From the life of a community manager
From the life of a community manager
There is a gentle knock on the bedroom door. Multiple. Subtle, but still emphatic. Again and again. First I pull my duvet with the elegant Mimikama logo over my head, but fine silk just doesn't filter out this relentless pounding. I reluctantly open my eyes and take a surprised look at my gold alarm clock:
"Oh Lord! Already six o'clock! “Work is calling!” I murmur quietly to myself. At least it was so loud that Mimi stopped knocking, opened the door slightly and, like every morning, asked where I would like to have my breakfast today. Who is Mimi? My maid and the good soul of my villa. As a community manager, you are at least someone and are of course kept happy by such amenities.
“On the terrace today please, thank you very much!”. I'm dressing casually today: no tuxedo, a suit and tie with a Windsor knot is enough. There probably won't be too many guests there at this time. Breakfast is, as always, bliss.
“Mimi, please let the car drive up. I'm late!" - "Which one today?" - "The Bentley!" - "You're welcome, boss!"
The Bentley drives up for an eternity of at least a whole minute. “Ah yes, finally the wheel hubs also have the Mimikama logo,” I muse and take a seat on the elegant leather seats in the rear. Like every morning, my driver gracefully closes the door, takes a seat behind the wheel and shortly afterwards looks into the rearview mirror and asks in a sonorous voice: “Can I drive you directly to the Fake Hunter headquarters, boss?” And like every morning I answer: “Of course, as long as you remembered my suitcase?” Even if I already know the answer, I'll still ask. Without my suitcase I would be lost. “The suitcase is of course on board, boss!”
When I arrive at the Fake Hunter headquarters, I first check in with my colleagues. Seventy-eight monitors provide information about everything that happened on the last day and was relevant enough to report on. After all, it's important for me to be on topic when I go to the community straight away. Into the lion's den, so to speak. The next fifteen hours will again demand everything from me today.
Footsteps echo on the Italian marble that our boss recently had flown in as part of the extensive renovation. Our press spokesman rushed past me, gave a quick salute and urged on his pilot, who could hardly keep up with his pace. Apparently there was another external appointment and we were late. We can only hope that our private jet is already refueled and ready for use.
Upper Thumb Tom was on the phone when I entered his office and motioned for me to sit down. “Of course that honors us, but that is out of the question for us. Nevertheless, thank you very much for your offer. Goodbye!"
“Zuckerberg again?” – “Who else. He wanted to add five hundred thousand more.” Tom replied, rolling his eyes.
“Back then he would have gotten us for free, remember?” Tom smiled with pleasure.
“ Well, it’s too late now. He had his chance! Shall we have another salmon bite or do you have to go?” – “Unfortunately I’m late, next time I’d be happy!” – “Okay, then have fun. “Don’t forget..” – “…your suitcase, I know!” I smiled at the upper thumb, said goodbye and quickly walked to the parking lot where my driver was already waiting for me. “Engine on, move forward!” – “Yes, boss!”.
Even today, just getting to the community is extremely difficult. Thousands of cheering members line the path, clap their hands enthusiastically when they see our limousine and, despite severe tendinitis, I wave back with a dignified smile and a friendly smile.
“We'd better take the back entrance, boss!” – “Yes, please. And don’t forget your suitcase!” – “Of course not, boss!”
My driver carries my suitcase into the office and says goodbye with an implied servant. It's about to start. I open my suitcase and check meticulously to make sure everything is there. Every day I breathe a sigh of relief if this is the case. Same today.
While I'm benevolently acknowledging the opulent bouquet of flowers and happily biting into a morsel of salmon, presumably served by Tom, the alarm bell suddenly rings loudly and relentlessly. “Oops, I forgot the time clock!” I get annoyed and make up for my omission with a well-aimed, perfectly formed and stable dive.
The Oide, as we can affectionately call our upper thumb, doesn't know how to joke!
Three times too late, and – boom! – not only will the salmon snacks be replaced by rollmops from the jar, but our salary will also be drastically reduced. Anyone who knows how much a Bentley consumes will understand how unpleasant that is. Not to mention Mimi, who then only works on the back burner and no longer ties my tie.
I look out of the office into the huge hall and count how many counters are already occupied to get an initial overview. “A lot going on!” I am amazed and set off to go from counter to counter like every day to follow the exciting discussions that are taking place there on countless topics. Never without my suitcase, of course.
I go to the first counter, put my suitcase down, look forward to a strong coffee and try to find out who the bartender actually is. This usually happens quite quickly, as the bartender concession currently has almost 10,000 people, namely everyone who has joined our community and can identify with our Savoire Vivre.
