Elena has not returned from Skopje yet. It’s been a month since Iāve been waiting to tell her about my events and I expected to do so this weekend but she will be away for several more days. I will have to write to her instead. I will call her a colleague to annoy her. She will forget about it when she reads to the end.
Hi Colleague,
I think I told you about my temporary work at the Ministry this summer. The Ministry was involved in a project and my tasks were related to that project. Actually, there were not many tasks. Most of the time I did not work on anything. There were some database tasks that took me ten days at most. I taught the minister to check his email, I tried to explain that he should not use the Enter key to get to the new line and occasionally I intervened when his Solitaire icon got lost. Additionally, I installed a LAN, set up a few printers and I did a couple other trivial things there. Ministry employees saw it as turning water to wine. They quite liked me at that work place.
Anyway, nothing interesting happened there. What I want to tell you happened outside the Ministry building, during the project activities. You may think that this is one of my imaginary love stories that have made you smile since 2001 but this is not that case.
In July we had a workshop in Volos. The participants were the IT administrators from the various European Ministries. We were trained to operate the project database. Every country enters their data in order to centrally monitor the data relevant to the project. The training lasted for ten days and it was boring, but that is where I met a girl, Aliki. We had a great time, I will not talk about the details, “don’t kiss and tell.”
When I got back to Banja Luka, I was fully aware of how good I felt in Volos. Then I started to figure out how to go to Volos again. I had all kinds of ideas, but none of them worked. I had to show up to work every day. This was my first official employment. My parents would think that I wasnāt serious if I left it after one month. Volos is far away, I can’t go there within one weekend. I need at least ten days off, plus I need a Greek visa.
During my attempts to get to Volos somehow, I heard that there will be another conference within this project in Volos. I had no option but to beg the minister to include me in his entourage. I thought I had a chance because he was happy with my contribution in the Ministry. I scheduled a meeting with the minister and I said in plain words that I was already in Volos, I met a girl there and I had been thinking how to get back to Volos since I returned. It was quite hard to do so and it would mean so much to me if he could somehow bring me with him there. I knew he was not going alone there. He replied that this was a ministerial-level conference, that a two-member delegation had already been designated, and that he couldnāt help me in any way. I tried suggesting a few other options, but nothing worked. In the end, clutching at straws, I said that Aliki has a lovely aunt, still single and beautiful, and that maybe we could all go out and have a good time together.
āWhat aunt, David? No way. I told you, we donāt have the capacity now. If thereās another seminar for technical personnel, weāll send you.ā
I left the ministerās office sad, but I didnāt stop plotting ways to get to Volos as soon as possible. Finally, I decided to work through July and August, quit in September, and head to Volos. Aliki could find me a place to rent for a month, and Iād return to Novi Sad in October when lectures resumed. I calmed myself down and waited for September.
However, a few days after my request, my phone rang, and the minister said:
āDavid, does this aunt of hers really exist, or are you joking?ā
āShe does, Minister, of course, she does.ā
It turned out that his party friend had canceled, leaving an open spot, so he and I could both go to Volos. I called Aliki and told her that the minister had promised to take me but that she needed to find a woman to pretend to be the aunt, go out for a drink or dinner once, and then she could reject him afterward. It wasnāt our fault if he didnāt appeal to her.
She said she had a neighbor, perfect for the role, and that sheād probably enjoy the gameāand might even find him appealing, considering his position. Everything fell perfectly into place, and on September 3rd, the minister and I arrived in Volos, a day before the conference began. That evening, we went out to a restaurant on a hill above the city, on the road to Makrinitsa.
The minister met Stella, Alikiās neighbor. They conversed in their broken, basic Russian, a language they both learned in school. The view of the city and sea was fantastic. I thought how lovely it would be if the minister and his new friend werenāt there. Still, my plan was to have one drink with them and then head out alone with Aliki.
Aliki suggested we drink wine in a garden on the other side of the bay, saying Iād love it. Meanwhile, the minister kept ordering drinks, seemingly running out of courage. The more alcohol flowed, the smoother their Russian became, and the atmosphere grew livelier. Stella patted the ministerās shoulder and said:
āŠ¼Š¾Š¹ Š±ŃŠ°Ń ŃŠµŃŠ±ŃŠŗŠøŠ¹, Š¼Š¾Š¹ Š¼ŠøŠ½ŠøŃŃŃ.1ā
The minister didnāt mind the familiarity of āAunt Stella,ā despite being Bosniak by ethnicity. He demonstrated a broad-mindedness and national tolerance, probably what earned him such a responsible position. What else could it be?
