A trading company of, guess, 1992 or thereabous, did lots of stuff, had wholesale and some retail, but came to fame for their tavern by the stadium, where they somehow managed to always have a good cook. My complaint to the tavern was being by the stadium. While it's true that the city doesn't have a club in the first league, actually the Proleter doesn't exist for many years now, but regardless the place gathers them sportsky types, there are other clubs, and it is very likely that the next table be occupied by a dispute over some sportsy subject - cash, selling players, who fucked whom over and how the referee was bought. Doesn't go well with the lunch, no matter how good the cook. Now when I recount my memory, my visits there are in single digit - not one evening in youth, then a couple of times pretend official visit when Marina asked that I'd come to install demo versions, once when Avai made my farewell [party], once in 2011 when we all went there for dinner (Ender drove the saxo twice), and once for my annual meeting with Marinko and that was it.
They were in the area where once the club was, in some old banatian mansion, with floor at least a meter above ground, must have had a hefty basement underneath. It was accessible from the ajnfor* up some unwieldy wooden stairs, rather steep and screwy. The main room, where the computers were, was in the back, partly facing the backyard, partly serving as a pass to the back wing, where the restroom was. The trouble with the toilet was that the sewer would clog on a whim, who knows who did that, so it wouldn't even pass toilet paper, so rather please put the discarded paper in this waste basket next to the sear. Ouch. We took care to stay there as short as possible, and to never forget to pee beforehand.
In the middle of that big room there was a huge table, which was either put together on the spot, or was made first and then the house built around it, because there was no theoretical chance that it was carried in, nor would it be possible to take it out without dismantling - of house or table, whichever is easier. Massive, heavy, unmovable. It could sit at least fifteen people, it carried all four computers (guess there were more later) and there was still room for all the papers, ashtrays, coffees and the rest. There was a problem with electricity, as it didn't exist when it was made, back in XIX century, so they brought it by extension cord. The cord wasn't long enough, so it hung some half meter above the floor, and it stretched right across the passage to the backrooms. We kept mentioning this firm as „where the girls lift [their] legs“, because there was no male staff there, even the owner was a lady (guess husband owned the tavern). The maam was also cute, not to mention the rest of the girls. Somehow it was mostly Grgi and me who went there, were considered specialized for commerce firms.
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* the under-roof driveway, probably from german Einführ or some such word. We mangle german words.
9-XI-2024 - 26-VI-2025