Page 14 of Back Room Host

“Oliver Dietrich? Melanie Kopp?”

I shook my head slightly.

“My goodness, Luca. They’re your fellow students. For two and a half years. Don’t tell me you don’t know who they are.”

I shrugged awkwardly, indicating embarrassment, even though I didn’t care who the two were. They were probably nice, as they had left me alone throughout the past five semesters.

“Exchange ideas with them.”

I abruptly shook my head. “I’m not particularly good with other people. And since it’s usually mutual …”

Despite my trainer’s persistent attempts to reassure me that I wasn’t causing any inconvenience to others and encouraged me to be more forthcoming, my past experiences remained my guiding principle. I was firm in my belief that maintaining self-restraint would ultimately lead to a sense of well-being.

Best example: Juri. I had stepped out of my comfort zone and tried to win him over, but he had fled the bar almost immediately.

Too bad, because I found it somehow easy to talk to him. Normally, interacting with people was exhausting to me, and especially so for Verena. But I wouldn’t vent my anger here. That’s what the training was for later.

Verena sighed. “It wouldn’t hurt if you still sat down with them. Sooner or later, when it comes to the final presentation, you’ll have to. And here on these three pages, it’s not even clear to me if it’s going to be a short film or a screenplay.”

“It’s a treatment; of course, it’s a short film.” The conversation drained my energy, and I had to try hard not to roll my eyes—though I was less annoyed with my mentor and more with myself. I knew the idea was good, but since I had spent the entire weekend trying to find a new job, I didn’t have enough time to put something tangible on paper. With the semester coming to an end, I was starting to feel the pressure. Damn it! I already knew it wasn’t enough, but I hadn’t expected her to reject me so outright.

“I’m sorry. I can’t give you my signature, unfortunately.”

That hit hard. She looked me straight in the eyes as I choked down the fat lump in my throat. “The semester isn’t over yet. Is there a possibility?”

Verena flipped through the pages of her Moleskine agenda. “Wednesday in two weeks is December 21st. We can meet then. If you have a finished concept by then that meets the school’s requirements, we can wrap it up this semester. Otherwise, it could be tight. Maybe it’s a good idea for you to extend the semester. That way, you still have the entire spring semester to work on the final project.”

I couldn’t handle this kind of pressure at all. This was about art, damn it! I leaned back and interlocked my hands behind my head. With her fine liner in hand, Verena raised her eyebrows at me.

“What choice do I have?” I asked in defeat.

“So, Wednesday, December 21st. We can meet here. Or would you rather go to a café?”

“Here is fine.”

I didn’t feel like sitting in a café. In the end, she might choose a place where I had worked in the past. No thanks. It was enough that we were surrounded by other students here in the cafeteria. If it were up to me, we would meet in her office, but she probably thought it would be more appropriate to discuss something like this over coffee.

“Again at ten o’clock?”

“Fine by me.”

“If you have something, you can also send it to me by email beforehand. I’d be happy to review it.” In the meantime, she scribbled the appointment in her book and stowed it back in her huge leather bag. A dark brown strand of hair fell across her face, which she tucked behind her ear. She then checked to see if there was still coffee in her cup, and it was evident she wanted more,but I could also tell that she didn’t necessarily want to drink it with me.

As the study director, Verena eventually approached me and asked about my preferences for a mentor since I hadn’t made an effort to find one. I had none, so she urged me to choose someone. With a shrug, I picked her. Since she had only one student under her wing, she couldn’t exactly refuse me. Verena was okay, but she definitely was not my first choice to grab another coffee with. So I packed my things, stood up, and slipped into my jacket.

“Okay, then …”

“Don’t worry, Luca. Your ideas are good. But they’re still scattered and a bit all over the place. Like you’re trying to do too much. Once you’ve organized them and put them into a reflective concept, you’ll find it easier to get to work. Besides, this is a final project, not about winning an Oscar.”

She was right, and yet it annoyed me as I stepped out onto the street. I got on the bus and headed to training. It was the only way to relieve this inner pressure. On the way to the studio, my thoughts were solely focused on the final project, and it was driving me crazy.

The back rooms were everywhere now. But the worst part was that they were spreading in my mind, gnawing through my brain and sucking up everything that was left of conceptual ideas. All that remained were empty rooms, their walls gradually threatening to collapse under pressure. And me? I wandered aimlessly through the labyrinth, still trying to figure out how I had even ended up in these back rooms. What did I have to lose here? Or better yet: What was I actually looking for? Because every time I sat down to work, there was a gaping void inside me.

The studio wasn’t very busy yet, which suited me just fine. The punching bag was free, so I claimed it and started working out. I knew very well that I was responsible for most of thepressure, not Verena, but that didn’t necessarily make it easier to deal with.

After about half an hour of working out on the punching bag, I was already drenched in sweat when Dario came over with the mitts.

“Come on, let’s continue in the ring. You look like you need to blow off more steam than usual.”

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