But the concession itself is one thing, the opening of a bar is another: the bartender must first submit an application in which he briefly and succinctly explains his intention to serve other guests. The most meaningful and exciting applications then lead me to rush to the bartender and hand him the key. With a sigh, I throw applications with the significance of a dented watering can into one of the huge wastebaskets that serve as a memorial throughout our community and that make our caretaker Minus Karma blush with anger every day because his back is emptying the heavy garbage cans in seventeen in virtual national languages in gutter jargon what he thinks about the constant smuggling.
“That one at the front should be the bartender, boss!” spoke and pointed to two shiny patent leather shoes peeking out from behind the bar, which every now and then moved rhythmically across the bar floor, paused briefly, and then shuffled rhythmically across the bar floor again. “ Why is he lying behind the counter and not finally getting up?” I ask the hall service employee who always supplies the counters with everything that is needed.
“Boss, his guests bottled it!” – “Bottled?” – “Bottled. But really bottled! As you can see, he can’t even get up behind his counter!”. It's slowly dawning on me: what he's doing with his sparkling patent leather shoes is neither part of an application video for "Let's Dance!", nor a secular sign of the resurrection of Michael Jackson, who performs the foxtrot in three-quarter time with a Moonwalk Two Zero would like to bring wealth to the orthopedic surgeons of the world, since the time a patient spends in bed with a twisted knee and torn ligaments is proportional to the grandiose new building of another chic villa.
“Please lend a hand, we’ll help him get on his feet first!” – “Grab your belt – and: hooooooch!” – “Boss, please leave the suitcase here, I have to leave tomorrow morning!” – “Wait and see, maybe you can do it without a suitcase.” A glimmer of hope reflected in Minus Karma's eyes. “We’ll get him fit, I bet!”.
“Hey, bartender! Open your eyes! Good this way. But both eyes, both! Better! Much better! Oops, not bad, it can happen. We’ll be happy to help you get back on your chair!”. Karma tugs and tugs, looks at me pleadingly and is visibly relieved that I'm helping again. As soon as he reaches the vertical position, the bartender gyrates his hips so expressively as if he were taking part in the women's synchronized swimming world championships out of competition. After commuting, however, it reminded me of my aunt Käthe, who never really recovered from her broken femur and the subsequent rehab.
"Barkeeper? What's going on here?". On the ninth attempt to formulate something like a few somewhat understandable words by forming the lips while simultaneously exhaling indefinable smells, it actually worked.
Personally, I'm unsure whether it's because of the bucket of water that Karma poured over his head. Could be, but doesn't have to be. Now the spirits seem to be returning, because the sudden and long-lasting flatulence has a simultaneous, fervent tryst with an eructation, which Martin Luther would probably have interpreted as an effusive thanks to a three-day twelve-course meal and would have inspired him to propose further theses.
"Ah understand! We're closing here for now, get some sleep and we'll take a look tomorrow. Do you want me to call you a taxi or can you find your way out on your own?”
As if remotely controlled, Mister Lackschuh crawls towards the exit and reminds me of a prizefighter who ran into an uppercut and was catapulted through the ring ropes with a triple Rittberger. Meanwhile, Kama was arguing over the phone with the taxi company about why they couldn't line the trunk with vomit-resistant film for transport instead of having to deal with the horrendous cleaning costs of a standard back seat.
Off to the next pub. Oh, what's going on here? It's packed - and instead of chatting at the numerous tables, the majority of the guests stand on the chairs and shout wildly, so that even with all conceivable goodwill, neither canon nor a heavy metal version of the Fischerchoren can be heard?
“Your suitcase is ready, boss. Horn or nitrous oxide?” – “Blow please.” – “50 or 100 db?” – “Twice 100, Kama.” – “Sure?” – “Sure!” Kama puts the two horns in my hand and mumbles something about being back in a moment or something like that. And he was gone. Damn, where the fuck are my... ah, there they are. Admittedly, I had to fight for it for a long time, but at some point the Oide came to his senses and gave me a pair of earplugs for my work. With Mimikama logo, of course. Not just any earplugs, but the best!
“TRÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖT”
I enjoy the moment, remove my earplugs with the Mimikama logo, pack the two horns back in my suitcase and am pleased that most of those present did not fall on the hard floor, but largely on the chairs and that the change to them was now mandatory The necessary sign language worked. According to my experience, after two times one hundred decibels, the latency period to regain any hearing should take around three hours. And since the guests are now all sitting in a beeping boat and sign language apparently offers less potential for conflict than shouting at each other, I can now go to the next tenant in his establishment.
