by Roman Koidl
The studio was closed. I rang the doorbell and waited.
A short guy in flip flops opened the door.
You must be short to work here.
“Hey, you must be Patrick,” he greeted me pushing his glasses up his nose.
“Yes, hi. How are you? Your name is?” I greeted him.
“David. But they call me D2 around here,” he told me as he walked with me to the studio.
“Cool!” I replied, noticing that we were the only ones in the offices.
“Does someone still come in later?” I asked.
“Nope. You’re on your own buddy,” he answered quickly entering a studio room.
“Here is your office,” he said looking at the studio.
“Wow, impressive!” I blurted out seeing the modern board room. It looked exactly as it always does on TV. A big window that separated the room with the microphone from the board room.
“I was impressed as well as I started here,” D2 replied noticing my astonishment, “Believe me, that will ease off quite soon,” he continued.
“So, let’s get you started on the system,” he said sitting down in front of the board.
“There will be a big pile of CD’s lying here that the Boss wants you to put into the system so he can listen to the music wherever he is,” he started to explain.
“You put the CD in here, press this button. Then you go to this computer program and start the recording session. Don’t forget to pull up this channel on the board as you’re recording,” he said swinging his arms over the board to the computer back to the CD’s.
“Got that?” he asked looking up at me.
“Honestly, no,” I answered scratching my head.
He started to smile.
“No problem. Took me a while as well. You sit down here and follow my directions. You learn faster when you do it yourself,” he said standing up offering me the chair.
He had me go through the procedure several times and I slowly got a hang of it.
“Will you be OK on your own tomorrow?” he asked.
“Alone?” I pulled my head back in surprise.
“Yep. It’s my last day today. You’re my substitute,” he explained.
“Oh,” I answered puzzled.
“No one told you?” he asked.
“No not really,” I explained.
“Tough luck then,” he smiled.
“Do you want to do it again to be 100% sure you got it?” he asked.
“No, I believe I know it now. Otherwise, I can still call you, right?” I asked hopefully.
“Sure. I’ll give you my number. That’s no problem,” he said pulling out his mobile.
“Let me show you the rest of the offices now that you know the most important thing,” he added.
There was a copy machine, a fully equipped kitchen with coffee, tea, a snack machine, a spacious bathroom and several studios.
“He must be doing well?” I remarked.
“Sure is. You know Wall Avenue?,” he asked
“Wall Avenue? Sure, they are the new stars on the boy group horizon,” I said excited.
“The Boss produces them,” he explained pointing to a golden record on the wall.
“For selling 100.000 copies of the Album Skies the Limit,” I mumbled, reading the plaque below the record.
“Why do you call him the Boss?,” I asked.
“I’m not sure myself. The rumour is that he once recorded an album with Bruce Springsteen. As they listened to the finished product, Bruce was so happy with the work that he called Jeff the Boss. Jeff on the other hand responded saying that not he but Bruce is the Boss because of his great talent. In the end they both ended up becoming the Boss,” he explained.
“He knows The Boss?” I asked amazed.
“Seems so. But that’s going back several decades,” he said getting a key out his pocket.
“Before I forget. Here’s the key to the front door. You won’t get in otherwise because no one will be around when you arrive,” he said handing me the key.
“I understand, thanks,” I responded attaching the key to my key chain.
We finished the recordings and kept talking about the business that Jeff was in.
Maybe I will become a music producer.
Realizing that I would be the only one in the building, I knew how I would get my money’s worth. As the next day of work approached, I grabbed an empty backpack and headed to the office.
I entered the studio and a big pile of CD’s was waiting for me. I got down to work. The good thing about this job was that I had a lot of free time. As the CD’s were being fed into the system I started to wander through the building. I reached the kitchen, seeing all kinds of different teas sitting on the table. Lemon, peppermint, Darjeeling, chai, mint, and green tea. I looked around the ceiling to make sure there were no cameras observing me. After I assured myself that I was absolutely unwatched, I grabbed as many packets as my hands could hold and brought them back to the board room to put them in my backpack.
That’s enough for today. See if someone mentions something to me.
After the three hours were up, I left the building feeling like an outlaw. A rebel. I showed them. Maybe they are not paying me with money but they are paying me with tea. Wow, mom would be proud of me.
As I got home my dad was standing in the kitchen making himself a tea.
What a coincidence.
“What kind a tea are you having?” I asked him putting my backpack in front of me.
“What? Ahm, black. Why?” he looked at me puzzled.
“I’ve got better here,” I said reaching into my bag putting the tea boxes on the table.
“Where did you get them from?” he asked surprised.
“Work,” I replied happy about my courageous act.
“You stole tea from the office?” he said in disbelief.
“Sure. If they are not paying me, I will get them back on my own terms,” I explained, “You should be the last to complain. How often did you steal beer glasses out of bars?” I continued.
