The Last Liver Sausage

Three weeks in a DEKRA training program hunting for internship placements. Started with maybe fifteen people. Eight actually showed up. By the end, it was four of us. Andi, who lived in the Antenne Bayern chat getting fake-married to bots, Sven driving his death trap up the B12 with no sense for overtaking, Alex who looked like he was printed straight from a farming catalog, and me. A strange little crew.

Frau Mayer gets credit for dragging us through that with nothing but stubbornness. Vinzenz Murr’s butcher shop too, though his sandwiches always had something off about them—the schnitzel noodles, the liver sausage with mustard, always some buried wrong note. And the V-Markt runs kept us moving, iced tea and cheap sausages, that whole thing.

I learned actual things, somehow. How to run pointless commands in the Antenne Bayern chat. That computers will genuinely refuse to load a two-euro World of Warcraft demo. How to collect MySpace friends without trying. Probably something about applications too, though that part’s fuzzy now.

Next Monday starts another internship. Nursing home. Scaring elderly people eight hours a day. Could be worse.