Just another Wednesday Night...
I feel last night deserves a post, and it must start from the beginning. Fair warning: This post will throw around names as if you know them. Sorry, it seems necessary.
That beginning is around 3:00, when classes ended for most everyone. At that point, it was decided among the folks I've been hanging out with that dinner would be around 5:00 at "The Mediterranean Place," also known as Pita House (The Restaurant's actual name.). This would be followed by a meeting with other folks at 6:30, in hopes of going to see the Hungary/Croatia soccer match. Since I live in approximately the same direction as Kat and Joy, I rode the same Metro train as them. Once arriving at my tram stop, which is where their apartment happens to be, I decided that instead of killing an hour in transportation, and going home to do homework, I would tag along with them to the mall. With great glee, they decided that this meant they should try and find sweaters for me. (My current sweaters meet with disapproval, for a variety of reasons.) Unfortunately, or not, every clothing store in the mall met with even more disapproval.
We thus adjourned to nearby Mediterranean Place, and there discovered two things: First, that Young Guy had not quit or been fired (There are several employees of Mediterranean Place, the two best being Old Guy and Young Guy, followed closely by Short Fat Guy.), and that the yellow rice was edible. These were both exciting.
After eating, we arrived at the meeting place for the soccer folks approximately half an hour early. Joy and Kat decided that I should play a game of chess with one of the random Hungarian old guys sitting around. Since I am entirely unable to resist taunting, I went up to one of the random Hungarian old guys. The moment I sat down and he said "Penz?" (Money?) I knew I was going to lose. However, my enquiry of "Mennyi?" (How much?) was answered with "Ket[szaz]," (Two-hundred forints, about a dollar.), meaning I was willing to do it just to not back down. I lasted a full ten minutes before I was forced to resign, and I can now say I lost a dollar playing chess to a random Hungarian old guy. While I was playing, other folks started to arrive, and soon old guy had a new challenger, James. James did much better than I did, lasting more than twenty minutes.
So now it was time to head to the soccer game. Keep in mind that there are now twenty-four people in this group. It quickly transpired that no one knew exactly where the soccer game was to take place, but the best guess was that it was at the Nepstadion, which was at the metro stop one away from the meeting place, appropriately named Stadionok (stadiums).
We took the metro that one stop, and quickly split into two groups, neither of which knew where the other one was. After reuniting, we set off in search of the stadium. Note that at this point, no one knew the name of the stadium, how much tickets were, if indeed tickets could be purchased, or in fact anything other than that the game started at 7:30, and it was now 6:45. So we set off in the direction of stadiums. For some reason, we decided to go against the flow of people coming away from stadiums, and head towards dark things. At some point, someone asked Random Hungarian where the game was. They pointed in a direction. We headed in that direction. We arrived at a track. There were people dressed as if for tae-kwon-do running laps. There were also odd statues in the center of the track. Eventually, people were convinced that crossing the track would be bad.
It was at this point that Elizabeth, who speaks no Hungarian, decided she should pound on the door of a nearby van, and ask where the game was. Apparently (I remain unsure about this) he pointed in a direction. People traveled in that direction, and arrived at a stadium. Someone ran up the steps, looked down in the stadium, and reported that it was, quote, "Black and empty." We now turned around and started walking back to the road. Upon encountering Old Hungarian Ladies, Matt decided to ask them (in Hungarian) where the game was. They responded with "Nem tudom," ("I don't know.") His response? To ask again. Their response? The same.
Eventually, we made it back to the street. There we encountered Croatians, who also did not know where the game was. At this point, for those keeping track at home, there are 24 American Students (including Sketchy Patrick, who deserves a post of his own someday), 6 Croatians, no directions, no clue, and the game starting in 15 minutes. Some people call some other people who can't help, and eventually it's decided that the game must be at the stadium in the People's Park, which is south.
So, some people go for Metro, some for Tram. I'm chilling at the tram stop when there's a phone call: Finally, someone has figured out where the game is: It's an hour north of where we are. Keep in mind two things: The game has now started, and we were going to go south.
We give up on attending the game. New plan: Find a sports bar and watch on TV. It transpires that no one knows where a sports bar is. So it's decided that we will go to Szoda Bar, where the boyfriend of the assistant type person for the program apparently sometimes DJs. We get to Szoda Bar, only to find that it is closed. However, Szoda Bar is right next to Szimpla Bar, where we were taken on the first night of language school by one of the Hungarian tour guides (who was then loaded with alcohol by generous American students). So we go inside. There's a minor hassle when the bouncer yells at Karen, but I figure out that he wants her to leave her water bottle outside, so it's all good. We go inside and play Asshole for an hour and a half, after which I go home and do homework. All in all, a most satisfactory night.
Oh, and apparently Northwestern Law School is waiving my admission fee. Which is cool, but I have neither applied, nor taken the LSATs, nor in fact contacted them in any way. I'm pleased but confused.
