E-mails and happiness

Mrs. Nörönenbörger walked home with a satisfied feeling. She had forwarded 124 emails in one single day - she could almost not believe it. Seventy-two emails had been briefings and requests for modifications to the contractors, all of them including wishes of the hierarchy. Twenty-one emails she had sent to her superiors. Not too many, because they should only read the most positive and the very important.

And yes, there was this one email with animated pictures of fluffy little animals in funny situations that she had forwarded to her husband. She had opened this email when her head of unit had just walked into her office, entering from the back. She felt her chubby cheeks turning red when she thought about it. She even noticed she had stopped walking when this memory crossed her mind, and quickly continued walking, as if this would provoke happy thoughts.

 

She thought of the seventy-two emails with instructions she had sent out, seventy-two! This did indeed caused a little glow of happiness inside her chest. She imagined all these companies filling out order within her given deadlines. Now she was definitely happy.

But as she came closer to the school of her son, this enthusiasm started to fade again. She wanted to tell her little Günter what his mommy had accomplished today, but somehow felt that he would prefer playing with his Wii. Maybe he would learn to appreciate these kinds of things when he would grow up.

Guestbook

Thank you Mr. Harris!

You don't know us, but we very much enjoyed spending our honeymoon here. In contrast to what our friend told us, from the pictures in your house we can tell you're a very kind person. So we feel we should inform you about our appreciation of your unconscious hospitality.

We have taken some of the champagne - tasted great - and have replaced it with some fine sparkling Elzas wine. We hope that's fine. Other than that we ordered our own food that we very much enjoyed eating on the patio. Oh, except the one fish that we caught in the pond - delicious!

You may wonder which dear friend was so kind to provide us access to your beautiful home, but we're not sure he would appreciate this. He told us the location would be a good deal, though, and he didn't lie a single word! We did not believe him when he told us the beach would be at 60 feet distance, but it seems some bastards are really lucky!

Anyway, we should probably leave before you come back and we're not too sure when that is. Should you ever wonder who we are, you won't be able to find us. We live far away and don't have internet. Neither did we leave any traces (except for the wine which we bought at 7/11, in case you're interested).

We hope you live a blessed life and that you may continue to welcome people in your home and share your with - with or without your knowledge!

Sincere greetings from a a poor but recently happily married couple.

Talking Sheep

Leia carried her enormous rucksack off the bus, a bit disappointed there was no handsome country side guy willing to help her. Her map said Mr. Pritzgenschtall’s farm was only 200 metres away. It would have been a small effort for Mr. Pritzgenschtall to pick her up from the bus station. Not very gentlemen, these farmer men.

Hans Pritzgenschtall took a last look at the living room: a vase of freshly-picked flowers on the table, the calendar on the right month, everything seemed in order. Would this Leia girl know that he was a single farmer? (He figured he would introduce himself as single, not divorced. But then he realised he still had some pictures of his ex-wife in the hall and decided it would probably better to be honest anyway.)

Hans was in love as soon as he opened the door. Immediately he fell some hundred kilos heavier, thinking of how he would try to hide this childish love for an entire month from this beautiful female specimen. Would she dance salsa? It was the new thing he had dared to learn and apparently this was hot "in town".

So, tell me about your, er, PrD., Hans asked.

- PhD? Leia smiled.

- Uh yes, tell me what it is about! If you think I can understand it, of course. Haha.

- Oh it’s very simple. I am finding out how sheep talk to each other.

- Well, that’s something I know about! You’ve come to the right place! I can tell you they say a lot of bèèèèèèèh and BAAAAH! 

(Hans did not know why he had to scream out that last sound at such a loud tone. It made him feel embarrassed about himself.)

- Yeah, they do say that, but actually by doing so they tell each other a lot more than we think! When they say bèèèh, they for example mean: You’re pooping in my area. Whereas béééh means: You’re hot.

Hans looked at Leia with big eyes, even though his eyes were small. How could this girl presume all this, while most likely it’s the first time in her life she is staying at a farm? He should know about this much better than her! But then, this girl had this very high degree, so he did not feel he could get into a debate about this.

So instead he asked carefully: how did you get all this wisdom?

- I will show you, Leia said. If you show me your sheep, I will do some translation for you.

As they headed off to the field, Hans started to feel a little anxious. What if his sheep would talk negatively about him? They have been able to do this their entire lives without ever getting caught for it. And beside Bertha and Hans and Stine and his parents several years ago they had not seen many people. What would their impression of him be? Hopefully it would not be too embarrassing; he would certainly not want Leia to know.

So they sat down on a rock, near the sheep, and the sheep remained silent. They probably could tell Leia understood Sheep and remind silent on purpose, Hans figured. But how would they be able to tell?  

