As I entered Waitrose, I encountered prices beyond my wildest imagination. I took my time walking around, scanning the items up and down. I constantly calculated, added, subtracted, multiplied, and divided, comparing everything to the Austrian Schilling. My brain felt like a computer operating at 95% CPU workload. Forty-five minutes into my stroll, I could see from the corner of my eye that she was becoming quite agitated, but I didn’t glance at her, nor did a single word leave my mouth. I just kept going, waiting for her to snap, hoping she would give in. I imagined her saying something like, “Don’t worry about it, let’s go home, and I’ll fix you a sandwich.”
We had walked around the town all day, and she had a stocked fridge at the host family’s house; surely, she could have bothered to prepare a couple of sandwiches, couldn’t she? I could count on one hand how many times my mother cooked for us. I’d be better off counting the cockles on the sandy beach or the winkles on the washed rocks at Loch Ryan. Not to mention, I had taken her on holiday many times and invited her to restaurants. She had parents and went to school, but they didn’t contribute much. At times, she hung on my wallet in Austria.
Well, don’t get me wrong! I fully support the old-fashioned idea where men were men, and women were women. Since the significant emancipation of the female gender, I now prefer to go Dutch. If women want the same rights and pay, which I generally support, we must go 50-50. There can no longer be a free lunch. It has to be a give-and-take situation.
I spent part of my holidays working, either stocking shelves at Metro in Vösendorf or carrying 30kg wheat bags on my back for a mill, all to afford these trips, while others were enjoying their two months’ worth of summer holidays.
One and a half hours into my walk, my time finally came. A lady arrived with two medium-sized Margheritas and slotted them onto the shelf! Since I had scanned those pizza shelves repeatedly, bypassing them each time, I realized that the ones she placed there had a small squared white sticker. Upon closer inspection, the number on the sticker read 90p.
“Luck, good fortune, health, and wealth shall descend upon those who are determined, committed, resilient, and unashamed to be embarrassed.”
On my first day in a foreign country, I pulled out two Margheritas from the exquisite supermarket “Waitrose” for a subtotal of £1.80. I haven’t seen any price reduction there since. I wouldn’t call myself a regular patron, but I did pass through their doors occasionally. Equipped with the loot of two cheese pizzas exclusively to my disposal, I asked in an arrogant, macho tone, “Are we done here, heading to the checkouts?”
When we arrived at the cashier, I took a two-pound coin, part of the change from the Carphone Warehouse, and placed it on the counter. She said, “That won’t cover it!” I looked at her with an evil smile and asked, “Really?” A few seconds later, the till sounded the bell, and the drawer popped open. The cashier removed 20 pence and placed it on my palm. She stood there, looking at me with utter disgust.
We returned to the house because she said the family wasn’t home, but they had said I was welcome to come over. I fired up the oven and slid both pizzas in, finishing them both in front of her without offering a single slice. “An action always provokes a reaction.”
I returned to Nic’s house and received a text message from my mate Kopo. It read, “It cost me only 1 Schilling to send a message to Big Ben Land.” I didn’t reply because it would have cost me 10p (2.2 Schillings), and I had just seen him in the morning. However, that was the last time I heard from my dear friend!
We spent Saturday and Sunday together, and she seemed to have learned her lesson from the previous day because she prepared two sandwiches—cheap buttered white bread with cucumber slices! Not the most exciting combo, but she was willing, and that’s what counted!
We went sightseeing around the city but didn’t bother looking for leads or information about potential accommodation. She didn’t care much because her feelings toward me started to fade by then. That wasn’t a big issue for me because I was never deeply in love with her—it was more like a highly convenient relationship, not unlike a releasing ship.
Regarding accommodation, I wasn’t too concerned because common sense told me that if someone lets you into their house for the entire weekend without actually meeting you, it might be possible to stretch it out for another week or two. That would give me more breathing room and time to evaluate my options.
I felt confident because of the online information I had gathered about the 649 Hungarians I knew, from whom I had addresses and phone numbers. I hoped to find something affordable: a cheap room or some work.
The weekend was quite friendly and informative for me as a regular London tourist seeing the sights. On Sunday night, we parted ways, and I returned to Nic’s house, but again, no one was home. It was dark, and it was getting rather cold.
Monday morning arrived, and still, nobody was around at the house, so I just went out. We agreed to meet at 9:30 a.m. She had to drop off the kids at school, and then we walked down to Garratt Lane, where she showed me the big Sainsbury’s. As I saw the shop, I said, “The prices are high here in London!” She looked at me, and I will never forget the expression on her face. She pulled a downturned, arrogant, careless face and said, “Here it will be over with your savings and stinginess: You will spend every penny you have on food and accommodation.”
At that moment, it became clear that she would not be the woman I was interested in or willing to spend my life with. Our relationship wasn’t officially over, but her words hit me hard.
Standing there in front of Sainsbury’s, I could take anyone back to that exact spot with an accuracy of +/- 50 centimeters. I stood there and promised myself I would do everything in my power to never touch my Austrian savings, no matter what. I was determined to show this little “fun bag”—that’s life’s way of shaping me! The funds were available, of course, and yes, I always said that when push came to shove, I would withdraw money from my homeland’s account. But right then, that option was off the table. The very thought of touching my savings seemed distant, almost cosmic. I was ready and mentally prepared to take on the “big smoke” at that very spot.
She left me there because she had English classes at the college, and I went to the supermarket, spending several hours looking, learning, checking, calculating, and comparing prices. Equipped with a pocket-sized Langenscheidt German-English dictionary, which had found a permanent home in my low-quality flat rucksack, I entered the shop. I was also a multi-millionaire when it came to having time on my hands. Toward the end of the day, I purchased a large bottle of whole milk, 500 grams of value rice, a dozen value eggs, 1 kg of bagged carrots, and 1 kg of white onions in a plastic mesh. I crossed the road and bought a three-liter bottle of fruit concentrate for one pound at the “South Side Shopping Centre” from “Poundland.”
It was already dark when I got home, so I didn’t go to the kitchen—it was a spooky place for me back then. I was still eating the cucumber sandwich she had shared with me around midday on Sunday, but I was too scared to go downstairs and start cooking.