While it was amusing, Aliki and I left for the garden at Nees Pagases. It was perfectājust meters from the sea. I could have spent the entire night there. We stayed even after the waiters went home. I lost track of time, forgetting I was in Volos, forgetting about the conference starting the next morning.
When I checked my phone, it was past two a.m. We called a taxi to return to the city. I dropped Aliki off and went to pick up the minister and his companion.
The restaurant was closing. Where we had sat earlier was now empty. The only guests were in an open booth. Inside, Stella was drunk, with two quite intoxicated tourists pawing at herāa nasty scene. I got worried about the minister, who had been tipsy before I left and was now unaccounted for after five hours. I asked a waitress where the gentleman sitting with the lady in the booth was. She pointed toward the restroom.
Inside, there were traces of blood, and one stall was completely bloody. My fear grew. I was alone on this trip with the minister, who was of a different ethnicity, anything could be speculated. I passed the stalls and found him near the sinks. Alive, moving, but barely standing. He had drunk too much and vomited blood. No one had hurt him. I was relief.
The taxi waited outside, and we left for the hotel. Stella decided to stay behind.
We arrived at the hotel before four a.m. The minister was in bad shape. I left him to sleep, told him to call me if he needed anything, and promised to wake him at seven a.m. for the conference. Before falling asleep, he thanked me for my efforts and praised my work in much the same way he had when I installed a printer in his office.
I dozed off in the hotel lobby. The alarm woke me ten minutes before seven. I woke up the minister, and we started with a coffee. The man turned three shades of pale within a minute and rushed to the bathroom to throw up. He was in a miserable state, clearly suffering from a terrible hangover. Then he said to me:
āDavid, go to the conference instead of me today. I can’t make it. I’ll take over tomorrow.ā
āBut how can I? I’m just the network administrator.ā
āSit there so the chair isn’t empty. Listen to whatās happening so you can report back to me, and don’t participate in the discussion.ā
The minister’s idea was absurd, probably something that would never have crossed his mind in a normal mental state. On the other hand, I felt indebted to this man for bringing me to Volos, where I was clearly going to have a great time. I also felt a bit guilty for not picking him up earlier last night. After some weak resistance, I agreed to sit in for him at the conference today.
I quickly got dressed, showered, and headed to the conference room. I thought, I’ll just sit through this today, and then I’ll be free again. Aliki had mentioned a theater performance earlier, so I had packed semi-formal clothes: sneakers that could pass for shoes, a shirt that was barely acceptable, and two pairs of jeans. I chose the darker pair to appear somewhat more serious. It wasnāt ideal, but there is no other option.
I entered the room and immediately caught some looks. Young and casual amid a sea of suits and ties. I spotted the Bosnian flag and sat down quickly to minimize attention to my jeans.
The conference beganāintroductory ceremonies, speeches by the organizers and special guests. Then the moderator took over, announced the program, and gave the floor to a lady presenting some report with a presentation that had almost zero contrast between background and text. I got bored and started fiddling with the headphones and buttons for the simultaneous translation. There were only two optionsāEnglish and Russian. I switched to Russian because the interpreterās pleasant female voice was more engaging, though I barely understood anything. I wanted to turn around and see what she looked like but decided against drawing attention. Sit still, David, and just look straight ahead.
I feared the monotonous language might lull me to sleep, so I switched back to Englishājust in time. The moderator announced that each participating country would now share their progress in implementing the Emen project. I had no idea what Emen wasāI thought it was some organization funding this project. Later, I realized it was a town in the Netherlands. If Iād ever played the Dutch league on Championship Manager, I might have had an easier time.
My brain started racingāwhat could I possibly say when it was my turn? After a few minutes, I calmed down. I’ll just listen to what others say and throw together some vague sentences that resemble theirs. After all, Iām only here to fill two minutes of the program. But my plan was thwarted when the moderator announced the order: alphabetical. Only one country was before Bosnia and Herzegovina.
Why wasnāt the Federation’s Ministry participating in this conference? That thought struck me for the first time.
Throughout the conference, there was some murmuring, whispering, and chatter. But when it was my turn, an absolute silence fell over the room. Everyone seemed eager to hear who I was and what I had to say. I felt every gaze on me, leaned into the microphone, and said:
“I must admit that our country hasnāt made significant progress in implementing the Emen project. We are here to learn from the experiences of more developed nations and apply them back home. The minister will attend the conference starting tomorrow and contribute to the discussions. Today, he was unable to come due to illness. Our Ministry places great emphasis on this project, and the minister has high expectations for this conference.”
