Hur vi träffades
För er som inte har hört berättelsen hur det var när vi träffades för första gången har vi här försökt att skriva ihop hur det gick till. För att alla ska kunna läsa det så har vi valt att skriva det på engelska då Marc ännu inte fullständigt behärskar svenska språket i både tal och skrift. Marcs berättelse skulle i så fall vara ganska begränsad om han författade på svenska, istället får ni det med riktig amerikansk dialekt och slang.
Hur som helst, vi träffades i augusti 2006 i Washington, D.C....
Åsas berättelse
Marc and I met in August of 2006 in Washington, D.C. I had just returned back a couple of days earlier from a month long vacation in Sweden and my dear friend convinced me that we had to get together later and go out.
After hours of catching up and eating dinner we finally headed downtown D.C., it was close to midnight by the time we entered the bar/restaurant called ‘Lima’. It was packed with people and there was a long line to get in. Luckily my friend who is more used to the D.C. nightlife than myself, as I would almost never go out since I was mostly on the road traveling for work and had been for many months, decided that we would just pretend to know these people ahead of us who got in via the VIP line, so we naturally walked in behind them. If it was not for that quick decision I am sure we would still be standing in that line today…
Anyway, as we walked in we quickly made a round on the first floor but decided to check out the downstairs, which turned out to be even more crowded and much louder with the music playing. We made our way over to the bar and ordered a drink. While waiting for the drink to be served some guy turned around and asked me if I had some matches. At that moment I couldn’t decide if he was blind or just didn’t have a better opening line as there was a large glass bowl with matchboxes literally right in front us on the counter. I pointed to the glass bowl and turned away. At that moment my friend told me that there were two guys over by a pillar that had been staring at us for a while. I had not noticed a thing. Within a short moment I got a knock on my shoulder and I hear this voice saying, “Excuse me, but you look just like “Picaahboe Streetâ€. Again, it was very loud in this place so I could have heard it wrong but for a second I thought to myself that I knew I looked nothing like Picabo Street, which must have been the person I was compared to. Being a former competitive skier myself I was flattered and confused at the same time to be compared to an Olympic skier as I had not heard that one before. At least this opening line got me curious and this time I didn't point to the glass bowl with matches and turn away. I had barely got out my stimulating response of “Really?†when in a second this other guy who had been standing against the column quickly made his way over.
For the next twenty minutes that Marc and I were talking I found out that not only did he actually know that Sweden is a country in Scandinavia and that Stockholm is the capital, but also that he had been there numerous times and to top it all he even knew some Swedish! What was the chance that I would meet someone like that this very evening, especially since I had just arrived back from Sweden??? I picked up quickly that this guy was something very special or at least different from the normal crowd. Never before had I been asked the question exactly where in Stockholm I was from, more commonly do I have to explain where Sweden is in Europe. However, in the end the suburb Sollentuna, where I grew up in, was not familiar to Marc at all.
We only spoke briefly that evening but a few or several days later Marc called me, perhaps a few days extra than I would have preferred. But none the less we talked and decided to meet again and ever since we have been inseparable and have become the couple we are today. How luck or faith had it that we met that evening I am still amazed of and I could not be happier about where we are today and all the wonderful moments we have in front of us to look forward to.
Marcs berättelse
I was out with Mark Brzezinski for the first time since the night before. We started off at Nathan’s which is a bar on M and Wisconsin that can be interesting and can also be not so interesting. On this particular night it was full of middle aged alcoholics, which was not what we were looking for. That left us looking for a plan B and what would it be? A few months earlier I had been to Lima with my friend Bill Manger. No, not the Lima that is the exotic capital of Peru, home to one of the world’s oldest human civilizations and treasures, such as Machu Picchu. No, this is the small club in downtown D.C. that is also called Lima. Though it lacks historical and anthropological significance, they apparently make a nice bowl of hangover noodle soup.
I had been in the other Lima the once before on a Tuesday night and was surprised to find that there can be activity on a Tuesday in Washington, D.C. - something that had previously been unknown. As the brief stop at Nathan’s marched pointlessly on, it began to dawn on us that after twenty years patrolling Georgetown it might be time for a change. We decided to give Lima a shot. After all, if a Tuesday proved worthwhile, just think what a Saturday could offer…
That’s how things started and that’s where we were. Unlike some, we had no trouble getting in. I think we had started downstairs. The drinks were pretty good and the bartender wasn’t keeping an eye on the martini olives so there was plenty to eat. It was a pretty good crowd downstairs but after a little while we thought to move upstairs just for a change of scenery. What we didn’t know of course was how good the scenery was soon to become. There was a little pool with a fountain at the bottom of the stairs that was full of the obligatory loose change left behind by those who felt they needed a little good luck on their side to help the cause. I kept my coins in my pocket and went up the stairs.
Upstairs – now that’s where you wanted to be. It was open and quite modern without the frat-like humidity and crowd of the basement. We parked ourselves there for a little while and dissected our mutually held certainty that a then virtual unknown named Barack Obama would become the next president in a little over two years time. This went on briefly when all of a sudden our conversation was most pleasantly interrupted by what walked before us. Two women had just walked in the front door and we watched as they soon headed towards the stairs we had just ascended. Down they went. Both were equally attractive but in different ways; the first dark and exotic, the second fair and exquisite. I announced at once that we needed to meet them.
Now announcing a need to meet someone and actually meeting them are two essential, but vastly unequal parts of the same puzzle. When I say announcing it is essential, I do so because I’ll be damned if I am going to go up to some stranger who I want to meet and actually start a conversation with. Announcing it is essential because it puts Mark on notice that his ice-breaking skills will be required.
After a brief and invisible delay, we headed downstairs, spotted our targets and made sure to stand as far away from them at the bar as was humanly possible without leaving the bar. This was standard operating procedure. The point of this is that the farther away you stand, the more opportunity there is to move toward the target and feel as though you are making progress without actually having to initiate a conversation. We made several skillful moves in the right direction when all of a sudden Mark b-lined right to a column directly behind them in a single move and in doing so covered roughly 95% of the gap that had once existed. This was most irregular and put me in a very uncomfortable position. Things only got quickly more out of control as Mark went up to one of the two women and through a slight mispronunciation declared that she looked like a skier who didn’t exist or else one who had a name distantly similar to a skier who looked nothing like the woman.
However, as luck would have it this woman happened also to be a skier and found the comparison very intriguing. Soon we were introduced and I found out that her name was Asa, which placed her origins squarely in the middle of Sweden. In a typical bar talk she confirmed she was from Sweden and I asked “where†in an attempt to drill down a bit. She couldn’t quite hear and repeated “Sweden†so I repeated “where†and this went on about three times. Finally, she understood and said “Stockholm†and I repeated “where†trying to drill down again. This went on another three or so times before we got to Sollentuna.
So there I was in the wrong Lima, but with the right person. We exchanged numbers and I cleared out quickly so as not to mess up a good thing. If you only get one chance to make a first impression, what’s the point of sticking around once it has been made?
