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- Herausgeber: epubli
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
A somewhat different birthday present - a return to a previous life through hypnosis, does not catapult Heinz to the Middle Ages as planned, but to Graz in the 80s. And he is not only not himself, but his uncle Wolfgang! Like an invisible shadow, he sticks to his fateful moments for decades. Through his turbulent events, Heinz may be able to make a profit for his own life... Is the book fiction, biography or a guide? You decide, dear reader!
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Seitenzahl: 299
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
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One step forward and two back
With fun and tact to a better person?
One step forward and two back
With fun and tact to a better person?
imprint
Copyright: Heinz Siegfried Pestner
Year: 2023
Cover design: Heinz Siegfried Pestner
Other contributors: Wolfgang Fürbahs
Publisher: Epubli
Printed in Germany
Translated with the help of Google – please excuse any mistakes ;)
All forms of address in the book always refer to all genders.
My special thanks go to my uncle Wolfgang,
The gift
Yet again....
Another year done! Hooray !
But somehow I see no reason to celebrate. What is supposed to be so special about turning 52? That's rather sad!
"What do you want for your birthday?" asked my wife. "That I'm 30 again!" I answer a bit harshly. But she already knows me and nods understandingly.
My son turns the corner and finds his way out of his room, his computer and his games to get some food. "Happy Dad!" he says and I just nod.
For me a day like any other. Wednesday. No time to rest. We can celebrate another time - or even better, not at all!
The work awaits. At the moment there are a lot of orders for conversions in various drugstores. So get in the car towards Leoben. On the way there the phone rings. I'm aware that today I won't always take off. This time it is, it's my Uncle Wolfi. Polarized in a similar way to me and always trying to get through life with as little resistance as possible. Brothers in spirit, so to speak.
"All the best, you old Zipfellapper!" comes from the speakerphone. "Yes, thank you!" I say tormented. "Heinzi, I have a little present for you." ``Shall we meet for a drink at Center West after your work?”
Wolfi is around 10 years older and has been a happy pensioner for a long time. We see each other often and share the hobby of going to the Buschenschank with my father every week. "Yes why not!" I say and in my thoughts I'm already at the end of the day. A few hours later we sit together in the cafe and he hands me an envelope. "You're going to have fun!" he smiles boldly and I have the feeling that there are no banknotes in the envelope. A card will appear with the imprint “Voucher”. I may need it too – my family gobbles up tons of food, including me – even though the doctor has advised me to eat healthily and calorie-restricted. I open the card and I don't see a supermarket logo, but the name "Emanuelle" followed by "Your regression to another life".
I look at him a bit disappointed and he says "That was amazing! You will be hypnotized and immerse yourself in your past life. You see and experience a different life!” I keep staring at him without moving and he's trying to make me like it. "I thought it was great and I immediately thought, this is the right thing for you!" Nice - he doesn't know me that well after all..."Well,...maybe that could be quite funny...." I say sheepishly and put the voucher in my jacket. "Now let's have a sip on your birthday!"
When I got home, I forgot the voucher in my jacket again...
The repatriation
Days later, Wolfgang calls me and asks “And? How was it?" I'm silent for a moment, then pull myself together and actually remember. "Well I haven't had time yet but will make an appointment soon!" Wolfi is not quite satisfied with this and underlines his wish that I would like to put this project into practice soon. Well, I now have a guilty conscience and call the number on the voucher. A lady with a French accent answers “Bonjour, I'm Emanuelle! How can I help?" With great difficulty I can also resist answering with that sweet accent “Yes, hello! I received a voucher as a gift and now I would like to book such a repatriation.”
Three days later I'm lying on the couch and I'm on my way to another life. I slide, it's getting dark as I follow her voice. And suddenly, like lightning, I'm here! But something is wrong... I know that! Graz? Not the Middle Ages and not the post-war period either! And I can't shake the feeling that I know this person very well... That's my uncle! I swallow and realize I'm suddenly stuck in the young life of my uncle Wolfgang. This can not be true! I want to wake up, but I can't...