That beginning is around 3:00, when classes ended for most everyone. At that point, it was decided among the folks I've been hanging out with that dinner would be around 5:00 at "The Mediterranean Place," also known as Pita House (The Restaurant's actual name.). This would be followed by a meeting with other folks at 6:30, in hopes of going to see the Hungary/Croatia soccer match. Since I live in approximately the same direction as Kat and Joy, I rode the same Metro train as them. Once arriving at my tram stop, which is where their apartment happens to be, I decided that instead of killing an hour in transportation, and going home to do homework, I would tag along with them to the mall. With great glee, they decided that this meant they should try and find sweaters for me. (My current sweaters meet with disapproval, for a variety of reasons.) Unfortunately, or not, every clothing store in the mall met with even more disapproval.
We thus adjourned to nearby Mediterranean Place, and there discovered two things: First, that Young Guy had not quit or been fired (There are several employees of Mediterranean Place, the two best being Old Guy and Young Guy, followed closely by Short Fat Guy.), and that the yellow rice was edible. These were both exciting.
After eating, we arrived at the meeting place for the soccer folks approximately half an hour early. Joy and Kat decided that I should play a game of chess with one of the random Hungarian old guys sitting around. Since I am entirely unable to resist taunting, I went up to one of the random Hungarian old guys. The moment I sat down and he said "Penz?" (Money?) I knew I was going to lose. However, my enquiry of "Mennyi?" (How much?) was answered with "Ket[szaz]," (Two-hundred forints, about a dollar.), meaning I was willing to do it just to not back down. I lasted a full ten minutes before I was forced to resign, and I can now say I lost a dollar playing chess to a random Hungarian old guy. While I was playing, other folks started to arrive, and soon old guy had a new challenger, James. James did much better than I did, lasting more than twenty minutes.
So now it was time to head to the soccer game. Keep in mind that there are now twenty-four people in this group. It quickly transpired that no one knew exactly where the soccer game was to take place, but the best guess was that it was at the Nepstadion, which was at the metro stop one away from the meeting place, appropriately named Stadionok (stadiums).
We took the metro that one stop, and quickly split into two groups, neither of which knew where the other one was. After reuniting, we set off in search of the stadium. Note that at this point, no one knew the name of the stadium, how much tickets were, if indeed tickets could be purchased, or in fact anything other than that the game started at 7:30, and it was now 6:45. So we set off in the direction of stadiums. For some reason, we decided to go against the flow of people coming away from stadiums, and head towards dark things. At some point, someone asked Random Hungarian where the game was. They pointed in a direction. We headed in that direction. We arrived at a track. There were people dressed as if for tae-kwon-do running laps. There were also odd statues in the center of the track. Eventually, people were convinced that crossing the track would be bad.
It was at this point that Elizabeth, who speaks no Hungarian, decided she should pound on the door of a nearby van, and ask where the game was. Apparently (I remain unsure about this) he pointed in a direction. People traveled in that direction, and arrived at a stadium. Someone ran up the steps, looked down in the stadium, and reported that it was, quote, "Black and empty." We now turned around and started walking back to the road. Upon encountering Old Hungarian Ladies, Matt decided to ask them (in Hungarian) where the game was. They responded with "Nem tudom," ("I don't know.") His response? To ask again. Their response? The same.
Eventually, we made it back to the street. There we encountered Croatians, who also did not know where the game was. At this point, for those keeping track at home, there are 24 American Students (including Sketchy Patrick, who deserves a post of his own someday), 6 Croatians, no directions, no clue, and the game starting in 15 minutes. Some people call some other people who can't help, and eventually it's decided that the game must be at the stadium in the People's Park, which is south.
So, some people go for Metro, some for Tram. I'm chilling at the tram stop when there's a phone call: Finally, someone has figured out where the game is: It's an hour north of where we are. Keep in mind two things: The game has now started, and we were going to go south.
We give up on attending the game. New plan: Find a sports bar and watch on TV. It transpires that no one knows where a sports bar is. So it's decided that we will go to Szoda Bar, where the boyfriend of the assistant type person for the program apparently sometimes DJs. We get to Szoda Bar, only to find that it is closed. However, Szoda Bar is right next to Szimpla Bar, where we were taken on the first night of language school by one of the Hungarian tour guides (who was then loaded with alcohol by generous American students). So we go inside. There's a minor hassle when the bouncer yells at Karen, but I figure out that he wants her to leave her water bottle outside, so it's all good. We go inside and play Asshole for an hour and a half, after which I go home and do homework. All in all, a most satisfactory night.
Oh, and apparently Northwestern Law School is waiving my admission fee. Which is cool, but I have neither applied, nor taken the LSATs, nor in fact contacted them in any way. I'm pleased but confused.
posted by Patrick Dixon at 2:27 PM
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