Prost! (Audio Script)

Stories

So, this is the world famous Oktoberfest… or the Wiesn, as they say here in Munich.

It’s… loud.

And sticky.

And everyone smells like beer.

I know this is a huge bucket-list item for a lot of people, going to the original Oktoberfest, but I’m here against my will, more or less.

Am I regretting saying ‘yes’ to a trip to the Wiesn with my overzealous American co-workers? Yes.

But somehow I couldn’t say ‘no’ to the invitation. It’s a cultural milestone and I’m trying desperately to keep reminding myself of that.

This technically is a work trip, but we really haven’t got much done other than drinking.

“Hey, watch it!”

Great.

Now my dirndl is soaking wet.

With beer.

Shit, and I borrowed this from my co-worker.

Getting showered with beer seems like a common occurrence here.

Another reason why me and Oktoberfest really don’t seem to mix.

Guess I better go find somewhere to dry off…

I grab my wine glass and motion to my group that I’ll be right back.

They’re far more interested in the waitress passing out a new round of steins to the table.

God, this tent is packed.

I shoulder through women with elaborately braided hair and men in lederhosen dancing on benches to reach the fresh air.

Okay, Oktoberfest isn’t really that bad.

It’s actually really interesting how everyone celebrates German history and culture.

Maybe I just need to learn more about it. Get used it.

Mm, I think those are the toilets over there.

It’s way too cramped in here.

“Komm hoch!”

“Hey!”

A hand is held out in front of me.

I have no idea what he just said…

“Tanz mit!”

I have no idea why, but I take the offered hand and suddenly I’m being pulled up to the bench.

I’m squeezed between you and a huge guy in traditional German clothes on a plank of wood that’s far too narrow.

I’m forced to sway side to side to the beat of the brass band’s music.

You grin at me, offering your arm for me to hook mine into.

Okay, cute German guy…

“Uhh… hi!”

“Trinkst du gar kein Bier?”

“I don’t speak German!”

“Was?”

Oh, god, this is awkward.

How do I say ‘I don’t understand…’

“Um… I don’t… I don’t know…”

“Do you not drink beer?”

“Oh, great.

You do speak English.”

Your smile is boyish and a little crooked.

There’s an air of mischievousness about you, a warmth in your eyes, like every moment is a gift to you.

I realize I’ve been staring at you a little too long.

You lean forward to hear me better, so close the scruff of your cheeks almost brushes against my cheek.

There’s a scent lingering around you, not beer thankfully.

Sandalwood, I think.

“Um, no, not really.

I prefer wine.”

“Here? At Oktoberfest?

You’re drinking wine?”

“Yeah, well, in my defense, I’m not from around here.”

“What?”

“I’m not from here!”

You stumble forward a little in the process.

Your hand reaches out and quickly catches my shoulder to steady yourself.

“I’m sorry, I cannot hear you!

Let’s go outside for a minute, okay?”

“Uh… yeah, sure.”

You hop down off the bench and hold out your hand to help me down.

You don’t let go as you pull me through the crowd, until we’re finally in the fresh air.

“Whew, it was so hot in there.”

“So, you don’t like to drink beer, but you seem to like to bathe in it?”

I look down at myself and the beer stains still soaking my dirndl.

Of course I would look like a wet dog in front of a cute German guy.

“Ah, yeah, well, today is my Oktoberfest baptism and you’re cordially invited.”

“Oh, thank you for the invitation.

Here, I have some napkins, I think.”

“So, you are not from around here, you said.

How do you like Oktoberfest?”

“I’m more into, I don’t know, wine bars than I am falling off benches at beer halls.”

“Are you just visiting, then?”

“Yeah, I’m here for work. We’re working on this collaboration with a TV station in Munich and… yeah, not a lot of work getting done.”

For a moment we just stand here grinning at each other.

You’ve got that smile again, like you already know what I’m about to say.

There’s something charming about you, like you can be a gentleman one moment and a prankster the next.

I can’t decide what I like best about you.

Your devilish grin… or the little dimples on your cheeks.

Or your messy, disheveled hair.

Your big hands.

“Um… well, how about a ride on the ferris wheel?

There’s a very nice view of the city.

I can show you some attractions from up there.”

“Yeah, okay.

Let’s do it.”

There’s a look on your face like you know you’re bullshitting me.

You want much more than a Ferris wheel ride.

And, to be honest, I do too.

“Zwei Mal, bitte.”

You take my hand, just like before, and help me into a cherry-red gondola.

Your body is pressed close to mine as we get settled on the small bench.

Your hair flops in the sudden gust of wind as the ride begins to move.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

The sounds of the festival get quieter as we rise higher and higher up.

The booths, the beer tent, all of it shrinks down, like little toys to be played with.

I peer over the edge as the massive sprawl of the city comes into view.

You’re leaning over onto to look out my side of the car, despite having your own edge to look over.

For a few moments, we’re both just staring out at the city unfolding far below.

When I look over at you, you’re looking at me.

“You are looking for the towers?”

Impressive, you knew exactly what I was looking for.

I grin at you over my shoulder.

As I lean back against the bench, I shift a little closer to you.

The outside of our thighs touch.

And the press together.

We’re close to the top now, but not quite there yet.

“See them over there?

That’s the Frauenkirche.

And over there… Olympic tower.”

“Oh, we went to the Olympic park yesterday.

I see it now…”

At the topmost point, the Ferris wheel stops and our gondola hangs in the crisp night air, swaying gently with the occasional gusts of wind.

Goosebumps rise on my arms and down into the plunging neckline of my dirndl.

“Are you cold?”

“Oh, I’ll be fine, it’s okay.”