From egoist to team player
It was 1985 or 1986. That's when I decided to shed some light on my future.
A dear friend - unfortunately not my own - deals with astrology and card reading as a hobby and so I undertook the journey into my "fictitious future" with her.
It was clear to me: I didn't want three things at this point:
Point 1 - a family (found yourself)
Point 2 - a house (build it yourself)
Item 3 - a child (do it yourself).
But the cards predict otherwise! After about four to five columns of eight to ten cards each, Uschi begins to evaluate the individual columns and she predicts exactly those three things that I absolutely don't want. Of course I immediately denied it. What I say holds! Basta.
Back then, I totally underestimated the power of maps. Uschi, the card fairy, also gave a few examples that actually applied. Unfortunately, I forgot what it was in detail. Thirteen years have now passed.
Today I live in a house that I didn't want. My wife and I are parents of a son, which according to the gynecologist should never have happened. Tip for all men – even a gynecologist can be wrong!
How should my fictitious future actually look like?
A big sunny boy or a little playboy?
For explanation:
Big Sunny Boy: Build a house, father a child, plant a tree.
Little Playboy: Enjoy life carefree and without commitments.
Please choose! Which decision would you make, gentle reader?
One thing has always been clear to me: Wolfi, you can be and become anything – just not average! How do you break out of your situation?
One tries one's successes on the opposite sex. What's better than dancing? Great, looks really easy. See Saturday Night Fever - John Travolta and Olivia Newton John. It's not a problem - is it?
Dance School Kummer, Hilmteich. A true Styrian loves his polka. Grab your partner in the clinch (dance pose) and let's get started. Dance floors have invisible barriers. You only feel that when you really throw yourself into it - a bit out of step at the beginning.
That's how you learn. Step by step. turn by turn. Suddenly the first feeling of success. Partners are in sync - by chance or already with skillful use? The first big goal emerges: competition dancers.
After completing the courses, one thing is certain: Wolfi, this is not your territory. Dancing must already be in the blood.
But Wolfi loves to dance and in 1977 he goes out on the smooth floor again with the musketeers Heli and Harry. Heli was the only one who came from a wealthy family. Harry was in high school. With a good part-time job, he earned a number of valuable shillings.
I was in the apprenticeship (financial idle time), i.e. my wallet was constantly cracking. My friends used a trick to get me into the dance class for free.
The first evening on the dance floor. A familiar feeling reappears. Everyone steps along like a stork in a fishpond, fully focused on getting the feet to follow the step the head has mapped out. It all looks so easy when the dancing teacher shows it to you:
We're really lucky. Our dance teacher Michi is an easy-going, friendly boy, his partner Gritli is a good and suitable addition. These two dance in the European Championship "Rock 'n' Roll Acrobatics." A fascinating and also dangerous sport in which you have to rely one hundred percent on your partner. Gritli once talked about training. It has happened that she flew into the bushes from time to time.
Michi is a tall, lanky guy who has a first-class command of the trick step - Gritli is a small, delicate but very lively partner.
The acrobatic rockers have the highest reputation in the dance school. Rock 'n' roll is the parade dance. In addition, Helga Kern travels to America every year. From there she always brings a new fashion dance to Graz.
Harry, Heli and Wolfi register for the bronze badge. This can be acquired with a completed F course (advanced class).
Hui, the nerves were strained. Everyone is looking for a partner. And now it starts. The necessary steps and combinations are practiced two to three weeks beforehand. Any asymmetries are already there. He starts forward on the left, she wants to go back on the left. Of course it doesn't work because she would have to put her foot back on the right.
It becomes more uncomfortable when the turns differ. There's hardly any way of tricking that out in any way. If he then still has leadership weaknesses, it's time to put in a night shift.
An old saying comes true: practice evening, practice evening, attend practice evening. There are always people there who have reached higher needles. They are happy to provide information and show you how to take the right steps.
If you dance more often with an expert, your own security increases enormously.
The day of truth is approaching, December 22, 1979. My partner, Dagmar Mayerhofer - very smart and a real talent - gives me the honor. An hour before the dance partner gets his dance number attached. We were number 13.
