2 - Repeated Rejection
Dear Mr. Køhler,
Thank you for coming to meet us and discuss your application for the position of waiter.
While we were impressed with your background and experience, we concluded that another candidate's qualifications more closely match our requirements. We sincerely regret that we cannot offer you employment with our organization at this time.
We appreciate your interest and the time you have invested in interviewing with the Hard Rock Cafe.
Yours truly,
Hard Rock Cafe.
Dear Mr. Køhler,
In reply to your most recent letter, we regret to inform you that there are no open positions at our establishment.
We wish for your continued patronage.
Sincerely,
Garell Bookstore
Dear Mr. Køhler,
We apologize for any inconveniences, but there is no such position as a "human hand-dryer".
With best regards,
Cobalt Square Hotel
"Dammit!" Mathias cursed, slamming his beer down on the table.
"Calm yourself." Berg warned, taking a sip of his own drink.
The two men sat in a back-alley pub they liked to frequent. The tables were always sticky and the beer was bad, but it was a place they could go to talk quietly and get smashed. Of course, Berg was paying this time, to commemorate Mathias's third mailed rejection and fifth in-person rejection in the span of a week.
"This is too much rejection in such a short time, even for you," was Berg's reasoning.
The pub was mostly empty save for Mathias and Berg, the bartender, and another lone straggler sitting across the room, his face obscured by long and wavy blond hair.
"I just can't take it anymore, Berg..." Mathias slumped down onto the table, resting his cheek against the sticky surface. "Why can't I get a job? Does God hate me or something? I bet he does." He kicked the table leg, nearly upsetting Berg's beer. "Fuck it all. Didn't we come to Germany to settle down and get money?"
"Yeah..." Berger replied hesitantly.
"Why am I unemployed and living in a shit apartment, then?"
"Patience, Mathias..." Berg muttered, his voice wavering. Mathias knew that his friend was beginning to lose faith. There really was no hope.
He felt eyes boring into him. Quickly turning around, he made eye contact with the lone stranger, a man about his age with refined features, fine stubble gracing his chin, and soft blue eyes. They held each other's attention for a split second before Mathias turned back and plopped his face down on the table once more.
Berg scooted his chair back with a loud scrape. "I need to go to the bathroom," he said, "be right back."He left before Mathias could answer, heading through the swinging doors at the back of the pub.
Mathias closed his eyes. What could he do now? If the world was going to keep rejecting a capable man such as him, was there really any hope for his employment? Was he doomed to live on the streets, debt and poverty hanging over him like a cloud?He sighed. My life is shit. My unemployment is shit. My house is shit. This beer is shit. Everything is shit, he thought.
"My, aren't you pretty."
A silken voice startled Mathias out of his drunken stupor. He peeled his face off the table to see the stranger standing over him. In the dim light, he could see that the man was quite well dressed and quite handsome. What was such an upscale-looking man doing in a piece-of-shit bar such as this? "He... Hello," he mumbled.
"Très joli," the stranger ran a gentle finger down Mathias's cheek. "Have you ever considered modeling?"
What a pick-up line, Mathias thought through the haze. Oh well. His world was ending, he might as well get laid while he still could. "Well," he leaned back in his chair and flashed his best seductive grin at the newcomer, "I've been approached by several agencies, but I turned them down."
The stranger smiled back. "I hope I can convince you to reconsider," he placed a hand on Mathias's shoulder. "My name is Francis. Francis Bonnefoy. Pleasure to meet you."
"Mathias Køhler. Likewise."
"So, are you up for it?"
Mathias glanced at the swinging doors. Berg was still in the restroom. Even for the sake of getting laid, he couldn't leave his friend.
Francis noticed Mathias's glance and squeezed his shoulder. "Ah, je sais. That man you came with, is he your friend?"
"Yeah. I can't just leave him... But..."
"Eh bien," Francis replied, pulling a slip of cardstock out of his suit pocket. "Would you like to meet me at this address tomorrow? It's my business card. Say... Five PM?"
Mathias accepted the card. "Sounds excellent," he replied, slipping it into his shirt pocket without a glance. "I'll see you there."
Francis smiled and walked back to his own table.
XxX
The swinging doors opened and Berg walked back into the pub. "What took ya so long?" Mathias asked.
Berg leaned in and whispered to Mathias, "This beer is worse than I thought. Let's go."
"Sounds good," Mathias stood up. As Berg paid the tab, he snuck one last glance at Francis, still sitting alone in his corner as if nothing had happened. He would have thought the meeting was a mere drunken hallucination if not for the card in his shirt pocket, tangible proof of the feeling in his gut that something was about to change.
AN:
Random French used:
Très joli - Very pretty (masc.)
je sais - I know
Eh bien - (In this context) Oh well
Sorry, no Norway yet, but don't worry, he'll be here soon. He's always fashionably late to the party. B-)