I added a few more similar sentences, though I canāt recall them now. Everyone stayed silent while I spoke, except for the Croatian delegate, who couldnāt contain his laughter. I figured he knew my minister and found it hilarious that someone like me was speaking on his behalf.
All the participants reported on their progress, and shortly after ten, the moderator announced a break. I decided to step out and not return. This morningās decision was a mistake, a product of strange circumstancesāmostly alcohol and sleep deprivation.
On my way out, I was intercepted by the Croatian and Slovenian ministers, who were laughing as they asked who I was. I began explaining that I worked in the Ministry, handled computer systems, and was only here because the minister was sick.
āThatās all fine, but during your short speech, you said “fuck” twice.ā
Then I started laughing with them. Apparently, while crafting sentences and translating on the fly, Iād slipped in two curses that only the neighboring delegates understood. They knew my language.
Finally, I headed for the door, convinced this surreal episode was over. As soon as I exited the hall, I was stopped by a lady who introduced herself as the projectās creator. Clearly, I had caught her attention too.
āYouāre so young and already a minister.ā
I explained I wasnāt a minister, that the minister was sick, and that I was just an IT specialist managing databases. She responded enthusiastically:
āWonderful! Our project desperately needs people with IT expertise.ā
Some lights went on in my head. Maybe I could land a job in a project funded by a European organization. These crazy situations can lead to such outcomes. I imagined theyād pay better than the Ministry. I told her I found the project interesting and could allocate time to work on it, which would help fund my ongoing studies. She laughed, seemingly amused. I thought it was because I admitted I hadnāt even finished university, while she had mistaken me for a minister.
Finally, she said:
āBut surely you knowā¦ this is a volunteer project. Everyone working on it is a volunteer.ā
Thatās when I started backpedaling, determined to avoid unpaid work. Somehow, I managed to extricate myself. I stepped outside, took a deep breath, and returned to the hotel.
Email From Elena:
David,
First of all, let me explain: Don’t kiss and tell means you shouldn’t mention the girl at all, not just leave out the details.
I can already picture your face as you first mentioned the “aunt” to the minister, and I can hear exactly how you’d say it.
You see, unlike you, I’ve been busy working all summer. You claimed to be working there, but I can only imagine what that looks likeāprobably just you having fun in Greece on the state’s dime.
Speaking of my summer experience, did you know you can create an email signature that automatically adds itself to the bottom of every email you send?
Oh, who am I kiddingāyou obviously didnāt know that. You never know anything, and itās always me who has to teach and show you stuff.
Itās not that I mind typing out āBest regards, Elenaā at the end of an email, but I was working for this jerk of a boss, and it was just so hard to write something nice at the end of my emails. Sure, everyone knows itās just a formality, but I couldnāt stomach ending with Best regards when I didnāt mean anything nice and his emails made me nauseous. Every time I saw an email from him, my face would immediately fall.
Then I discovered this option to automate it, so it adds itselfāI donāt have to type it. Do you know what kind of guy he is? He overloads you with work, and when you somehow manage to pull through, he says, “You are doing a great job.”
You know, there are two kinds of “You are doing a great job.” One comes from a normal person whoās genuinely satisfied, and the other comes from someone manipulative whoās observed how normal people talk, assumes itās motivational, and uses it to squeeze 20 more lines of code out of you for the same pay.
And then he tells me I donāt pay attention to detail. I guess thatās what people say now when they have no real critique to offer.
Best regards,
Elena
That boss really does sound like a jerk. Elena always paid attention to every detailāfunctional and aestheticāin everything we worked on, whether it was software or anything else. She aligned, adjusted, rephrased, and refined until her standards were met. How many times had we shifted something, rewritten it, or tried it again and again to meet her exacting criteria?
My reply:
Hmmā¦ so itās an innovationā¦ you donāt write it, but itās still thereā¦ you didnāt do it, yet itās doneā¦ you donāt mean it, but itās still thereā¦ so youāre not even being insincereā¦ hmmā¦ we should explore other areas of life where we can apply this concept.
From Elena:
I could barely brush my teeth. Every time I think of you mentioning “the aunt” to the minister, I burst out laughing and lose control of the toothbrush.
Best regards,
Elena
My reply:
Dear Colleague,
Iāve implemented the signature. Thank you for the suggestion.
Iāve also been having random fits of laughter lately. My uncle told me a joke they used to tell before football matches when he was training. I canāt stop laughing about it, even while walking down the street.
Best regards,
David
Elena sent several emails, insisting I tell her the joke, but all I could say was that it wasnāt for her ears because sheās a little girl.
1My Serbian brother, my minister.
