Well, I guess my sixth own home wasn't really my own. About five years earlier I had decided that I wanted to move abroad. I felt there was more to see in the world, than the little country I happened to be born in.
And people from my home country are very, how can I put it politely?, diplomatic. Another word is scared to stand out, to do anything that other people don't do, and to think it's important how you look to others. That doesn't suit me, so I wanted to move.
I was lucky. Well, let's say I pushed luck a little by being very annoying to my bosses and more or less forcing them to give me an assignment in another country. They caved in, and sent me for a 2-week project in the Netherlands.
I loved it! Cannot say I played a major role in getting the deal we finally signed (500 people from the IT company owned by the Dutch railways), but I was there. And I got invited to the celebration party, which really pissed off my current manager back home big time. He made me fly back at 7 in the morning, and even though I had people from the Dutch project, much higher in hierarchy than my manager, asking me to stay, I did fly back. Went straight from the party to sleeping half an hour on the plastic chairs at Schiphol before boarding the plane.
Anyway, after a few months I was asked to move to Utrecht and be part of the finance team for a couple of years. I took me less than a second to decide.
Ended up living in a house that the company rented for an American, who had gone home earlier than planned. Three floors, three bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen and two bathrooms. Paid by the company. At the same time I was renting out my flat back home. To the same company.
Never say I'm not business-minded.
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2 comments:
cool, what a sweet deal. Sounds like your boss was pretty petty minded, how sad
He was jealous, it was his boss who got me the deal.
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