It’s sometime in November 2021. Well, the big day has finally arrived. A new place, new hopes—or whatever the saying goes. I’m free—it’s a strange feeling: a new environment, new people, everything new. But somehow I can’t get excited about it; I’m handling the situation with complete composure. Even though I only have two weeks left on my notice period and I still haven’t received the contract from the new company. No big deal—a quick phone call or email, “So, what’s going on, huh?”… “We forgot, sorry, I’ll send it right away,” came the reassuring reply. Hmm, okay, we’re off to a good start… it can only be better than what I had before, right? After all, we’re moving forward, not backward…😈
I knew I’d made the right decision for one reason alone: when I went to sign my contract, my car wouldn’t even let me drive away from the new place—though it did pull off a rather dirty trick masterfully. Yeah, I went in, had a friendly chat with the HR lady, signed the paperwork, and then—toying with the idea of marking my territory right away like a proper little puppy—I hurried out with a huge fake grin on my face. I figured I could hold out for those 20 minutes until I got home—I’m a big boy now—jumped into the car, went to start it, and… well, no… the steering wheel was locked… damn it! It’s always the steering wheel, isn’t it? Why didn’t I just go inside? 🚽🙈 Sure, I could’ve gone back, but everyone’s a smartass in hindsight, and anyway, that gay guy—I’m just saying—I’d rather tie two knots on it.
Phone, family… ahem… is there anyone at home who could, um… well… bring me some tools here? I’m definitely not paying for the tow truck or the mechanic—not because I can’t afford it, but because of those damn principles, you know. I’m right here in the parking lot of my new workplace, and I’m going to blow this piece of s**t to smithereens one way or another—I’m photogenic enough anyway if anyone’s watching from the guardhouse. Warmed by mixed emotions in the pleasant late-fall 9 degrees, about three-quarters of an hour later my godfather and his crew arrived with the tools, and I eagerly tore the steering column to pieces, then, with a sufficiently aggressive motion, I politely kicked the lock—and it popped open. Yes!! It starts, it roars—success. I won’t be putting it back together today because, of course, they didn’t bring a change of pants, so I’m rushing home! It turned out to be a happy ending, and that day… no, I peed myself. That’s actually pretty important 🙂
Back to the main story. So we were at the point where it was day one. We were meeting at the company at 8 a.m.—we’d agreed that we’d leave from there for Graz, since I needed to get some basic training, but we hadn’t discussed the details of how we’d get there. Armed with half my wardrobe, I set off in the morning on Highway 8 toward Veszprém, but what I hadn’t counted on was the multitude of road construction projects and closures, since I’d only ever driven in the opposite direction before… Of course it wouldn’t be that simple—that wouldn’t be me. 😅
“Well, no road closure is going to stop me,” I thought, and with a graceful maneuver, I turned onto the bypass—I figured I’d attack it from the back. Keeping all the traffic under control and, of course, strictly observing all speed limits while cruising at exactly 110.5 km/h, I still managed to rack up an elegant 5-minute delay—but that’s all it takes, right? Upon my arrival, I was just about to stomp right through the salvaged glass of the main entrance door—lacking an access card—when an acquaintance called out to me: “You should try the side door—that might be more effective.” —Yeah, thanks, sure, totally logical… or not… whatever.
Phew, okay, I made it. I found everyone; obviously, no one cared that I was late—they were more surprised by who this crazy person was who was rushing to work. 🤷♂️ My favorite HR lady sat me down in an empty office to get acquainted with my work clothes, and I quickly grabbed a few—just in case there was something interesting—and, last but not least, they gave my butt a nice lift. That’s when I started to get a little nervous—the handful of people who were still waiting outside suddenly disappeared, and it went quiet. So, does that mean we’re not going together? Poor little Vuk’s being left here all alone again. 🦊
It was my turn. The fairy popped her head through the door, and then the following monologue followed:
– “Okay, listen up—here are the car keys, the paperwork, and the gas card. The car will be out in the parking lot. Have a good trip! By the way, what time are they expecting you?”
Suddenly, I felt a rush of emotions like a 14-year-old virgin girl. “Yes, ma’am? Where? Who?” It’s my first day at a new company—I don’t even know what day of the month it is. Could I at least get a sextant so I can read the stars?
– Yeah, hold on, I’ll look up an address real quick.
– That would be great, thanks.
Ten minutes later, I was already zooming toward Austria in my new boss’s car with foreign license plates, but I was reassured by the thought that if I messed up, all they’d say was… “stupid Austrian.” Looking back on it now, here I was—someone who had barely ever crossed the border before—suddenly heading out into the unknown, into the infinite, and beyond… but I wasn’t nervous; I was driven more by a thirst for adventure. The ride was relatively smooth, though I didn’t rush it—I strictly adhered to my rest stops.
