Stories from Geneva

I am now in a new role and work, with a new manager. This required a trip to Geneva to meet with him and my new Western European counterpart. It was a very productive trip from a business POV (which it had better be working 38 hours in 3 days). Clarified our roles and expectations. Gave ourselves titles. And Agreed to working principles. All good there.
The personal side was, as always, entertaining. Some small vignettes from the tour:

As usual, I arrived in the morning on a Tuesday, but didn't work that day. I stayed up as long as I could (6pm), slept as long as I could (7am) and did my best at work Wednesday. It worked fairly well. I was set to get a good long night's sleep on Wednesday night. It didn’t' happen. Dinner went late, but not too bad. I was back to the hotel at 10:30 and ready to sleep. So I set the alarm for 8 and fell into bed. I was sleeping soundly when the alarm went off. Only it was much louder that I am used to from my small watch. This was VERY loud and insistent. BEEP-BEEP-BEEP. I grabbed for my watch, fumbled with the buttons, but the beeping didn’t stop. It was about now that I realized that the TV was on. OK. Strange. I didn't turn it on the previous evening. But there it was, glowing the in the dark of the room. And as I started to come into consciousness I realized that the beeping was also coming from the TV set. My only thought was "I have to turn off the TV!" I didn't know why it had decided to switch itself on, but I wanted it off. I had a vague fear that this was some kind of emergency - the hotel was on fire maybe? No idea. I fumbled for the light switch, turned it on, and saw the remote next to the TV set. I reached for it, still in a panic, yet finally able to read the words on the screen. "You have a message from the front desk!" WHAT?!?!! A message. NOW? [Picture John McEnroe] "You can NOT be serious!" But sure enough. Enter my room number - 404 - and here's the payoff. Someone has left me a present. How nice. Now shut the hell up and let me get back to bed! To bed, but not to sleep. That's lost to me now. Shit.

After work on Thursday I went to dinner at a Thai restaurant. You know how everyone complains that service in Europe is horrible? Well here's why: 1. When we arrive at the restaurant it's 8:30. It's a medium-sized place. Maybe 15 tables. Only 1 is occupied. We approach the head water and say we have two for dinner. He asks - incredulous - "You do not have a reservation??" Um, no. But seeing as you have FOURTEEN EMPTY TABLES perhaps you could see it in the goodness of your heart to seat us anyway, eh? 2. After graciously agreeing to seat us, we are asked if we'd prefer smoking to non-smoking. Non-smoking, naturally. You have to wonder where they'll put the smokers since it's really just one big room. Perhaps there's another room off to the side for the smokers. Me? I don't have to wonder. I know where they put the smokers - AT THE TABLE NEXT TO US! You know, why even waste the breath asking the question? Since he's probably a smoker himself he should probably ration his oxygen. 3. I order my meal. Pad Thai. Not too adventurous, I know. But I like it, and don't have it too often, so I don't feel bad ordering it. After I place my order I was ready to be asked how spicy I want it. I am not asked. OK. So since the waitress speaks English (I'm not about to try this in French) I tell her - I'd like it to a medium level of spiciness. She looks in my direction; and walks away. The meal comes out shortly. My first thought is how well they've spiced it. My question is quickly answered by the waitress, who shows up carrying a small bowl of chili-peppers in an oil mix. Ah, the message is now clear. "OK, Mr. Picky, you want medium spice? Well spice it your damn self!" Lovely. I wonder - if I had wanted clean dishes would I have been given a wash rag?

I had considered getting Mimi an expensive watch for Christmas. Perhaps a Rolex. But soon after I had the thought I ran into a couple who owned them. They said many nice things about them - marvels of engineering, never needs batteries, can dive to any depth, and so on. Then, after laying it on for a bit come out with the other side. Oh yeah, the only thing is they don't keep time very well... Um, pardon me? Isn't it, well, a watch? And one of the most expensive ones on the planet? Isn't it's purpose to tell you what time it is? It would seem not. It will lose 1-2 seconds a day. A DAY! My $20 Casio won't lose that in a year. But the Rolex? Every day. Precision engineering, that. Well, I'm telling this story to my new boss, and my usual exaggerative manner, and I get to the part about them not telling time and I toss out "And it turns out they're pieces of shit! Damn things can't even keep time!" I was watching his expression, and knew that something was up, but kept ranting for another few minutes anyway. Finally, when I finished, and the new boss couldn't contain himself any more, he jumps into the conversation. "Oh, no, Denis. They are such amazing instruments. They are works of art!" "Uh, yeah. Works of art that don't tell time. Why not buy a painting and a Casio instead?" You can imagine where this conversation went. So after all the dust settles? Yup - new boss owns a Rolex! Several, in fact. Actually, he's a watch collector! Damn! Talk about the wrong foot. He will never wear a watch that requires a battery. The watch on his wrist has a story behind it - some kind of antique. Can't say I really listened to the story. Fun stuff. The cool thing is, though, that even though we held differing points of view, I love hearing people talk about their passions. Doesn't matter what it is. Sports, intellectual pursuits, hobbies, whatever. If they love it, and express themselves well, it's fun to hear. I'm still not in the market for a Rolex though.