Mis-Adventure

I have been struggling for the past few weeks, wondering how I was going to tell you, stalwart reader, one of my favorite Munich stories. It’s so complicated that I knew it would be difficult to convey effectively. Well, while at an underground jazz club in Prague (where I met a lovely couple from Austria who bought all of my drinks for the night), it suddenly dawned on me: I am going to tell you the ending first, and then we will go back in time (Tarantino would be proud) and see how I arrived at that ending. So, here’s what happened:

I called a gay mime at midnight and told him I was in my underwear lying in bed.

If you are not cleaning up your own bodily fluids that leaked during that outrageous burst of laughter, go back and read that sentence again: I, Matt, telephoned a mime. That’s pretty funny. He’s a gay mime. That’s hysterical. I told this gay mime that I am in my bed, alone, in my apartment, in just my skivvies. That’s damn near genius. How the hell did this happen, and more importantly, what happened afterwards? Here’s how it went down:

One day, long ago, I was strolling down the boulevard whistling a merry tune, greeting elderly ladies, and giving lollipops to eager children in sailor outfits. Twas a fine summer day indeed. Whilst meandering down the lanes, I suddenly came upon a golden man. Literally, he was made of gold. My curiosity got the best of me, so I went over to investigate, only to discover that he was a local street performer who I had seen before. Rather good, as far as Munich performers go. He is one of those “Hey, I’m a statue. Hark! A small golden coin! I am now no longer a statue, but instead I shall change my position in a mechanical looking way and surprise all of my onlookers” street performers. He was smoking a cigarette in human mode, leading me to think he was on a mime break. Since I fancy myself a charming chap, I sauntered up to him and started to chat. He speaks English. Great. He is Polish. A rather fine young fellow.

Zoom ahead about two months.

I see the mime occasionally and he gives me a knowing wink every once in a while (even whilst still in statue mode! The others never detect it. The newbies…). While with Natalie and Philipp one day (actually the day we bought lederhosen) we ran into the mime again. After chatting, we discover that he is also a bartender at night. He kindly invites us to the establishment, so we decide to exchange numbers. To give me his number, he calls my phone (A Note to the Elderly: today, we have devices called cellular telephones [hereafter referred to as “cell phone” {“cell” is short for “cellular}]. Instead of remembering all cell phone numbers, we can “store” them in the phone. To do that, we call the other phone and after their phone number pops on the “screen”, we can “store” it). We continue to exchange pleasantries for a few more minutes, and then depart.

Zoom ahead three weeks

Natalie is getting a new cell phone. Hoorah! Well, she calls me to tell me that she has a new phone (the number pops up as “unknown” as her stored number did not pop up, as she was using the new phone to call me). I am delighted to input Natalie’s new number into my cell phone as “Nat New”, but not until a few hours later. After those few hours elapsed, I went into my phone and took the last missed call, which was unknown and just a series of unknown digits, and labeled them as “Nat New”. That was incredibly easy, efficient, technological, and enjoyable. I start doing a dandy dance, tip my cap, and leap with my umbrella/parachute down a nearby chimney.

Zoom ahead about two days

Natalie calls me in a panic. Philipp was out having one too many drinks, and called her to tell her he was drunk. Mid-conversation, he stops talking and all Natalie can hear is Philipp breathing heavily on the other end. She freaks out. Is he dying! Where is he! She calls me. I tell her to calm down, he probably just fell asleep in his apartment and is gong to wake up in a few hours with nothing more than a ripping hangover. In fact, Natalie, I will call Philipp a few times tonight and see if I can wake him up. And indeed, I do just that. I call him maybe three times over the course of two hours, but he never picks up. He must be very drunk. Oh well, I am sure he is fine. I call Natalie back, to tell her that I didn’t get an answer from Philipp, but Natalie doesn’t answer. Perhaps she is talking to Philipp now! Great. I am going to watch more episodes of Lost and go to sleep.

Zoom ahead a half hour

I get a call. It’s from “Nat New”. I answer the phone with something like “What up gangsta?” or some other pithy, modern phrase. It’s not Natalie. “Oh hey Philipp!” He must be very drunk, but he is calling me to tell me that he is ok and currently snuggling next to Natalie, right? Why else would he use Natalie’s phone? He asks what I am up to. “Oh nothing, just sitting in my bed in my underwear.”

Zoom ahead a tenth of a second

Wait a sec. This isn’t Philipp. Holy shit. I recognize this voice. It’s the mime. I thought his voice sounded different! I panic. I realize it is the mime, I realize I just told him I am alone in my bed at midnight in my underwear…quickly, I try to end the conversation. He invites me over to watch Monty Python. Um, no… thanks… I have, uhh…. my period. We hang up. I sit back and reflect. Did that really just happen? Oh my god. I know what happened. When I stored what I thought was Natalie’s new number as “Nat New”, I used the last missed phone call. When Natalie called me with the new number, I didn’t miss her fucking call! I answered it! FUCK. I never miss calls, because my phone is next to me at all times. My lasted missed call was from weeks ago when the friggin mime called me to give me his number! And I didn’t call Natalie before… because “Nat New” isn’t Natalie… it’s the mime! That’s why he called me: because I called him first. I am an idiot.

I have to solve this. Let’s call Natalie. Well, she cheered up upon hearing my misadventure. She told me to call him back and explain the situation. Um, no. I am not calling the mime… ever. In fact, I need to avoid him for the rest of my life on Earth and beyond. But I can’t just let it go either. What if I see him again? I might get a sly wink and a firm, open hand slap on the behind. That can’t happen. I could never live with myself again.
I decide to text message him. Basically it said: “Hey ____ (his name), sorry dude I thought you were somebody else in our last conversation. Sorry for calling you at midnight.” Succinct and not open to debate as to whether or not I was hitting on him. Loud and clear. He sends one back in broken English saying “no problem. I cant sleep now. Watching m python now. Maybe we watch m python another time.”

My life is a joke. I hope you enjoy.
-Matt

ps. The mime isn’t actually gay. I think he might be, as he showed up as a big blip on my Gaydar (come to think of it, “blip” is one of the gayest words I have ever heard). But the story is a bit funnier if you imagine he is definitely gay. I can exaggerate sometimes. Sorry.