A few rounds of warm-up and warm-up follow. A strange feeling creeps into my stomach. I don't like it when someone keeps looking at my fingers at work.
And that's what happens here: Five dance judges constantly look at your legs and observe the posture of the individual couples. At that point Dagmar was a few courses ahead and because she had already practiced with many competitive dancers, she was a solid partner for my shaky performances.
7:30 p.m.: The countdown is on. The music is already playing in the background. Slight swinging in at the stand, tune to the beat and off you go.
Five couples slide across the dance floor. Couple 13 occasionally has problems with the beat during the first dance, but Dagmar elegantly compensates for these small insecurities. Dagmar's dress with a large décolleté and breathtaking cup filling (OW 100 loose) always outshines my somewhat stiff and awkward figures.
The judges evaluate the individual dances. I can hardly believe it: we both get the grade 5 every time (grades 1 to 5; 1: bad; 5: excellent). Phew, that was an experience. Just the feeling of being in close contact with Dagmar for about thirty minutes creates a highly erotic feeling. Then getting such a great result builds up every dancer.
I may have envied the disc jockey at the time. His name was also Wolfgang. This boy was incredibly lucky to be Dagmar's darling. If you imagine making it with such a pretty girl just once. And this boy probably had this opportunity every day! Enviable!
Dancing school was one of the most beautiful and important periods of my youth. Something still shines in my memory:
The rules of conduct for a lady.
The Bar Talk.
Both things were a horror topic for me at the beginning. In other dance schools at that time, white gloves, a jacket and a tie were still mandatory. Helga Kern-Theissl, the head of the house, was very relaxed in this regard.
My first bar conversation, I would have liked to have recorded it. Unfortunately, I have already forgotten what I said. There were beads of sweat on my forehead!
If only I had read recommended books back then! My interlocutors would have had much more fun at the bar.
With a lot of struggle, Heli has dumbbelled himself up to become a tournament dancer. Today he owns his own dance school. In the course of the following lines he will appear again.
What was my wife doing at that time? Going to school, chatting with mom about problems, hoping they might go away on their own. Experience shows otherwise.
The innocent girl goes to school obediently. But at home it is pampered to the letter: "Evi, what are you doing? Evi, what do you need? Evi, can we help you?"
With so much echo in the house, our Evi naturally finds it a bit difficult to act actively and independently. Despite everything, school is killing them!
The graduation ball is on December 8, 1982. A very important date. completion and a new beginning. This is where I meet my wife. As usual, she stands and waits for a dancer to take heart and ask her out.
Being quiet and reserved by nature, I asked her to dance with a bit of self-control. For readers coming from Graz I would like to mention that this whole scene took place in the Schlossberg restaurant. At that time, I was about to take the first steps toward self-awareness and breaking out of mediocrity.
On the one hand I was sworn in as an Austrian federal civil servant, on the other hand I have set myself the goal of my life to complete the evening HTL as a second chance of education.
Two thirds of the initially forty students have thrown in the towel. After the first two years, I came close to doing that a few times. Here it became clear to me for the first time that the only way to success is through difficulties. Many sleepless nights have accompanied this path.
In 1987 I passed my Matura. The first time and in all subjects! cheers! I am the best! The only question is for how long.
As a civil servant, it was necessary to pass a specific service test (“Special Appointment Requirements”).
In this context, my special thanks go to Dr. english He was a lecturer and course leader at this training course. With his sovereign moderation in the areas of "marketing and customer-oriented behavior", he not only encouraged my willingness to learn, but also aroused my interest in dealing more intensively with these topics.
It really would have been a miracle if I had passed it the first time.
Sorry, dear people, here too I needed all my stamina to clear this hurdle on the third and final attempt. But from this point on, one thing is crystal clear to me - I CAN DO ANYTHING!
Confidence grows with each hurdle, but the next hurdle is just around the corner!
