You’ve only been wearing it for a few months, and already it’s disgusting, says W. of my leather jacket. Look at it, it’s green. Who would wear a green leather jacket? I point out I bought it because he complained about my last jacket, my velvet one. It was shapeless and made you look obese, said W., whereas this one just makes you look cheap.
Until recently, W. always carried a suit with him on our foreign visits. He didn’t want to insult our hosts. I never had any concern about insulting our hosts, W. says, going on about blowholes and wearing one of my disgusting jackets. I point out that his suit makes him look like Gary Glitter, which W. finds very amusing. Then, laughing, he remembers seeing my interview suit, with the tapered trousers. They were parachute pants, W. says, like M.C. Hammer’s.
Recently, W. left his suit behind at a busstop, the whole thing, in its carry case. He was reading, he says. Cohen probably. Anyway, he’s already got another one, as I should. Think of our foreign hosts! In truth, W. would rather not care what our foreign hosts think of us. It’s a weakness of his, he says, though other people would regard it as a strength. Of course, W. knows I don’t care what our foreign hosts think of us, that’s very clear. Perhaps that’s a kind of stength, though, says W., though other people would regard it as a weakness.
Doesn’t it bother you that your jacket’s turned green and you’ve stains down your trousers? You never take enough pairs of trousers with you, do you? Just one pair! Do you think it’s enough? W. never thinks it’s enough. You should take two pairs of trousers, plus your suit, he says. How many pairs of underpants should I take?, I ask him. One for each day, says W.,and one extra in case you soil yourself. You’re prone to accidents, aren’t you? He reminds me of the Emergency Scheisse Bar in Freiburg, as we called it. What you hadn’t have found it?, W. asks. What then?
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