“That’s different. It’s not my work place. You could get into trouble,” he lectured me.
“I’ll be fine,” I answered, zipping up my backpack.
Two days later, back at the studio I was welcomed with a stack of CD’s in the board room. I proceeded to feed the computer with them. As soon as that was done, I started to make my way into the kitchen. I looked through the drawers.
Cutlery, scissors - Ahh, Band-aids and headache tablets. Let’s pack some of them into the bag.
I started to get really used to this.
Every time I was there, I always found something new to take home with me. It became a habit. Despite my father’s early concerns he seemed to like my goods. I even started to photocopy entire books for law school there. Some of them had more than 300 pages. No one ever said anything to me. I felt safe. One day my phone rang.
“Hi Patrick, it’s Jeff from the studio,” he greeted me.
“Jeff? Hi. How are you?” I swallowed.
“Fine. Listen, I would like to invite you to my place for some drinks after work tonight. Got time?” he asked me.
“Drinks at your place? Sure, I’d love to,” I responded.
“Great. I live a few blocks from the studio. I’ll text you my address later. See you then,” he said.
What an honour.
I went to the studio as usual doing my work in the board room and after that in the other rooms looking for my payment substitute.
I noticed that there was a big bag of powder milk and powder chocolate for the coffee machine. I put two of each in my backpack and additionally filled the empty space with three rolls of kitchen paper.
The backpack was bursting. I could hardly close the zipper.
After my three hour shift I walked over to Jeff’s house.
It was already dark.
I was looking for the doorbell. Suddenly the door opened and shed some light at me.
“Welcome,�
�� Jeff greeted me.
“Step inside,” he invited me inside.
”Thanks,” I said stepping inside.
The house was filled with modern paintings and sculptures.
“Very nicely decorated,” I remarked.
“Thank you. I got a gay interior designer in to do this for me. I believe that gays have this unique creative gene,” he explained walking towards the living room.
“Beer?” he asked.
“Sure, thanks,” I responded, still being amazed about the tasteful decoration of the house. I like it when a living space is not cramped. The design was simple and Spartan, but very tasteful.
“You can put your backpack over there by the wall. Make yourself at home,” he said as he disappeared into the kitchen.
“Thanks!” I responded sliding the backpack off my shoulders.
“Here you go,” he came back handing me the beer.
“So you like it with us?” he started a conversation sitting down on his white leather couch.
“Yeah, it’s really interesting,” I responded still watching my choice of words because I didn’t know Jeff that well.
“Happy to hear. I had a good feeling about you,” he smiled.
The hours passed and we were emptying one bottle after the other.
“Come on let’s do shots,” Jeff said, clearly drunk, “I got great schnapps here,” he said opening a cupboard.
“Sure, let’s do it,” I replied, tipsy.
He filled the glasses and started to shout “ONE, TWO, THREE, LET’S CHUCK IT”.
He kept filling the glasses. This guy was a heavy drinker.
“Patrick, you have to believe that you will be successful with anything in life,” he started to philosophize leaning back into couch.
“You know Sandra Faith?” he said playing with his golden neck chain.
“Sure I do. She’s hot. She looks very like Christina Aguilera,” I said.
“I did her,” he said whimsically.
“Nooo? How was she?,” I asked leaning forward.
“Very passionate,” he responded.
“She’s huge. When was that?” I kept questioning.
“At the beginning of her career about five years ago. She did some takes at the studio and we got closer,” he told me reaching for the bottle to prepare another round.
“How did it end?” I asked giving him my shot glass.
“She became an international star and we didn’t have any time to see each other. She’s a great girl,” he said respectfully as he was filling the glasses.
“Cheers my friend,” he said, raising his glass.
I was super drunk by now. We kept drinking for another few hours and I stated to believe that I would not survive this night. I told him all about Loretta and me.
“You know how to drink,” I told him, as we tossed back our last round.
“Not bad for a 42 year old, heh?” he responded smiling.
After the drink, he stumbled with me to the door.
“Bye,” he said leaning against the door. He was breathing heavy and was barely able to keep his eyes open. I staggered out on the street looking for a taxi.
What time is it? I woke up asking myself.
I don’t know how I got home but I was home and the sunlight was pulling me out of my sleep. 11.54 a.m.
I stumbled down the stairs to the kitchen.
“Up?” my father greeted me.
“Mhhh, yes,” I whispered holding my head.
“Long night? Your mother and I were wondering if you would come home at all,” he said.
“So what did you bring us from the office this time?” he asked curiously.
“Bring?” I suddenly pulled my eyes wide open in shock, “Shoot, I left the backpack at my boss’s house!”
I ran back to my bedroom to get my phone.
I started typing a message into it.