A childhood dream is within reach. Inspector Wuppi is investigating - like a police officer with a dog tag, I'm supposed to uncover people who hear and see what's going on. But this vision was never to be fulfilled. Since the word "rebellious" was still capitalized for me at the time, Inspector Wuppi's "career" ended sooner than I had thought.
A change was inevitable. So the way led me to the high building on Griesplatz. To where communications technology is only limited to "two wires". And so one day the bad news came over these two special wires: "Wolfgang, you're going to be a father!" If I hadn't been barefoot that day, it would have knocked my socks off!
"What's that supposed to mean?" Herbert Grönemeyer would have said! "Above the clouds, freedom must be limitless," Reinhard Mey claimed thirty years ago. And now this is happening to me!
How do I tell my parents?
Before I answer this question, I first accept an invitation from Kathi's parents. Everything was very friendly back then. Even congratulations came across.
After a glass of sparkling wine, the tour continued to Club GS. On Kärntner Strasse in Graz, an ambulance, a VW bus, rammed into me and pushed my car onto two people driving in front of me.
In the ambulance, an injured person is thrown off the stretcher and is additionally injured. The driver in the ambulance, traveling without blue lights and a follow-up horn, may have overlooked the fact that the column in front of him suddenly slowed down.
My car is ready for the grist mill. The police are recording all the data, including the fact that I've been playing the father role since today. The official is very friendly and wishes me all the best. The people involved in the accident were very cooperative and downright nice.
One of them took me to the club. And then I had a special surprise in store for you.
All regular guests are already present. The usual hello as a greeting and otherwise a good mood. Wolfi orders a bottle of sparkling wine. Nothing out of the ordinary for the general public.
Then I speak up: “I just had an accident. Three cars involved, rescue, total loss etc. And then something else:
I AM A FATHER AS OF 5 PM CET TODAY.
That's it for now."
Uncle Heinz took his breath away for a short time. "Are you serious?" Was his somewhat hesitant question. "Yes it is!"
Then two minutes of laughter followed. The logical consequence of this was a second bottle of sparkling wine.
We haven't had as much fun in the club as we had that evening/morning for a long time. The whole action was still a popular topic of conversation months later.
The moment of truth follows the next morning at breakfast in the Fürnschütz home. I already figured out the morning observation the day before. The surprise was a success. But not quite the way I imagined.
Hats off to my parents, they took note of what I said without reproach.
I have not told anyone about Kathi's condition to this day. That should remain my secret. My thoughts: If everything goes well, I can then inform everyone. If something goes wrong, nobody needs to know.
After all, at that point I was still enjoying the comforts of my own parental home. Mama's boy lets himself be pampered? - Not necessarily. Because there is also work in the parental home. During the first renovation work, I acquired practical experience in building houses. This experience was enough that the desire to build your own home finally disappeared.
But Kathi is building a house. Supposedly her house. Self planned. Hats off! I would never have brought it there, even though once it was talked about as a condominium - so marginally. You only talk about it. Who asks a man? Maybe a young, stubborn, spoiled kid? Not at all.
Kathi is a financial genius. She wanted to explain to me how an exclusive single-family home can be built with around EUR 50,000 in cash. I've always been very weak at bookkeeping and arithmetic. How she managed to do that is still a mystery to me.
Grandpa Prelitz - Kathi's father - builds his second house, i. i. Kathi's first house. After a few years the time has come. The house is standing. After point two and point three had been (unintentionally) done, so to speak, the question arose once again: “Does this also automatically result in point one”? (marital status through marriage)
Maybe I should have asked a mathematician. Instead, I calculated and calculated myself. With ALL. As so often in life, you can calculate a lot yourself, but not everything can be planned in advance.
So I (for me) weighed all the pros and cons. Try it! Never immune - often regretted? I swore to myself: I'll only get married once!
Oh well. In October 1995 I said yes. It was an important decision with a special goal: to keep those who criticized my previous life situation a little more at a distance.
And who was the worst critic? You guessed it! Father-in-law! Marriage alone is not enough, because only a father who is at home every day is also a good father.
Although my attitude towards my duties as a father was not very strong after the birth of my son, I have tried to grow into this role as much as possible.
