Story of the week 44

It's Sunday at 9 a.m. The weather is unpleasant, and I'm still tired. I open the large, heavy hall door on Burgunderweg and start fiddling with the locking mechanism. One of the older gentlemen had explained to me a few days ago how to adjust it, so the door stays ajar. Otherwise, the doorbell would ring incessantly while I set up for today's tournament, as the participants arrive one after the other. This not only distracts me from setting up, but the noise itself is even worse. A bloodcurdling screech that could wake the dead.

As I devote my full attention to the door and its stubborn mechanism, I'm suddenly and loudly reprimanded: “How dare you damage the door!” With a snide remark on my lips, I glance up when I recognize the caretaker… and decide it's best to say nothing. I'm made clear that I'd better not try that again, or our department will be banned from the hall. I use my entire arsenal of rhetorical skills to calm the caretaker down and apologize. Inwardly, I think to myself: What fantastic timing—did it have to happen today, of all days?

Ten minutes later, after I start setting up, I'm just assembling the barriers and tables with my teammate when an announcement blares out of nowhere over the hall's loudspeakers—with the quality of a doorbell, of course—loud, screeching, and painful to the ears. Completely startled, I listened to the words: “The table tennis department head, please come to my office immediately!” The echo lingers… Did that really happen? I look at my colleague. He sees my confusion in my questioning look and nods. “Yes, you're the one he's talking to.”

I spend what feels like an eternity in the caretaker's office. The accumulated frustration over working with my sports club breaks over me. I quickly realize: I have to salvage this situation—but how? Luckily, my communication seminar wasn't that long ago. I push my annoyance aside and begin to listen. I ask follow-up questions and genuinely try to understand. Slowly, I start to grasp his perspective. As soon as it's clear that I'm interested in a constructive approach and finding solutions, the conversation takes a constructive turn. Unaware that this was a crucial moment that would save my day months later, I let the initial reprimand wash over me, and we parted ways on good terms.

A few months later—it's mid-September—it's time to plan another tournament: our department's internal championships. I'm sitting at the breakfast table, going through my checklist. The large association hall was booked months in advance, the written confirmation has arrived, and everything is settled. My phone buzzes. Unusual for the time. I let myself get distracted and check the message: “Have you read about this regional girls' tournament?” I stare at the message and the accompanying flyer in disbelief. The girls' tournament is taking place on the same day as our championships, in the same hall. After a few phone calls, it becomes clear: I have to swallow the bitter pill and reschedule my championship. The association offers me a date a few weeks later. At least that's something.

It's three days before the rescheduled date for our championship. I come up from my basement office to the dining table for lunch and see a missed call on my cell phone. The deputy manager of my club has called. I think it's worth calling back. Quite casually, I'm informed that the association's hall floor has been cleaned and is now being resealed. It has to dry for 24 hours so that no one can use the hall until the weekend – bam. The championship is on Friday. In that same hall. What's wrong with people? Who planned this, or rather, didn't plan it? I struggle to maintain my composure and find solutions.

As a club, we have several halls, and it's the school holidays. Surely something can be found. There's that one hall at Bindfeldweg with the disastrous lighting. If the sun shines on Friday, we can essentially cancel the championship. That leaves only the hall at Burgunderweg, which I usually use for my tournaments. However, we don't have access to that hall during the week. Thanks to the autumn holidays, the caretaker is also off work and on vacation. So, we're left with two options: cancel the championship altogether or hold it under poor conditions in the Bindfeldweg hall.

It was precisely at this point, in my moment of greatest desperation, that my recent, lengthy conversations with the caretaker from Burgunderweg and the gradual development of a good relationship proved invaluable. I managed to reach him during his vacation. I explained my predicament and why it was quite time-critical for me to disturb him during his holiday. He immediately helped me and, within minutes, arranged for me to get the caretaker's key. The championship was saved.

The day was a resounding success; the venue was fantastic for the participants, and over thirty people enjoyed exciting competitions accompanied by a delicious buffet. And all of this was made possible by the willingness to listen on a dreary Sunday morning.