• By ebotpandayan
• Posted in Uncategorized
• On June 21, 2021
• 3 Comments.

Heinz, the Birthday Boy

It was Heinz’s 71^st birthday yesterday, and I was invited for lunch at their home. Lilia, his Filipino wife, ordered a 20-kg whole pork-lechon (roasted pig) to celebrate the occasion. She said she would give me the pig head for sinigang—a Filipino sour soup or stew. She knows I love sinigang pork lechon. Unfortunately, I could not take it with me that day. I still have to go to the city center with a friend to check out a piece of porcelain from Augarten’s flagship store. Augarten is Austria’s porcelain manufactory founded in the 18th century—the second oldest in Europe, famous for its handmade and delicately hand-painted table wares and other porcelain items. It is an elegant store, and I didn’t want to enter that boutique carrying a Hofer paper bag getting translucent every minute as the greasy pig head comes in contact with the paper.

For those who do not know, Hofer is that budget-friendly supermarket chain in Austria where I frequently bump into many of my fellow retirees from the United Nations in Vienna. While still on active duty, we all had access to the UN Commissary, where items sold are tax-free. It is one of the perks you get when you work in the UN in Vienna. Sadly, retirement would take that privilege away from us. But, thanks to Hofer, there is life after Commissary.

I told Lilia I’d pick it up the next day or she could give it to Laura, another neighbor coming to the birthday dinner. I could get it later from her once she was home.

I was home the whole evening watching Netflix when I got a text message from her to say that she rang my bell but went home when I didn’t open the door. She even called me on the phone. I didn’t hear both; although I heard a faint buzzing sound, I dismissed it as that coming from next door. Immediately I sent her a phone message asking if it would be alright with her if I pick it up first thing in the morning. Yes, she wrote back but didn’t say when I should.

I heard a knock on my door the next day. It was Laura’s friend delivering the pig head. I took the bag, forgetting my good manners to invite her in. We chatted a bit, and after she left, I pulled and locked the door, absent-mindedly leaving the key in the keyhole—my first mistake of the day.

The day would be sunny, highs of 33 Celcius–the weather forecast. Another hot day, I could already feel it. I would stay at home and wait until it got cooler before doing errands for Walter. He sent me a text message earlier saying that I should get some stuff from Hofer and another discount store on my way to his. He doesn’t do any shopping since the day he decided that his feet hurt when he walks. From not using them as often as he should, I told him.

I had another birthday dinner invite later in the day, so after grocery shopping for Walter and delivering the stuff to him; I must go back to my place and change into fresh wear.  Although I take the public transports to Walter’s and back, it takes a long walk from my place to the nearest subway station. It used to be short, but you know everything becomes a challenge when you are my age. Fine, Walter said, when I asked if I could bring the groceries to him the following day when I go to his garden-house. That would spare me the stress.

Think again!

Ready to do the errands, I stepped out of my apartment, shut the door; the key won’t fit in the keyhole.

Fcuk, fcuk, fcuk!

It was the garden house key; I left my key inside my house. I usually panic when it happens, but not this time, knowing that Marilyn, my neighbor, and friend who lives in the same apartment building, was home and has a spare key for my flat. She hoped that I didn’t leave it stuck in the keyhole. No way, Jose!

Of course, it was. She found on the internet a key unlocking service nearby where we live but would only get a busy phone signal each time she tried to call.

Let me try, I said. The phone rang, and a woman picked up the call. It was not the service we wanted. Marilyn made several calls before she finally got hold of someone who could do the job. The person who picked up our call spoke fluent German; he could only be a native speaker. He would send a locksmith to my place, but it may take about 20 to 25 minutes for his man to get to my place. The person will call us upon his arrival.

The locksmith took 45 minutes to arrive. He could not find our place. But, of course, he could not; the street is underneath our house. It was not the first time one had a problem locating where we live, especially first-time visitors who come by car and depend only on the address we gave them. A car Navi can locate our street but not the house. So I always have to go down “underground” and wait for them.

I could hardly understand what the guy was telling me on the phone. Definitely, German is not his mother tongue. So I told him to go on driving, I’d wait on the street, and we’ll find each other somehow. It was embarrassing, but I had to stare at every guy walking past me who may fit the description I had in mind of the locksmith—some dark-complexioned guy from the eastern bloc. If he stops and stares back like giving me a hint it was him,  I would say, „follow me.“ It was like cruising in dark parks for someone I could take home for the night.

My phone rang. Marilyn told me that Mr. Locksmith was waiting at the grocery store.  She would come down to meet him. Wadafak? I thought he could not find our place. Yet, there he was, not the person I imagined he would be. Short and thin, frail-looking, pale complexion. I noticed the limp when we walked to the garage to get his car and shift to my parking place, sparing him further parking fee. He asked me to jump in to guide him. At the exit was a mechanical boom barrier blocking us. He stepped on the break and waited for the bar to rise. It did not.

“I think you need to use the ticket you got when you came in,” I told him when I saw the unpaid garage ticket on the dashboard with the printed amount of €1.20.

“You first need to pay,” my reminder.  I stayed in the car as he dashed off to the ticket validating machine. He was back in seconds, asking me if I had loose change.

Once inside the lift that would take us up to my apartment on the fifth floor, he immediately pressed his hands against the metal wall, his knees shaking. Are you Ok? I asked. „No problem, it must be the heat,“ he said. I thought he would collapse as we stepped off the lift, but he managed. He took a long look at the door, touched it, one ear over the keyhole, intensely listening to something he only could. Then he tapped the door from one side to the bottom.

„Your door has a special lock,“ his diagnosis. That I know, but can you unlock it? I asked. He gave me a funny look, unbelieving I would ask a silly question. But, of course, he could,  but today is Saturday, he said. He was bad news.

That fcuking pig head cost me €185! I’d probably mount it on the wall in the living room—for everyone to ponder. Never again to sinigang lechon head. But you know I lie all the time!