Tagebuch

Dear Diary,

I had just gotten off of work at the Messezentrum, where I had been serving drinks to masses of cardiologists in town for a convention. It was 21:00 on a Saturday night, and so a few colleagues and I decided that the best way to spend our hard-earned cash was on a couple of drinks at some spot near by. After short stints at the Schweitzerhaus and the Prater, we ended up at Manolo's, a quaint little Spanish bar specializing in Tequila, situated next to the Parliament. We were enjoying music from the Gypsy Kings, the comfortable atmosphere, and the free shots from the cute waiter (we especially like those) when nature called.

Imagine my surprise when I opened the door to the ladies' room and there, plunked between the wall of stalls and a set of well-lit mirrors, stood a shiny, fully functional black-lacquer piano! Having finished the necessities and after a quick look around to assure myself that I was alone, I rather ungracefully took a seat at the keyboard, and with a huge grin on my face, started to play. What came out was an absurd remix all my own -- of Fuer Elise and Mozart's Turkish March, and…. It was great: all alone with my fantasies. Who could hear me over the loud music at the bar? I started to compose lyrics, about Tequila and toilet paper…

When, suddenly, I heard someone flush in the second stall! Letting out a squeal, I jumped to my feet and fled the bathroom, before I was forced to witness my involuntary audience exiting the stall. I made my way back to our table, sat down and pretended nothing had happened.

The moral of the story: Thou shalt not act upon every wayward impulse when in thy cups. Or better, at least make sure there are no witnesses.

-- Gabriele Ablasser

Dear Diary,

One hears that Austrians are not the most likeable people -- not very friendly, not very helpful, always scowling and grim. However for my own experience I could never support that statement… until last week.

I was sitting in the U1 with my friend Nico on my way to Webster. Next to him sat an African girl reading a magazine. It was at Schwedenplatz when a man, aged around 50, entered the car and took a seat next to me, and across from the African girl.

Barely had he settled in his seat, he started to accost the girl.

'Setz Di mal gscheit hi, ich wui meine Beine ausstrecken und net meine Hose an Deinen Schuhen abputzen!'(Sit properly, I want to stretch my legs and not rub my trousers against your shoes!) he grumbled at her, waving has hand arrogantly in the general direction of her crossed leg. Nico and I abruptly stopped talking.

The girl did not understand, but by his tone realized that something was wrong. In broken English she tried to ask what the problem was.

'Scheißausländer!' he growled back. 'Wennst net mal die Sprache kannst, kannst gleich verschwinden!' (If you can't even learn the language, you should get out of town.)

Nico and I decided to intervene. I tried to calm the girl, who was close to tears, explaining the ridiculous problem in English, while Nico told the man he'd better keep those sort of thoughts to himself and stop making a scene. He, Nico, had plenty of room to spread his legs out across from me, with mine crossed.

The man shot us a furious glance, leapt to his feet and rushed out of the train at the next stop.

'There are always a few people like this,' we tried to reassure the girl. And we managed to calm her down a little by the time we had to get out at Kaisermühlen.

All this time, the car had been quite full, and from both sides, people had just sat watching, not making any move to help. I wondered: If we had not intervened for the, at that moment, very scared girl, who would have?

So much for Austrian helpfulness.

-- Sany Grain

Dear Diary,

Walking along the Graben, I was mentally counting the coins in my wallet and wondering whether there was enough money for me to take a cab and avoid the U-bahn after a long day, when I almost bumped into a shabbily-dressed woman who suddenly handed me four beautiful, yellow roses. I took them, a little lost as to what was going on.

'That's three Euros,' she announced. I felt too embarrassed to return the flowers and started searching for my wallet in the huge school bag I was carrying. I found the money and paid the woman, by now upset that I would no longer be able to take the cab and get home so quickly. Discouraged, I headed for the U-Bahn.

I was just approaching the entrance, when an old Viennese lady stopped me, asking in German, where I hand gotten those beautiful roses. I thought for a moment, trying to sort out how to answer her as I am still struggling with the language. Unable to find enough words, I just handed her the flowers saying: 'Geschenk für Sie!'

She smiled and thanked me; we said good-bye and moved on.

I felt suddenly light-hearted. Somehow, the frustration caused by the unnecessary purchase was gone. I knew I had made someone's day, for which it was well worth taking the U-bahn.

-- Mariam Shalikashvili