Did the gorilla escape again?

There are three reasons why my Scotsman goes out for a drink with his co-workers on Friday nights. Number one: A new colleague arrived in his department. Number two: An old colleague leaves the department. Number three: It’s somebodys birthday or somebody died. This Friday was special for the fact that all three reasons came together. A new colleague who had only started on the 2nd of January left the department again already because his father had died around Christmas. So my Scotsman called me on my mobile, telling me that he would have two beers and be home for nine. I said something like “Nae bother, I’ll have a bath and read a bit.” I was quite pleased that he was going out, he doesn’t get around much – making friends in Germany isn’t easy when you only speak 10 words of German. (He’s trying though. But his social environment is making it too easy for him not to learn German – everybody’s speaking English, plus he works for an international company where the business language is – yeah, you guessed correctly.) Anyhow, he arrived quarter to midnight, smelling like a whiskey barrel. I probably would’ve become cross with him, if I hadn’t felt slightly guilty for not even noticing how late it was, due to my aimless browsing through the goodness that is the interwebs.


image by Hal Brindley/freedigitalphotos.net

“Did you have fun?” I asked. “Shhhh!” He laid a finger on his lips. I looked at him quite irritated. Okay, the walls are not the most soundproof ones. (Actually, that’s an understatement. Probably the after-war-architects were quite scared that you couldn’t hear the enemy marching in, if there was ever another war to come; so they built the houses in a way that you can hear your neighbour sneeze, when he’s lying in the tub.) But I didn’t yell at him. I never yell, it’s against my natural habit. So I asked what was going on. “Shhhh!” he said again. “We don’t want to wake up Jasmin.” Ah, right. The fact that I was sitting in front of him, wide awake and fully dressed, must have slipped his attention somehow. “Have you eaten?” His eyes started glowing, as if eating was this whole new concept he never heard of before. “No”, he said surprised. “Well, how about a grilled cheese sandwich?” I asked. Instead of replying, he started tap dancing. I kid you not. He was standing in the hallway, doing a little tap dance number. Was that a Yes now, or a No? Suddenly I started regretting that I never paid much attention to interpreting musical numbers in my music lessons at school. While I was still pondering about the value of tap dancing steps as a proper answer to my question, I already heard the Scotsman raiding the fridge. This is going to be fun, I thought. And also I was a little concerned about him burning down the house. He still has this huge scar on the back of his hand from the time he was trying to make pizza in the middle of the night while in a firm state of intoxication. So I followed him into the kitchen, where he was standing next to the sink, happily chewing away on something. Olives, I could tell by the smell. I walked passed him to get a bit of cheese. Pling! I turned around. “What was that?” Pling! He just grinned at me. Pling Pling! If you ever see a big drunk Scottish guy standing next to a kitchen sink, spitting olive stones into it, looking awfully pleased with himself, you know what real entertainment is. All of a sudden I was really tired, so I went to bed, accompanied by irregular ‘Plings!’. When I walked into the kitchen the next day to get some coffee, the Scotsman was standing there, eating a grilled cheese sandwich, waving towards dirty plates, the pile of olive stones in the sink and a broken water glass. Then pointing at the open kitchen window. “Did the gorilla escape again?” he asked. “Yeah, must’ve”, I said. “Bugger!” he said, frowning. “Don’t worry”, I replied, “one day we’ll get the bastard.”