My son was born on August 24, 1990. "Becoming a father is not difficult, but being a father is very difficult!" This realization has probably often led me to make unqualified statements. (See point three.) Despite this, I have always thrown myself into uncertain adventures with a being who is more or less unknown to me – my son.
This is how the family-like relationship went for about five years. Five years in which we partly slept on the floor. Only our prince has enjoyed the luxury of sleeping in his bed every day.
The apartment was just too small for all of us. This of course led to aggression. In order to keep these within limits and reduce them, I not only dedicated a lot of time to my job, but also - although not a strict Catholic - regularly attended church services.
On the one hand well-earned money, on the other hand time to think.
During this time holidays were popular every year, and that alone on IBIZA. This island has a special charm. I was there for the first time in 1980. Ibiza has many sides. It is extremely interesting historically.
Old potteries, excavations and liquor production with on-site tasting are just a few. All the hustle and bustle takes place in Ibiza Town. The Café Mary Sol fills up already in the late afternoon.
The guests sit threaded like a string of pearls with their backs to the wall and hope to meet one or the other dream guy, some of them hidden behind eye-catching sunglasses or trendy outfits. Where is the dream man, the dream woman?
As the hour goes by, the flow of people at the harbor thickens. Dream yachts give an insight that the money society of Ibiza also appreciates. It's no coincidence that people like Niki Lauda, Udo Jürgens or Rainhard Fendrich have a domicile here.
Ibiza has a special, not directly explainable attraction - the many small pubs at the port or the monkey racetrack that runs between the rows of houses. Everyone wants to see and be seen.
Standing out until you drop is everything.
Smart bunnies, a lot of insight, breathtaking bodies in flashy clothes, guys with crooked hairstyles, girls with ripped eyes for celebrities from film and television or people who just want to “let the fuck loose”.
For connoisseurs of the scene: from 10 p.m. onwards, advertisers hand out free tickets for the discos. However, many tickets are only for advertising purposes.
From 10 p.m. to 1 a.m. all hell breaks loose on the highway. The first preliminary decision for the coming night can already be made here. The many cafés offer the ideal opportunity to get to know a partner – usually for one night. The dance teacher collected a lot of the information brought here.
Helmut has been coming here regularly since 1980. He combines relaxation with fun and, as a trained animator and dance teacher, builds up the guests in various hotels with the hope of perhaps meeting the dream woman or dream man on this dream island. But this mostly remains a dream. A beautiful evening, a beautiful night, a beautiful farewell the next morning. What can be nicer here?
I spent a few weeks vacationing here in the early 1990s. My most frequent flight attendant was Ganovenheli. Heli vouches as an inspector and today's commissioner from the security service. A perhaps strange partnership of convenience has developed between the two of us.
Helmut is also an old Ibiza fan. He has often pointed out to me to hitchhike to Ibiza. Well, of course, our Wolfi wasn't averse. So we started in 1993. A good friend and work colleague - the handsome Hans - was kind enough to transport us both to Vienna-Schwechat.
There Heli chose a special hairstyle for me. That was the start of a very practical short hairstyle. We took off with two hitchhiker backpacks, an igloo tent and a few clothes to wear.
Ganovenheli, the talented tour guide (self-definition) planned the trip quite well. The whole route was covered by public transport. With our heavy pees we trundled around in old buses. This is how you get to know Ibiza.
The roads are badly affected by many holes. This is Ibiza. There is no rush here. The same applies to everyday life: what is not done in three days will perhaps work perfectly again in fourteen days.
Changing trains in Santa Eulalia brings the destination within reach. A campsite in Escana. Beautifully located, lots of sun with a fantastic view of the sea.
Only the sanitary facilities would need repairs. The adventure can begin.
The fun begins as soon as the tent is set up. It just looks like an igloo, but when all the "poles" are threaded in and the whole hut stands in front of you, wobbly like a pudding, you get a little proud.
Now tuck in the pegs, pull the nipples through the loops, and the whole hut is held from the ground up. That's life!
