Angelo and Hadi

 Zurich Nov. 2024

Hadi

"Zwei, zwei, trois." Wrong.  

"Deux, deux , drei." Stupid me. 

When I reach into my German database, often French comes out, then English. I never get beyond the Shopping German category, but when I lived in Germany and was more than functional, it was in the early 60s.

When I said, "Ich habe viel vergessen," the man who was in charge of the hotel breakfast dining room said, "Room two, two, three." We'd be staying at the hotel just outside Zurich for two nights while Rick had interviews for stories he was writing. The man was probably in his late forties, had a mustache, a full head of closely cropped hair and was not the least paunchy. I adore German-style hotel breakfasts with their selection of meat, cheeses, fruits and breads, especially brotchen.

  

During the two mornings we ate there, I had a chance to add Hadi to my collection of fleeting relationships: waitstaff, taxi drivers, chambermaids, receptionists, secretaries, etc. people I sit next to on a train, bus or plane.

Why? 

Often they are nice, interesting and have a story to tell like the widow from the Dominican Republic that was just finishing her nursing degree while raising three children alone. Her children wouldn't let her quit. 

Often the people I talk to are ignored or dismissed as non-existent. What a loss to those that don't bother. The encounters enrich my life: I don't claim I enrich theirs.

Hadi had a story to tell too. He was raised in Iran, was lucky enough to move to Switzerland, emigrated with his family to NJ. He worked in New York City, but decided Switzerland was a better place for the family and had been back over 20 years. He spoke Farsi, English, German, Zurich Swiss German and French. 

He told me the history of the Harry's Home Hotel where we were staying. 

There is a real Harry, a Swiss businessman who had other hotels in Austria, Germany and Switzerland. The concept: offer regular hotel facilities in a homey atmosphere and apartments for short or longer stays. Even in the hotel part there were washer-dryers, ironing boards and irons.

All his information was gleaned during our two breakfasts, Frühstück.

Angelo

Upon arrival, we were hungry, but it was after lunch hours. Many restaurants close, but this combination Italian café, deli, bakery was serving. The cookies in the glass case to the right as we entered were beautiful and enticing.

Angelo, our waiter, said he knew English, but not German. He also spoke Italian, which was no surprise. The others,who worked behind the counter, were chattering in Italian. My Italian is more of the prego, lasagna, ravioli words, but I recognize it when I hear it.

Angelo, who looked to be in his early 20s, had black curly hair and was slightly overweight,  explained apologetically that they had sold out of most everything on the menu. Smiling did not seem to be his strong skill.

"That's good for you," I said.

For the first time he smiled. 

We ordered what wasn't sold out.

As I paid, I asked if I could ask him some questions. Since attending a communication conference in the 1980s and the speaker had everyone ask the person next to them questions then checked to discover those who asked permission to ask. Those who asked permission were British. Since then, I've always asked permission before satisfying my curiosity. 

What I discovered.

It was a family owned business, opened 12 hours a day, seven days a week. Angelo, was not a blood relative, but a God son and he loved the family. He was really proud of being Italian. He didn't like dealing with grouchy clients, but said he wished everyone was friendly like me. He enjoyed his two days off a week. During our conversation he was very smiley.

Before leaving I had to buy two butterfly shaped sugar cookies, with strawberry frosting and two sugar cookies half chocolate frosted.