Conversation had at the hostel’s kitchen table.
Margaret. You think there are weird people at this hostel? I met the weirdest guy ever at a hostel I volunteered for in Scotland.
Billy. What was he like?
Margaret. Well first of all, his name was Octavian and he was a thirty-six years old Romanian guy volunteering in Scotland so he could sample all the different varieties of scotch.
Billy. He already sounds like a winner.
Margaret. What was even weirder was that he volunteered at all these hostels and yet he didn’t know how to make a bed. That, and he would constantly talk about how much money he had. “Oh Margaret,” he would say, “I just bought a boat for back home.”
Billy. Sounds like he was trying to impress you.
Margaret. Yeah he tried to sleep with me. *shudders*
Billy. I’m surprised that no lucky lady had already locked him down.
Margaret. He did have a girlfriend I think. But he referred to her as his Muse, and apparently she was doing volunteer work in Africa.
Billy. Probably to get away from him.
Margaret. He would talk about his knife collection, and wax poetic about his guns back home.
Billy. What a catch.
Margaret. And there was this one time where he baked everyone scones—seems like a nice gesture, right? Well no one ate them because the day before he was talking about how he hadn’t seen a whole hostel with food poisoning in a while.
Billy. No one here even comes close to that level of insanity.
Margaret. No one yet. Oh, and did I mention he had a pony tail?