The first evening was an intermittent walk. Ganovenheli acts as a tourism specialist. The first station is about three hundred meters from the campsite. A tequila simply to enjoy - poured three times. Two or three more of that sort and the night would have been over. Noble restraint and an irrepressible spirit of enterprise lead to the town centre.
Our already dry throat is crying out for liquid! What to drink in Ibiza as a refreshing cocktail? The non plus ultra for the whole day is called Lumumba: A special brandy ("Osborne") is mixed with a sweet, cold cocoa and ice cubes to approx. 0.25 l. Excellent on a hot morning at the beach bar, at lunchtime, as an afternoon cocktail or as an evening pick-me-up.
A few lumumbas later. Helmut is already forging a program for the following days. After an hour of planning in a hacienda with reggae music and an open fireplace, here's what happens: Our stomach juices signal: "Feed us food!" Skewers, fried potatoes and salads, peppers, olives, tomatoes, etc. result in an exclusive midnight menu. Now a jierbas (aniseed schnapps) is missing, so that all the delicacies can be fed to a continuous digestion.
The nights in Ibiza are very fresh. So always take a sleeping bag with you on such a trip!
Lonely in Ibiza
Like every year in Ibiza, I'm unlucky with women and I'm very lonely.
I sleep alone in my super soft sleeping bag and dream of this being. All of a sudden, Crooks heli climbs into my tent, pulls me out of my dreams and wants to use my sleeping bag to "snark". I sleep on the hard floor the rest of the night and lost my dreams.
Just before falling asleep, I hear clear noises from the side tent that I would have liked to have made myself. The next morning, a beautiful blonde leaves Crooksheli's tent.
I take a cold shower to keep my emotions in check. When I come back, there is suddenly "something blond" in my tent. Upon closer inspection, it turns out to be a scruffy, long-haired, short-legged mongrel.
I get a sudden rage because a two-legged blonde had left Heli's tent and only "something blonde" wanted to rest in my wigwam.
With this feeling I storm into the tent, grab the mongrel and throw it out in a high arc. Only the adjacent fence can stop the trajectory of the "greyhound". Ganovenheli sees this scene and bursts out laughing.
Ironically, I've never had the privilege of picking up a "super woman" in Ibiza, even though I would have dispensed with "super".
After Crooksheli has got his laughing muscles under control again, the not unimportant question arises: "Who makes breakfast?" "Neither of us!" Common decision: Breakfast at the beach bar with a view of the morning sun rising over the sea. Splendid! Difficult to describe. Best to book a holiday to Ibiza and experience it for yourself.
Ibiza has many other sides. The big hype on Playa del Bossa or the nudist beach on the Salinas are chapters that many know from the gossip press.
Nevertheless, the island has an incomparable, non-aggressive, pleasantly friendly atmosphere that was shaped by the hippies in the early 1970s. Unfortunately, Germany, Hamburger and Ballermann-Sex attacked this atmosphere in the nineties. But an insider knows insider tips. Thank goodness these screwed up wannabe pickups don't stray into our realms!
Lonely bays that you only find with the locals, crystal clear water, wonderful for diving with a fascinating underwater world. Harpooning is also allowed in Ibiza.
The average temperature in Ibiza is thirty-five degrees in the shade. This means that you should definitely set up your berth in the shade near a beach bar. The sandy beach is excellent for any spinal problems. In almost all bays you can dig in up to your navel.
The following two experiences show that you can also expose yourself to pleasant and entertaining coincidences in Ibiza:
A legendary football match in Ibiza
Crooks Heli, Heli the dancing bear and Chris the Unbeatable were invited to a football game on a sandy beach in Cala Longa. The opponents were "only Italians" who partly earned their living in the second Italian league.
The reason for this game:
As every year, the Spanish host wanted to compete with the Italians. This year he recruited his crew from random vacationers and we were there this time! I "unlucky" was of course only a spectator. Unfortunately, the innkeeper and his team had lost every game up until the legendary soccer match. This time, too, he was prepared for defeat.
