Just Another Monday

Contrary to what you may have read so far, I do actually attend classes in Europe. On Monday I had Economic Development and Opportunities in Central and Eastern Europe, Business German, and Ecological Economics. Scheduling classes at the VUEW is a nightmare. My 3 classes were from 11-4, 2-5:15, and 4-6. I left two classes early to attend the next one. Ecological Economics is the only class that I went to for the full time slot. I got back to Erasmus and made a bomb dinner: bowtie pasta with sausage, vegetables, and Napoli sauce with a side of garlic bread and topfenstrudel for dessert. The only hitch in dinner is that I shattered a glass pot cover and sent tiny glass shards all over the kitchen floor. I didn’t have a broom, nor could I find one, so I cleaned it up using a traffic cone and newspaper (American ingenuity).

Monday nights are Ride Club nights at for Erasmus and VUEW students. Ride Club is a small club near our University that is geared towards exchange students on Monday nights. They have drink specials that increase in price every hour. From 7-8 PM drinks are free, and by midnight long drinks are 4.90. It gets ridiculous. Every Monday I debate going, but my opportunity cost is so low that I have to go. Plus, you never leave Ride Club without witnessing something hilarious.

The subway system shuts down at 12:30. A lot of people leave parties at 12:00 and call it an early night so they don’t have to take the night bus. But for Ride Club there is a night bus just across the street that goes directly to our dorm stop until 5 AM. A Brazilian, a Bentley Student, and I board the night bus around 2 AM. The Brazilian is eating a kabob and feeling pretty good about his life. We run and just catch the crowded bus. The Bentley kid is pretty shnockered and sits on my lap. Two drunk Austrians start yelling things at us in German. One Austrian is skinny, wearing a red track jacket, and talking trash. His buddy has an eyebrow piercing, bleach blonde hair, a white track jacket, and is significantly bigger. They are drunk, the boys I am with are drunk, and I don’t speak enough German to know what is going on. The Brazilian is being cocky and gets the little Austrian pissed. The red jacket talks a big talk, but he was depending on his friend to fight for him. I attempt to diffuse the situation for the duration of the bus ride, but these guys are being total assholes. They say that we have a problem. We say “keine problem”, but they still point to us and make aggressive gestures. At one point I am standing between the Brazilian and the red jacket and the red jacket says something to me in German that I assume was derogatory. The Bentley kid is getting pissed. He’s got the “I want to beat your face until your family won’t recognize you” righteous anger working on his side. He gets up in his face and does the rapid fire insult, don’t touch my friends routine. He promised me that he wouldn’t hit anybody unless they touched the Brazilian or me. No use getting deported over two Austrian talking nonsense.

Surprise, Surprise, once we get to our bus stop they switch from words to action. I walk towards the door and the skinny red jacket sticks out his arm and grabs the bar so I can’t exit the bus. By this time, I’ve had enough BS, so I push him out of the bus. When he falls out of the bus doors, I take a swing at his face. The Bentley kid jumps out, puts his head in a headlock and gives him a couple of blows to the face. The Brazilian did not have control of the other guy, so the white track jacket grabs Bentley and spins him like Sonic the Hedgehog into the crosswalk. Bentley’s fighting instincts are curbed by the fact that he is wearing a very expensive watch.

This is the second fight I have been a part of in Austria. They like to talk way more than they like to fight. They tell my Brazilian friend that he is too drunk to fight. He goes through the whole ordeal without throwing a single punch. The middle of the fight is a blur, especially because the Brazilian is speaking German and English and the Germans are yelling obscenities. By the time Bentley kid got his watch off and into my hands an English-speaking German and a kabob salesmen had become involved. We decide that getting deported isn’t worth giving these kids the beating of a lifetime. So, we walk away after giving them a few lesson punches. The red track jacket kid’s face is beet red. The side of his face was cut and he was yelling about being punched in the face. We walk away, half triumphant, half ready to turn around and go in for a few more punches. We told them that we were cool unless they touched me, which the red jacket kid did, so now he has a red face to match. Ending the night with a fist fight really makes me miss America, where people don’t get by running their mouths off like that without serious bodily injury consequences. (PS mom and dad I am safe, I was confident in my escort’s fighting abilities, and people constantly want to fight Americans. I didn’t start the fight, but we did finish it. Love you guys. No more fights. I’ll stay safe. )