Then one sheep made a bèh! sound. It was very short.   

Leia said it meant: who is that creature? 

It’s what sheep always say when they encounter something new that they do not like, she explained. 

It took a long time before a bigger sheep answered bèèèèèèèèèèh, which was supposed to mean: oh you wussy, why should you care. Go eat grass in that corner.

Hans asked Leia: aren’t you insulted? They are not very friendly about you. Before Leia could answer, suddenly al the sheep started yelling multiple kinds of BEEEHHHHHHs with different intonations and in varying volumes, and Leia looked both fascinated and worried at the same time. 

Yes, well.. She fell silent, which did not seem to be something that happened to her very often. It is quite shocking indeed, she murmured. 

Leia really looked a little pale.

Maybe we can go back to the house for a while, is that OK for you?

- Sure, Hans said.

- I’m really sorry, Leia said. I’ve never heard sheep going crazy like that before. It was really, well, I guess I shouldn’t tell you.

If Hans were honest with himself, he felt quite relieved. He did not dare to ask what exactly had shocked Leia, because it would be indiscreet, and because deep down he did not want to know himself. This evening, and he smiled by the thought of it, he would teach Leia how to dance salsa in his living room. 

J.P. vs. Tom

J.P was now staying at Tom’s flat for 3 and a half weeks. He liked Tom’s couch, he liked the atmosphere of his apartment (messy like his old place) and he liked the fact that Tom was away a lot.

In fact, Tom was always doing something. J.P. assumed he only understood 12% of the activities Tom frequently did. For sure most of them were evolved around politics, some kind of quite serious politics, not the main stream kind.

Tom was so much involved with idealistic deeds, that even watching television became a proper activity, in the sense that Tom enjoyed shouting back at politicians on screen that he disagreed with.

If watching television indeed can be called an activity, it was the only one that J.P. and Tom shared. When J.P. turned on the TV, he liked to switch to the Friday Night Quiz, or Animal Planet to watch cuddly bears and funny insects. A David Attenborough could calmly describe the orientation-instinct of ants for hours, and it would all be good for J.P.

It was this kind of situation when J.P. heard the door opening, followed by a big slam to close it again. Tom never says hi, J.P. thought. That’s OK, he figured, he probably has more essential things on his mind than greeting housemates. What is the point of saying hi every day to the same person? And besides, it would only distract him from the wildlife documentary. But at the same time J.P. realised he had just been distracted right now.

J.P. concentrated on Tom’s noises, while still staring at the TV screen. He heard some uncontrolled clattering in the kitchen, and then Tom sat down next to J.P, who did not move his head and eyes a single bit. He tried to analyse Tom’s behaviour just by the sounds he made.

“What’s on the news?” Tom asked.
- “Dunno, haven’t checked. But look, these racoons are funny little animals!”
“Yeah, and you know how they have less and less space to live? Human idiots are destroying the riverside, building houses and resorts, and where do these racoons go! Can’t believe they don’t mention these kinds of things on a programme like this.”
- “Well”, J.P. argued, “it is really about showing how these racoons live, you know. I mean, they seem to be doing pretty well there. It mustn’t be that bad for them.”

J.P. finally looked to his right side to see Tom, but he had just stood up already, and was putting on his coat. “Gotta go to a committee meeting of the Group”, he announced.

What could be so important that Tom had to leave in the cold up to some meeting on a Friday night, J.P wondered. Maybe he should have more interest in Tom’s activities. He might be a really genius guy, this Tom, maybe something like a future leader, or a spokesperson, or something.

So J.P asked: “Is it important?”
- “Of course it is important! If preventing the government from constructing a new nuclear power plant isn’t important I don’t know what is! It is unbelievable how these conservative idiots are trying to destroy the country. And the saddest thing is, people in my very own party are giving up as well. So if I don’t go, well, they’ll just do nothing!”

J.P. suddenly remembered how is ex-girlfriend Marie had once told him that she found it attractive if people thought they made a difference. She also had told J.P that this was not the case for him. It was just before they had broken up. Well, she had broken up with him.

J.P. pondered. He could actually say he admired Tom for trying to make a difference. And maybe, he thought, it might also make little difference if he joined for once. Now that would be something!

So J.P. tried: “Tom, this actually sounds pretty important, if you say so. Could I, er, like, come along?”

- “You’ll regret if you don’t! It’s never too late to develop a conscience!”

Yeah, it is never too late, J.P. thought. Good attitude.

They went to the meeting. It was at somebody’s apartment, in the attic. All 13 people smoked, and interrupted each other all the time.

My, this Tom has a high concentration level, J.P. thought. And the terminologies and issues he knows about! Tom always disagreed with fellow group members, J.P. analysed. He probably knew better than the others, it could well be. Although the others had arguments that seemed plausible to him, too.

