Monday

Monday

Tomi, 44

On Thursday I was looking for people to interview. I have already stated how hard it is. Maybe because its such an artificial thing to do, siting down with a stranger and asking them about their personal lives. It feels invasive. Maybe that’s my problem. I feel like I am constantly overstepping. Anyways, I set out to do this thing and I might as well carry on. I think I’ve already said that Thursday was not really my lucky day. I did, however wander into the same pub where I met Ludwig. I went in and tried to chat with the landlord. He does not speak a word of English. Bummer. So I just order a coffee, because you can say café pretty much anywhere in the world and I’m sure you’ll get your point across. Its like saying Vodka. I don’t know any country that has a different word for vodka. Or that makes booze out of potatoes, for that matter. Anyways, somewhere in this exchange, we realise we both speak Italian. Phew!

Well here’s the truth. I understand Italian, and I do speak it. But sometimes, especially when I haven’t used it for a while, it can be rather curious. And lets be frank. Tomi is the same. And we both admit it. So in our very broken Italian, he says he’s really busy and tired over the weekend and that I should come back on Monday for a ‘chat’. However that pans out…

When I arrive at the bar on Monday morning –lets call it morning, but considering the three course breakfasts we are making at the Village, it was more like noon- there is a girl at the bar and I can’t see Tomi anywhere. I turn around and find Boris, Benedicte’s husband reading the paper. I sit down and have a coffee with him while I wait. Then in comes Tomy. He’s not too happy about being interviewed. I think he’s not too clear about what we’ll be talking about and that makes him uneasy. I cannot blame him for that. I feel the exact same way. The good thing is that we both seem to have gotten over our Italian shyness over the weekend and we understand each other perfectly well. He lets me in to his office. Similar to most bar office spaces, its crammed floor to ceiling with glassware, stock, price lists, beer crates, etc. There is a computer in the corner, and Tommy is sitting there, a beer price list open in front of him. I clearly interrupted him while ordering stock. Oh dear, I need to make this quick, otherwise I might distract him and the good people of Cerkno will not have any beer this week. That is no way of making friends!

So I start asking questions, it turns out that Tomi is the boss. He rents the bar, so the building is not his, but the pub is his business. It seems like a nice place. A few people have told me it’s the nicest bar in Cerkno. Maybe its because its just a really friendly place. Tomi started the bar 12.5 years ago. He runs me through his whole, rather long, CV in the hospitality business, which spans 25 years. Ok, I get it. You like your job, you are experienced and you are good at it. But I don’t need to learn bout every bar you worked at! Anyways, I did not take notes of the entire list, as I don’t really care. The short version is that when Tomy was 18 he did his military service, then worked in a flipper venue for a couple of years, and after that he has worked in bars ever since. He is very proud of his achievements. And he should be. He runs a nice pub, and most importantly, his patrons and staff all seem to like him, and enjoy being there. It’s nice that there are good and capable bosses out there. They give us all a little hope. They also set a good example for normal bosses. I just hope it would catch on… Maybe some day…

As much as he enjoys his work, Tomi finds it quite tiring. And it is. As soon as he opens the pub (which also serves coffee, so is open from early) he doesn’t stop. It does not matter whether he is running it himself or if one of the barmaids is there. There is always something to be done, stock to be ordered, patrons to attend to, annoying, nosy foreign girls to deal with, always something. He tells me that about six years ago he and his wife went to Thailand for a holiday. The summer that year had been quite busy. Lots of hikers and walkers in that year he says. By late summer, it was clear that the season was taking a toll on Tomi. He had been in the bar every day since April and by August he was exhausted.

On the other hand, his wife had wanted to plan a holiday for ages. They had gone away about three years after they opened the pub. Then, they tried to take a week off during the summer, but the last two had been so busy that they had not had time off in ages. Tomi’s wife had been getting increasingly frustrated that he was getting more and more tired, and her dream holiday seemed further and further away. One morning she brought the subject up once more.  –Oh, no, no.- Said Tomi. Not this year. They only had a few weeks until high season started when the ski resort opened for the winter. It was too late to plan a holiday before that. –We’ll do it next year, he said.-

Needless to say, his wife was not happy. She had heard the exact same speech the year before, and assumed that if she did nothing about it, things would be the same the next year. Too late to plan a holiday? We’ll see. She spent all day glued to the computer and took full advantage of the joint-account bank-card. Tomi closed the bar late that night. The next morning, his wife had woken up early to prepare him breakfast. Strong black coffee and omelette on fresh bread straight from the bakery. He immediately knew something was wrong.

They sat down for breakfast. The corners of her mouth were twitching slightly into a smile. Tomi was too afraid to ask what she had been up to, so they ate in silence. After he was finished eating, his wife started clearing things, and Tomi thought this was the perfect time to run for it. As soon as she disappeared through the kitchen door, he jumped up, grabbed his coat, and was out on the street before she could even notice he had moved. With a sigh of relief, Tomi zipped up his coat, put his hands in his pockets, and made his way to the pub. The air was already getting chilly. His soon realised there was a piece of paper in his coat pocket.

His heart sank as he pulled the paper out to see what it was. An itinerary. For an entire month. In Thailand. In January. He almost fainted. He made his way into work, sank on his chair and pondered how on earth the bar would manage to run without him over high season. When he went home for dinner, his wife said nothing about the trip. Niether did he. Weeks and months passed. January came. On the morning of the 5 of January, Tomi’s mother-in-law drove them both to the airport in Ljubliana. They have been taking yearly holidays in January ever since.