Minus Kama suddenly joins me again. Smart, the Kama. No ringing in the ears. “Just had to step out for a moment, boss!” – “Exactly, Kama.” Kama smiled. “First a coffee or straight on?” – “Continue. We still have a lot of pubs to go!”.
“Help, to help! Heeeeeeeeeeeeeessssssssssssssssed through the venerable halls. “Right there!” Kama pointed to three women who, as evidenced by their deep red complexions, were gesticulating wildly and apparently threatening to collectively hyperventilate. We rush over, and while Kama, professionally like an emergency doctor, pulls three paper bags - with the Mimikama logo, of course - out of the suitcase and presses the three women's mouths and noses, I rummage through the suitcase for the thick furs.
The gasping disappeared as quickly as it came. Now it should be possible to ask a few careful questions. “Calm down, what happened?” – “We were attacked at the front of the bar and we only asked one question!” – “You were attacked?” – “ Yes, we were attacked! Unbelievable how insulted we were! We would ask stupid questions, we would be too stupid to use that weird search engine, and so on and so forth!”.
While Kama gives me a meaningful look, I politely inquire about the women's clothing sizes. After all, they are wearing clothes that are far too thin for this time of year, which also seems very unsuitable for a hearty visit to the pub. Phew, lucky: the three thick skins fit perfectly and the ladies' mood seems to brighten immediately. “Can we keep them?” – “Of course, with pleasure!” – “Well, then let’s go back to the pub. It actually seems to have been because of our clothing, the other guests all had thick skin too.” – “Always happy. And if it still gets too cold for you, just press the red button. Then we turn on the heating and really ventilate things!”.
The following are four hundred and twenty-eight other pubs that we visited on our tour.
As a rule, we are greeted with a friendly “Hello!” and are then happy to sit down at the table to take part in the exciting discussions. These are the moments when we are incredibly proud and grateful to have this wonderful job. Sometimes we collapse in a bar and let not only five, but also ten. Then a little work is left behind - and the next day Mimi just has to set the alarm clock a little earlier. It's so. We are human beings. And we can sometimes go overboard.
Today's conclusion after four hundred and twenty-eight bars? I'm really looking forward to pub four hundred and twenty-nine! Because this is THE pub par excellence. The crème de lá crème of our community hangs out there. Okay: it needs to be painted again and the counter as well as the tables and seating probably look worn at first glance - but we lovingly refer to this as “patina”, knowing full well that every flaw and every greasy-looking piece of leather is exactly what defines our charm:
We are not perfect. We make no claim to it at all. Rather, we are a living community that uses the resources we provide. Used. Gives them patina - making them more and more beautiful over time.
Kama rolls his eyes again because I start philosophizing again. I just can't help myself when I open the door to four hundred and twenty-nine. I wouldn't want it any other way!
“As always, boss?” – “Of course, Kama!” – “How could I ask. Sorry!” – “Everything is fine!”
Kama has always had problems with our beloved ritual of entering the Four Hundred and Twenty-Nine. This is solely due to the fact that the number of square, finely ground glass pieces is constantly increasing and as a result the frame has to be rebuilt and expanded every day.
“Boss, standing here and now there are exactly 9,791 stones that we have to put together like a puzzle!” – “No, Kama. We have to, not, we can!” – “Yes, boss. But why don't we just leave the mirror hanging in the evening and then add the new stones in the morning after we have adjusted the frame?" - "Because each of these 9,791 stones should be equally beautiful and each individual stone represents a person who Part of our community is, Kama!”.
Like every day, we get to work, put our stones together, adjust the frame and hang the beautiful MIRROR we created in the subtle light in the entrance area of our pub Four Hundred and Twenty-Nine. It is not without pride that we stop looking in and silently examine ourselves. Knowing full well that that is exactly what every single guest at Four Hundred and Twenty-Nine does when they look at themselves in this beautiful mirror and realize that such a large structure made of so many glass stones, despite the corners and edges, grows into a mirror that is lovable and worth preserving, in which one can see oneself and... likes to view his virtual friends and see them as part of our Mimikama community.
Lost in thought, I look out the window of the four hundred and twenty-nine and see our company jet on the horizon.
No doubt, it has to be Andre. As always, he flies a victory lap over our southern headquarters and, after a perfect loop, blows the Mimikama logo into the air along with an order for a cool blonde.
A look at the clock tells me that it's getting later again today. Far too many interesting people here, far too many exciting discussions and far too many waiting emails that I can still answer tomorrow. I go to my suitcase one last time for today and swap my oh-so-important manager outfit for jeans and a sweatshirt.
“Boss, should I… fill up the suitcase?” – “…fill it up? No, today we’ll put it in the middle of the table in the four hundred and twenty-nine and simply let our guests fill it.”