I. Dave the Dude, Free‑Market Ambassador
By Berger Bronte
(© Tom Popper)
The woman on the tram is looking at me. She wants me and why shouldn’t she? I’m a confident American in corporate attire. I’m exotic. My parents have money. I smile at her and she looks out the window — pretending not to notice. I know I could change her life with one word. Take her out of her dead‑end job at the salami factory and into the glamourous world I live in. She would jump at a chance to get to know me, but why should I give her a break like that? I guess I do feel some pity for her. Still, I can’t save every woman in this God‑forsaken country. The thigh‑length high-heeled boots and ass‑length blond hair are also an attraction. Sexy, yes. But naive — completely out of style. Like this whole place: hopelessly backwards.
Yes, Hungary needs help. And I need money. That’s why I’m here. I’m Dave Devoran, also known as Dave the Dude, free‑market ambassador.
My grandmother was part Hungarian, or maybe it was my grandfather. That’s why, when I graduated college, I knew this was where I belonged. Besides, American companies didn’t understand what I could do for them. The job search there was a major disappointment. You know the lines: “Sorry there’s a recession on.” ... “Our company already has a CEO, but we have openings in the mail room.” ... “Do you think it’s wise to put that kind of grade‑point‑average on your resumé?” ... “Is that college in Tijuana acredited?” Fools. They need me but they don’t know it. It’s different here. Hungary is hungry for what I’ve got: raw talent. They’ve been pushed around by communists for so long that they don’t know what the hell they’re doing. It takes people like me to show them the way.
So I’ve got a line on a major position at HungaroAmerTechImpexConsult Kft. They have an American investor — a big behind‑the‑scenes kind of guy. My father has blackmail on him. I’m going to get a job.
Now the woman is standing up, pretending that her stop is coming soon. Our eyes meet as she steps around me, but again she looks away — obviously intimidated. She can hear opportunity knocking, but she’s afraid to answer. She probably doesn’t even speak the language. My language, the language of freedom and money. I decide to give her a thrill. I step toward her, trying to remember the Hungarian words for “Where is the fishmarket?” but I’m stopped by a cold hand on my shoulder. It’s one of those conductors with the red arm bands. Of course I don’t have a ticket. Doesn’t he know no one buys those things? Am I supposed to pay just because I’m a foreigner? I want to tell him: “Where’s the swastika you control freak?” Instead I go into my routine.
“No speak Magyar,” I say. “But I’m really enjoying your lovely country.”
“Passport please,” he says in a crude imitation of English.
Bastard. I can see myself in a Hungarian detention camp, living on fried grease and raw maggots, locked up with a bunch of disgruntled communists who would love to get their hooks into a wealthy, healthy, product of capitalism like me.
Time to talk bribery. The creep won’t take dollars so we settle on Ft 5,000. Dad would thank me if he knew how much I’d just saved him on legal fees. When the deal is done I look around, but the blonde’s gone. Her loss. Hell, for all I know she was working with the conductor guy — some kind of undercover decoy. I know how the communist mentality still pervades law enforcement around here. I won’t play their patsy.
The job interview is a bureaucratic joke. Mr. Badfeet or Backseast or something — he can’t even pronounce his name clearly — wants to know what sort of experience I have so I give him the spiel: Art History is the best major you can have to prepare for a business career — especially if you don’t go to class; I picked up reams of international experience during my semester abroad at Tijuana (You think that guy on the tram was the first official I ever bribed?).
My attitude is even more irresistible than my resumé. They’ve got to say yes. I should report to Mr. Goback (Blowjack? — again with the names). He’ll be away for the next month. Until then I sit in a vacant office. I can see this reforming Hungary business isn’t going to be easy. Fools. They need me but they don’t know it.