The writer for reader blog: part 1

There are several ways to write a blog.

Most people attempt to write a blog in which they describe their day-to-day activities (usually leaving out the bad and exaggerating the worst). This is fine. It especially nice when the writer (me in this case) is back home and looks back on an awesome experience. When reading back his/her blog, the awesomeness seems to be even better than remembered. These kind of blogs, are blogs of writers for writers.

The problem is: there is only one writer.

I will consequently try to do something else (hoping that I haven't lost my dear reader up untill this point). A blog writen by a writer for readers. The aim is not to make you jealous, be too detailed or elaborate. The aim is purely and solely plain entertainment.

Having said this, sit back, relax and enjoy my miserable attempts towards entertainment. This month, my entertainment will consist of two short stories. One to be published later and the second one to be read below. t describes a rather peculair situation I found myself in, during the depths of the night.

Reeling in the big fish

I am not alone in my view that going out is nothing more than a modern form of mating. If the latter is true, than Madrid is the matting-apex. As I am single, a free spirit, young, outgoing, sociable ...... (fill in all the cliches you can think off): I go out; Quite a lot actually; Maybe too much.

Anyway, the opening Erasmus-party was one of those occasions. In an attempt to inevitably reel in all the floating friendships that exist when a lot of people just meet, I decided to throw a party at my house. As I live with Spanish people whose second nature is to party, this was no problem. So, I enthousiasticly invited 5 or 6 or 7 or 8 people, or maybe more. Frankly, I don't remember. The problem was, that by 12 o' clock in the night our house was packed with about 20, 21,22 or 23 people. Frankly, I don't remember.

What I do remember, is that we left the house in an absolute mess. Total chaos, anarchy, bottles of alcohol everyway, chips everywhere, etc.

What I don't remember is that yours truly forgot to close the door while leaving the premises. As my housemates were not at home at the time, they found our lovely house, left ready to be emptied by robbers/burglars and the like. And when they would feel like a strong liquor to overthink their sins, that would be absolutely no problem.

On top of that I lost my keys as well. In 1 night, after living in Madrid for less than a week. I managed to mess up the house, loose my keys and drink too much.

It will come as no suprise that the arrival back home, around 8 in the morning was not very pleasant.

Luckily, I did manage to reel in some big fish. Both on the friendship and the mate-side of the equation......

Story number 2:

1. Lousy layziness

While being here, yours truly has an outstanding opportunity to study, the once so mighty Spain. The result is unambigous: Spain is the country for and of the sluggard.

I encountered a slighty chubby. No, skip the slightly. I encountered a chubby, well-tanned, bearded Spaniard whose occupation was to sit on a chair to, when necessary, open a gate by pressing a button.

I have christened him "buttonpresser".

A rinkly, grumpy old woman spends her days by handing plastic bags to shopping customers. This bag-giver is luckily being acompanied by a shopping-packer (It is obviously impossible for both tasks to be executed by one person, just image the stress). Me, being a environmental consious Dutchmen, took my own bag upon which I received some rather odd looks from both women. The oldest of the two, feeling uneasy with the whole situation was, just for a few seconds, considering to help me anyway, but finally decided to accept her superfluousness.

Without questioning their own existence, the woman resided to chatter.

Finally, I offer you a black men (yes I say black because he was black, that is his colour people, there is nothing wrong with a colour). Anyway, his job was to stand on his feet, the entire day at the entrance of the metrostation, to point bypassers on the fact that they were supposed to buy a ticket. Those same bypassers could find approximately 100 metres later, gates on their way which tell them the exact same thing. The gates just don't need words.

Buttonpresser, bag-giver, shopping-packer & ticket-signaler are important, very important. They prevent me from pressing a button or considering to buy a ticket myself. No, I am happy here. No need for unnecessary effort. Their jobs teach me the meaning of laziness.

It's lovely, absolutely nothing and even that is too much.