More on Berlin coming soon...

Last night, during ballroom dance lessons taught by the much beloved and wise beyond his years Szednek, I got a call from Philip, the manager at Gulu Gulu.

FLASHBACK: Last Time on Prague Blague! Philip told me on Thursday that he was "satisfied" with me, and that I might have a job as a waiter/bar tender/cappuccino maker at Gulu Gulu, a French Italian restaurant in Old Town that has a mostly tourist clinentele. The catch was that there was only one new position, and someone else had applied before me, so Philip would have to think it over. Eddie theorized that whoever was the better looking would win.

I missed Philip’s call, though, because I was too busy dodging Szednek as he paraded gracefully across the floor, always with a new woman in his arms, as in his youthful days (Nicole seemed to be his favorite). Presumably, I was there to learn how to dance the way civilized people do, with one arm around the waist and one in the air, stepping together in a semi-memorized, semi-intuited pattern, identical to all the other couples in the room. I did manage to pick up the very basic step that is the foundation for every other dance in the world (shuffle shuffle step, shuffle shuffle step), but I didn’t progress much beyond that.

Dancing in clubs, where the all-knowing beat is your only guide, comes more naturally to me than a memorized series of steps that seems entirely random, save for the fact that centuries of practice have established them as universal patterns. Which is not to knock it, though I could if I wanted to, because I have tried it. I had a great time watching Szednek and the women of AIFS flying around the room, following these arcane (to me) stepping traditions that I couldn’t quite grasp. Szednek promised to take us to a ball at the end of March, confident that all of us would be ready. "Szednek is the best," Nicole and Kristen agreed.

When I saw that I’d missed Philip’s call because of my dodging, I was a little disappointed. I was afraid I might have to call him, which costs money, whereas receiving a call is free. I wasnt willing to pay more than a few crowns to find out I got rejected. So I sent him a text message, telling him I missed the call "because of a ball thing," and could he call me back?

Philip did, and said that starting March 14, I had the job. Today I met with him and learned that I’ll be working partial shifts starting on Friday. Man, oh man, I’m going to be a waiter! Now whenever I see a homeless man, supplicating with his face down on the streets of Prague, his cup shaking in his hand as he uses the last energy he has to desperately hold it up for money, I can think, "Hey, maybe that’s the guy I beat out for the job!"

Suddenly, all of my worries are gone. My money worries anyway. Now there are new worries, like whether I will make a good waiter/bar tender/cappuccino maker, and whether I can handle the 14-hour shifts. Time has been moving pretty fast lately, so I doubt the 14-hour shifts will be a huge problem, except for when Rachel is visiting. But what if I accidentally put whiskey in the café au laits? Or whip cream and cinnamon in the bloody mary’s? Or get customers who absolutely refuse to speak English on principle, because they don’t know how to speak it? Is it better to have a job and be fired than to never have a job at all?

Overall, getting this job is a huge relief. No longer will I have to go out to eat with Nicole and our friends and not order anything, for fear of bankrupting myself. Actually, though, the time I did that at Architechtu wasn’t too bad. When everyone’s food arrived, it suddenly got quiet as everyone but me was eating, and I had nothing to do but switch between looking at the table and looking at the ceiling. I thought I was in for a horribly awkward night, until everyone finished their entire meals five minutes after getting their plates. But I digress!

Thanks to Gulu Gulu, my traveling after Prague will be a lot more feasible. I can buy people presents now. Nicole will have more time to herself at the apartment. I can buy prunes, god I love prunes, even though they are one of the more expensive bulk items at Country Life. I wont be broke by the time I get to New York. Gulu Gulu, while no Casa De Luz, has a cheeseless pizza and vegan pasta that I can eat for free on my shifts, so I will only have to compromise one of my ideals (no white flour), not both of them, as so many food ideologues do overseas.

My big regret is that my job has to start around the same time Rachel is coming to visit, but the thing is, if I didn’t have a job, the beast of debt and poverty would haunt me at every museum we visited, every dinner we ate, and every night we had to pay for a hostel in Budapest. Me having this job will make our time together (which will still be a lot of time) much more pleasant. Plus, Rachel will respect me more if I’m gainfully employed, and we’ll have more to talk about since we’ll both be in the same line of work.

I don’t know if it will be good for my half of this blog, however. From now on, most of my entries are going to be about annoying customers who don’t speak English, aren’t obligated to tip and don’t. Oh, but don’t worry, there will still be plenty of promises to write more about Berlin, defenses of snow, and theories on why opera is inherently awful. Luckily, we still have Nicole´s entries!