Hey, hope you’re feeling good. I left my backpack at your place. Can I come over to pick it up?
I sent it off hoping for an immediate response. Minutes passed. After about a half an hour my phone vibrated.
Hey, doing fine thanks to the coffee. Got your backpack with me at the studio. Come whenever to get it. It’s in my office.
I got dressed and left straight for the studio.
I hope he didn’t open the bag. Please don’t let him open that bag. I was praying as I was on the train.
In the office I went straight to Jeff’s office. The door was open. I stopped, took a few deep breaths, and tried to be prepared for whatever awaited me in that room.
The office was empty. Jeff wasn’t around. I saw my backpack leaning against the wall. Unopened. I grabbed it and got the hell out of there.
Until today, I never found out if he looked into the bag or not. He never reacted weirdly towards me. He maybe didn’t ruin that for me but he did ruin my fantasies about Sandra Faith. Always when I fantasized of being with her intimately, Jeff’s face appeared. True horror.
Chapter 9
The job hunt was on
I kept working for the record studio for a couple of years and I also kept stealing everything I could find.
Things with Loretta went perfect as well. We saw each other on a daily basis. It was intense. We were dating now for seven years. My law studies came to an end and the seriousness of life started to hit me. I realized I needed a job. Not an internship or a promotional job. A real job. I wanted something serious, something mature.
Every day, I was searching the internet for positions.
Sales representative, marketing manager, public relations consultant, law firms, etc. The job sites were packed with these kinds of positions. I applied and applied, not really expecting to hear from them, and there weren’t many media jobs posted. I gathered that marketing and public relations is close enough. The job hunt was on. After sending out several applications, I actually did get some responses, but mostly not the ones I was hoping for. I learned that if a company wanted me they would call, not send an email. If I got an email from them, it meant that they refused me. The emails were mostly automatically generated, trying to tell me that I had outstanding qualifications but that there was someone else out there that was better than me. Whenever I read this I felt like Snow White and wanted to go to the mirror and ask who is the best qualified person in this country.
After weeks of sending out one application after another, I slowly got good at it. I tweaked my resume here and there. Lied about this and that, and made my tasks sound bigger than they actually were. Then suddenly out of the blue, something must have happened: I was getting calls. I was literally being bombarded with interview requests. Everyday another interview.
Monday
A TV station. I wasn’t too excited about it because I wanted something big and wanted to earn good money. I knew that a small local station would not be able to pay much. As I got to the station, I was interviewed by a woman that was barely older than me. We had a nice conversation but at the end, as I suspected, they offered me an internship. I said I’d think about it.
Tuesday
A big international bank invited me to their assessment center, something I’d never experienced before. As I got to the bank I was brought into a large classroom-like room filled with chairs and flipcharts. About twenty other people from all age groups were sitting at the tables, forming an open circle. We were bombarded with one task after the other.
Calculate how long a train will take to make it through a tunnel.
How much timber is a company able to buy from seller A compared to seller B?
Get together in a group and solve the following problems, we will observe you as you are discussing in a group.
During all of these tasks that were to be finished under short time constraints I had to go for several interviews into different rooms. I was tired. I didn’t know what to expect. This was the worst. I was never good in math and especially not in analytical tasks. I knew this wasn’t the right job for me. During the several
short interviews, I steadily lost my motivation. It was noticeable. I just wanted to get out of there.
Wednesday
After the extremely tiring day before, I had an interview at a public relations agency. They were looking for a business development manager, someone who would get them new clients. The interview was going well, and I had a good feeling, up to the point where I was asked if I would mind interning first.
Absolutely not.
Thursday
I should have opened my own business, advising people how to ace interviews. Today, I had a law firm on the agenda. They needed a paralegal. Literally, I would be doing the work lawyers don’t want to do: Interview clients, research the law, and keep the files up to date.
I walked in with a good attitude. This would change rapidly.
“Mr. Wright. We really think you would be a great match for us. Please send us your grades from law school and we will have you in for a second interview with the firm partners,” the interviewer in his pinstripe suit said to me shaking my hand to see me off. I smiled and promised to send my grades as soon as possible. I knew that the job just got out of reach. I wasn’t an A student. I barely passed my exams. Not because I was too stupid or lazy. I just wasn’t that much into law. Now I paid the price for it.
Friday
Sitting indoors for days sending out resumes and running from one interview to the next made me feel socially secluded. I was happy about any distraction I could get.
Brrrrrrrr, Brrrrrrrr.
The vibration of my mobile brought me back to civilization.
Hey Pat,
Let’s meet for drinks tonight. Haven’t seen you in ages.
Let me know. Kiss Sarah
The message read. That was a nice surprise. I always wanted to have my friend John meet her. After emailing him, he replied instantly that he would be in. If you told John that there is a woman involved he would even neglect the funeral of his parents for that.
