I have always liked to host people and to make my guests feel comfortable and welcome. But it could happen that the supply of patience runs out and the desire to kick the guest out of the house is really tempting.
“Bonjour Robert, ça va? I am flying back to Marseille tomorrow but I would love visiting you before leaving… I am in London. Where do you live?”
My boyfriend relates the content of the call and goes to pick up Pierre, the French man, who is approaching the tube station. After a short while the doorbell rings and I see the two men with three huge suitcases struggling to enter the door. I am dumb with amazement at what I see while my boyfriend casts me a supportive glance. When we finally manage to fit everything inside our tiny apartment, we greet each other and we take a seat in the living room. The canonical sequence of questions about general matters is followed by Pierre’s excessively long answers and it becomes ever more difficult to interact. Pierre is literally monopolising the conversation which is turning into an out-and-out stream of consciousness sporadically interrupted by our mumbling “I see, yes, mmmh…”
Bla, bla, bla. Words are floating everywhere, impregnating the carpets, the moquette, filling the air and my boyfriend, who is crouched on the sofa, staring at him with a lifeless expression. Suddenly I have a brilliant idea. “Are you hungry? Oh, you must be, it’s suppertime.” The kitchen gives me temporary asylum while I try to elaborate a sophisticated meal which would justify my long absence from the living room.
After thirty minutes into great silence the fish is ready, the potatoes are roasted, and I have recovered my patience and mercy. The preacher is the first to reach the table and Robert gives me a dirty look before disappearing into the bathroom for an endless time.Surprisingly, Pierre keeps quiet. I am thankful to God but soon I feel increasingly uneasy and unable to deal with that abnormal silence.
While I am still wondering whether to say something, Robert emerges from the comfort zone of the bathroom with an incredulous expression on his face due to the odd peace which reigns in the kitchen. But as soon as he takes a seat the monologue starts again. My boyfriend squeezes my hand under the table in despair and silently we form an alliance. We eat our meal at the speed of light, then while Robert washes, I wipe the crockery, and Pierre talks – indeed. In no time the spare mattress is arranged in the living room and the bed is made. Pierre has to leave quite early to catch his flight, too early to expect us to wake up with him. So, we say goodbye, shake each other’s hands and with the promise of visiting him in his country we warily withdraw to our bedroom.
Guests can be really exhausting.
1 Comment
January 16, 2008 at 9:16 am
hani shaker 2007
I Googled for something completely different, but found your page…and have to say thanks. nice read.