J.P quite enjoyed following the conversation. It was a bit like watching a discussion on television in a foreign language. But then suddenly they had all become silent. J.P. realised, they were all looking at him. It was because Tom had asked him a question, but J.P. had not understood it.

“So what do you think, J.P? You’ve been silent for quite a while now” Tom confronted him. How could Tom just ask him like that? He knew that this was the first time J.P tried to develop an interest against nuclear power plants - how could he expect a clear answer from him? What’s the point of this all this debate, when finally you aren’t nice to each other?

Later, when J.P. and Tom walked home together, J.P. decided it might be a good idea to start looking for his own apartment.

Event

THE DAY BEFORE THE EVENT

"Hey, did you here about the eh.."

- "Yeah, it sounded pretty good. Are you going there?"

"Not sure. It depends on who else is going there. Will you be going?"

- "Of course I'll be going! Everyone is going. You should come, too!"

This must have been event invitation #976 in his life. The first one was when his best friend turned three years old and threw a party in his parents' garden. Event invitations kept following throughout his life. The problem was that once he had attended an event, he could never remember them later on. Perhaps the day after, he would remember the conversations he had with a certain person, but he would already have forgotten the name. Maybe he remembered he had been dancing to some music, but he would never be able to tell which song because he'd be too focused on his own dancing moves.

"Yeah, not sure if I'll be going though" he replied.

- "Why not?"

"Dunno, man. If everyone is going I don't really see the point."

- "But you just said you wanted it to depend on who else is going?"

"Yeah, because, you know. When everyone is going to be there, it will be, you know, a bit..."

Of course he had no idea what he was talking about. He did not have a reason to go, neither did he have a reason to go.

The strange thing was, though, that the more he talked this kind of nonsense, the more the people around him perceived him as interesting. So when he ended the conversation with "Nah, well, maybe I'll let you know later then", he was certain that his conversation partner would become intrigued by him so another invitation would follow.

THE DAY AFTER THE EVENT

- "Hey, did you enjoy yourself yesterday?" he was asked

"Yeah, what about you?"

- "Yeah man, it was great! I mean, everyone was there!"

"Yeah I guess that's why you must have missed me then."

- "Oh sorry dude. Too many people, too many drinks. But why don't you come along to the thing that's going on next Friday?"

At this point he realised that this was invitation #977. Only three more to go until he could not take this any longer. He gave an intense look as his conversation partner and yelled in his face: "No!"

Brussels arrival

A little square, with me in the middle. None of the surrounding buildings seemed to fit together. The orange house, with its optimistic façade, cheered at me with open windows and flowers in the window-sills. Then the grey flat, sadly glancing at his neighbour. All he had to offer were the satellites of its inhabitants. But at least he was useful, people had their home in him. When I looked behind me I could see a structure of what once must have been an office, but had clearly been abandoned years ago. I could see the building’s frustration about this. Its shadow was so strong that I suddenly felt chilly.

I stood up and ran into a tall building with dark red curtains. The windows were so dusty that I would no longer be able to feel the intimidating tension of the little square. A café, it seemed. A narrow entrance hall where I could hear noises from the room next-door.

A person – was it human? – welcomed me. Where I came from, he asked. Good question, did it matter?
- Of course it matters! he roared, in Portuguese, it is the only identity you have in this city!

It was like I had to pass an exam and had just lost my crib note. Where did I come from? My lips tried hard to spell it out but my brains opposed. The person, who rather looked like a horse, stared at me so violently that I had to come up with something.

Belgian, I whispered.
- BELGIAN?! the horse neighed. WRONG! – in Hungarian this time.
How can that be wrong? I am in Brussels, which is the capital of…
- No-one is Belgian here, and you certainly aren’t!! - Was it Polish that he spoke now?
…well, then, Danish? I brought up.
The angry horse gave me a suspicious look, but said ‘fine’. I followed him into the noisy bar area.

Walking behind him I could see that his bottom – or was it his back? – was striped like a zebra. He directed me through a chaos of loudly talking entities to an empty chair, placed around a big round table. The smoke was so think that I could only define my neighbours’ silhouettes. The clouds hang just around the entities’ heads so I could only see their hands on the table, holding all kinds of glasses with strangely coloured beers. I followed their arms up to their shoulders and necks, but could I not see their heads. No matter how hard I tried to concentrate, it was not possible to define the language that was spoken.

I will bring you a Duvel, the horsezebra said, and disappeared.

Before I could think of something to say to join the conversation a sheep’s nose bumped into my ear.
- New here?
Si, I said, as I thought it was speaking Spanish.
- Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.
Just when I tried to find an answer the sheep turned back from me to take sip from its beer.