not understand a word of what we were talking.

After being served by her for many days I found it uncomfortable not to have any contact with her, as if she was just a vending machine. There are no vending machines wearing glasses. So I asked her: “Where are you from?” She responded: “from Vienna.” I was surprised, because I knew that one of the bartenders used to have a Viennese girl friend. But she never seemed to be close to this bartender. And it was quite unlikely that she would be working at this place in September, as his girl friend was studying in Vienna, and the term had already started then. “What”, said I, switching to German, “ so you speak our language?” “Sure”. So Donatella had overheard all our private conversations and not even once moved her face, although German is quite rarely spoken in Malta, the dominant foreign languages being Spanish, Italian, Russian and Slovak. “But you don't look Austrian.” “Because just my mother is Austrian, my father is Maltese.” “Which district are you living in Vienna?” “The eighth”. The district tells you a lot about the lifestyle of the people. The eighth district has a lot of nightlife so it is for people who want to have fun. ”Nice area”. “And what are you doing here?” “Visiting my father.” “And what are you doing in Vienna?” “I am writing a thesis on sustainable marine biology.” I pride myself of being able to start at least a short conversation on a wide field of topics, but sustainable marine biology was not one of them. So I responded: “Very appropriate topic for a Maltese.” She nodded: “Yes, and there is so much still to be researched.” and left us. My daughter giggled, satisfied by the total collapse of my approach: “Dad, haven't you given it up, yet.” 

© GG 2012    

All content purely fictional, any similarities to real persons, places, firms, etc. are purely coincidental.