Who the **** is Marek?

I left Kraków originally in June last year, and when I came back to visit in October, I managed (thankfully) to revive my old SimPlus card, with a little help - and a lot of please hold - from the Plus GSM store in Galeria Krakowska.

Upon opening my address book (when I finally found it on my rather confusing new phone), it slowly dawned upon me that I was completely unable to remember which numbers corresponded to which acquaintances.
My contact list looked a little something like this**:
Adam
Adrian
Ania
Ania
Asia
Asia
Asia
Bartek
Bartek

The Cs were largely occupied by Anglo-Americans, which was no less confusing.

Now, I admit that a fair proportion of my English address book consists of Jo, Jo, Jo, Matt, Matt, Chris, Chris, but somehow it doesn't seem nearly as bad, really.

Worse still, several of the names come in work/non-work pairs. The potential for drunken disaster is overwhelming. I have long advocated the invention of a telephone breathalyser, or an alcohol-lock function on Outlook, and I suspect that Poland will be the first to develop one.

Maybe it's the fact that everyone has to be named after a saint, or maybe that the parents of my acquaintance en masse decided to name their children the same to save on imienia parties. Or maybe I'm just foreign and unused to it. Whatever the reason, it seems to me that there are just a handful of popular Polish names distributed across the whole population, and it's very confusing.
If I were a Polish parent, I would give my kids exciting, weighty names like 'Jagoda' and 'Bogumił'. I think it would be character building, particularly in an inner London comprehensive.

However, the name game can work in your favour... and here's an example:

On Saturday night we were out in the town centre celebrating my flatmate's birthday. Around eleven, we started to feel a healthy urge to leave our nice, cosy bar in search of psuedo-R'n'B, convulsive strobe lighting and a dancefloor sticky with the spilled remains of overpriced cocktails.

It turned out that one of our group planned to meet some friends at a new club on Szewska. She invited us along.
A mass of heaving bodies crammed itself into the passageway leading to our club (upstairs) and its neighbour (in the basement). I looked up at the arched ceiling and prepared for a long wait.
But no... wait... our party had already disappeared into the crowd ahead. I pushed my way through.
- Yes she's with us,
The doorman taped a pink bracelet onto my wrist and even let me keep my bottle of Kropla Beskidu (this got me thrown out of Łubudubu once. Or possibly Kitsch. I can't remember which is which).
We trooped up the steps and into and out of the szatnia and even managed to find a table. No sooner had we sat down and wiped the gloop off the cocktail menu than the club hostess showed up, a look of concern on her face. The music was loud and I couldn't hear a thing, but within minutes everyone got up and moved in the direction of a door off the dance floor.

- We're going to the VIP room!
- The VIP room?

I had never before in my life been in a VIP room. I am not normally inclined to 'club'.

The hostess opened the door and ushered us in.

The walls were quilted with silver satin-effect padding. Shiny cushions in a feverish shade of crimson slipped off the leather seating. Dewy young flesh slid lasciviously across a flat television screen at one end of the windowless den. I checked over my shoulder for the Ukrainian mafia.

- Uh... which of you is Marek? asked the hostess.

- Marek? I whispered
- K's friend: it's his birthday, we're in because she knows him.
- Ah.

We ordered dacquiris and beer and settled back rather awkwardly on the slippery cushions, wondering whether to thank the as yet unknown Marek.

About half an hour and a cocktail or two later, the hostess came back.

- Just when is Marek planning to arrive?
We assured her that he was on his way and then turned to K:
- You do actually know Marek, don't you? You didn't just make him up?

And here's the thing. What are the chances of it being the birthday of someone called Marek in any given club in town on any Saturday night? Surely if you take one name per weekend and try each venue, eventually you'll manage to get the right name on the right day at the right place? Better still, why not increase your chances of success and pick name days?

Maybe Polish names aren't so confusing after all...


* I really apologise for my continually worsening English. I can only blame legal translation and the fact that I occupy a significant part of each day kaleczeniem języka polskiego razem z innymi obcokrajowcymi. You see what I mean.
** names have been changed - ha ha - to protect identity. Although I'm pretty certain I do know three Asias, I can think of at least four Barteks and maybe two Anias.