For better or for worse, my three friends go “into the lion's den”. Thirty-five mugs in the shade, the finest sandy beach and a crowd of spectators who only have eyes for the Italians. The Italians warm up, showing acrobatic ball skills in front of a cheering crowd. I suspect nothing good, but out of loyalty I am unimpressed by the ball skills of the Italians.
Finally comes the moment of kick-off. What the Italians don't know: the two helicopters are a well-established team.
Scene:
Kick off by the home team. The two helicopters play their famous one-two, with Ganovenheli scoring the goal of his life after just two minutes of play. The Italians were totally surprised. They attack Chris the Unbeatable's goal one after the other, but are only able to equalize.
The home team's unexpected 1-1 draw is solely thanks to goalkeeper Chris. He just holds everything, throws himself from one corner to the other and looks like a breaded Wiener Schnitzel.
The landlord is totally excited! The enthusiastic spectators have changed camp. The home team is celebrated late into the night. It was like a soccer match at SAN SIRO STADIUM.
Caught a bad year
I'm in Ibiza with Crooks Heli. Once again he has girlfriend after girlfriend. Actually, all vacationers have a girlfriend - just not me.
In a bad mood I drive to Ibiza Town in a rented car. Again nothing.
Totally frustrated I go to the car. First low blow: The car was broken into, the radio was stolen, the driver's license and the money were gone.
Suddenly my dull eye falls on a puff vis à vis. I decide to go in there to finally have a "girlfriend". I tell the women my story about the broken-in car with hands and feet and everyone feels sorry for me. Next low blow: Unfortunately, the bill is very high, which means that I can also tick off the topic of "shepherd's hour". The dream of a “girlfriend” remains just an unfulfilled wish for the rest of the holiday.
Unfortunately, as always, caught a bad year.
After three weeks the return flight was due. That means using up the last few pesetas, buying a few small things for those at home, a bottle of brandy and a few cans of soda for dry times.
Check-in takes place at least one hour before departure. Great - everything is going according to plan. In two hours and thirty minutes we will land in Vienna. Not even close. Our plane has to make a detour and is three hours late.
Now what? What to do? No pesetas in your wallet! Somehow we scrape together some money for some crispy bars. Eating makes you thirsty. So we only have one choice - drink brandy and tonic.
After three hours of card games and a number of refreshments, the plane lands. cheers! Crooks heli and Wolfi also have a plane. So there had been a lot of fun during the flight.
Crooks heli was suddenly missing. Where was he? At the house? Alone? Many questions arise! Finally after three quarters of an hour we discover him safe again, a few rows in front of us in his seat.
At around 1 p.m., the runway at Schwechat Airport appears below us. The plane touches down as soft as butter. The pilot gets applause. "Dear passengers! Thank you... blah blah blah.” The usual farewell speech from the head stewardess.
Once again it will be exciting. With a three-day beard and short pants, we look like two suspects. We're already in the customs control area.
Suddenly it says: "Customs investigation. Unpack everything!” Not a problem for me, but for crooks heli. Heli as a suspect?
As in a scrap market, the laboriously stowed away belongings have to be revealed piece by piece. This is how the identity is checked - a harmless postman and a criminal chief superintendent. The situation calms down completely. The investigators explain to us that guys who look like us are suspected of smuggling narcotics.
Everything resolves in peace. Heli is investigating again on his own behalf, Wolfi stays in Vienna for two more days. Well, the hitchhiking life is getting on with it again.
The shuttle bus takes me to the Vienna Südbahnhof.
The reserved room is on the Erdberger Lände. As agreed - a hitchhiker does not use a taxi. So I marched on. First question: “How far is it to the Erdberg post office?” Answer: “Approx. it will be ten minutes.”
Here we go! Backpack strapped on, both legs accelerated to cruising speed. About ten minutes later, the same question again: "How far is it to the post office?" The answer is: "Approx. ten minutes.” Well, motivation is everything! Take a deep breath, straighten your stooped posture and off to new deeds!
In the meantime, the backpack is getting heavier and the face is getting longer. Out!