I arrived. Finally. At the gate, I explained who I was and what I was doing there, and to my surprise, a Hungarian voice directed me to where I needed to go. (No, not there… you idiot.) I parked and told the receptionist I was there for training. A short while later, my mentor and instructor appeared, and his first comment was, “It sure took you a long time to get here.” A quiet, terse but all the more sincere “your mother” slipped out of my mouth. He was actually very understanding and helpful later on, though. Upon entering the “classroom,” I realized I was the only one wearing work clothes… hmm… maybe I was a little overdressed…
The class was conducted entirely in English, since we were quite a diverse group, and I was the only Hungarian there. The material wasn’t too difficult, actually—it was quite easy—but I remember complaining to my mom back then that since I wasn’t used to hearing English constantly, 90% of my brain power was being drained by translation. After all, even though I understood almost everything, I didn’t have much experience speaking. In any case, by the end I’d really gotten the hang of it, and my instructor even noted that I was a quick learner. 🙂↕️
But it would be so much better to be rolling clay balls instead—I wouldn’t have any problems at all. Is there even a job like that, by the way?
Call me out—I’m rambling again. Back to the story. After the initial shock, I settled into my cozy little hotel room that evening, flopped onto the bed like a wet sack, and made myself comfortable. Or at least I was about to… my phone buzzed… what’s up? Well, hadn’t those pesky Hungarians who’d left before me found me and invited me to a little welcome party? I’d just be bored anyway—what did I have to lose? Besides, it’s not proper to turn down an invitation like that, is it?
As I walked through the door, a hearty Hungarian greeting caught my ear:
“What are you drinking?”
At that point, I already suspected I couldn’t be in the wrong place. The welcome party turned out really well—or let’s put it this way: it had all the ingredients it needed to ensure it wouldn’t go wrong. Homemade pálinka, wine, vodka, chemical X, insecticide, a bear trap—what else could you ask for? The amount of toxins I consumed in such a short time probably exceeded even next week’s quota, but hey, youth is folly—with that motto, I immediately shifted all the problems to my future self.
Well… it worked. The next day, I thought hard about my basic needs—for example, whether I should schedule a tactical vomiting session on the agenda or just get plenty of fresh air? One thing was certain: I wanted to be everywhere except at practice. Lunch was the worst—I couldn’t even eat much. I told the others I’d upset my stomach, which was sort of a half-truth, right? 🤷♂️
By the way, we’d already made such a name for ourselves at the hotel that they’d bring our breakfast right to our door, all set up. There was also COVID—maybe that’s why—but let’s overlook that relatively insignificant detail for now.
The Hungarian team didn’t stay out late, and I went home every week, but nobody wanted to be bored, so we organized some activities anyway. It was the Christmas season, and Graz has a Christmas market too. Damn, let’s go check it out. I didn’t have to look far to find a few adventurous colleagues, and together we set out to explore the city. Off to the Hauptplatz, the Schlossberg, the Uhrturm, and the Mur-Insel—all beautifully lit up in winter.
At the market, we couldn’t skip the obligatory mulled wine (I’ll note that I haven’t had anything that bad since, but at least it was expensive—and we all know that means it’s good, right?), and then we headed to the Schlossberg and the clock tower.
By the way, fun fact: did you know that on the clock tower in Graz, the small and large hands are mounted in reverse? The small hand shows the minutes, while the large one shows the hours. This all made sense a long time ago, so you could see what time it was from farther away—I guess nobody cared about the minutes 😅
Since it wasn’t exactly warm out, we decided that the one with two moms would climb the 260 steps to the top of the mountain, so for about 5€ per person, we took the elevator inside the mountain and zoomed up to the top. Once we reached the top, we admired the famous clock tower and its surroundings, but I was much more captivated by the panoramic view of the city lit up with lights. It was truly magical—I won’t even try to describe it; you’d better see it for yourselves.
The boring weekdays went by, and then, around the middle of the second week of training, my group leader approached me. He’s a Hungarian from Austria who grew up here, but I would’ve said right away that he’s more Austrian than Hungarian. It was really funny when we first started exchanging text messages in Hungarian, but he practiced with me 🙂 Then he later became one of my best friends.
The training went well—hallelujah. On the last day, we said goodbye to each other with tears in our eyes over a hamburger and a case of beer (pff). Yeah, it’s totally normal in Austria for the silence to be broken by the hiss of a beer bottle instead of a gong signaling the end of the workday. We still had a little time left, so they told us to wait because everyone was going to meet with their supervisor and chat a bit. Okay… we sat down, made some small talk, and then got down to business. What’s my next project going to be? Where do I need to go? And then it happened 🫣
– How about Spain?
Are you kidding me? I’ve barely even left Hungary so far—you could’ve said anything, but Spain of all places? Of course it’s great!!!
– Great, so you’re leaving in January. Merry Christmas!
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