Second Chance

We were taken to an office building by a driver who spoke horrible broken English but had a killer sense of humour to make up for it. The building itself was as modern as anything that I could have found in Sydney, if not better; it stretched up into the sky further than I could see, and had windows so reflective that I had to stand and wonder for a moment if they weren't really mirrors plastered to the outside of the walls. The inside was just as stunning - creamy white walls with a soft navy blue carpet all around. It had an expensive hotel feel to it, and was incredibly busy.

It felt so good to escape the bus after having been on it all day that I didn't even mind the long trip on the elevator we were forced to take to reach one of the higher floors. We were lead up from the lobby by a man who introduced himself as Mark, an interpreter for the interviewer. As usual, Matt was the first to make small talk with him. I noticed that he did this a lot, and was coming to realise that it was done so that all of them could quickly become comfortable around these people that they were going to have to work with, even if it was only for a few short hours.

Matt was a pro. There was no doubt about it.

We ended up in the most luxurious office that I had ever seen. Far from the boring desk and uncomfortable chairs that I had imagined, the place was decorated in such a way that it was more like walking into a billionairre's living room; the uncomfortable chairs turned out to be spacious, plush couches, and the desk became a circular coffee table covered with a somehow organised looking mess of past editions of the magazine.

"Take a seat," he instructed, gesturing around the room. "Pedro should be with us shortly, so just make yourselves at home."

The guys did exactly that. Jimmy dropped his lanky frame onto one of the couches and kicked his feet up on the table, earning himself a reproachful look from Matt. The innocent look that crossed Jimmy's face was enough to get a laugh out of everybody else in the room, relaxing the atmosphere further.

I ventured away from the guys, leaving them to speak with Mark or flick through the magazines on the table. I examined the many things I could find hanging on the walls - some of them paintings, some of them live band photographs, a couple of them posted. At the far side of the room I found what I guessed to be certificates and awards framed and hung, though it was hard to be certain when none of it was in English.

Outside the window, Germany looked up at us from far below. Seeing the country first hand was a strange experience for me, though it took a little while for me to realise why. Back home, we'd been studying World War II in History; I could remember seeing countless pictures from the Holocaust. Somewhere along the way, that had become my image of Germany - I expected ruins of buildings and concentration camps around every second corner. Instead, I got modern, expensive looking buildings and a normal looking city. I really needed to open my eyes.

By the time I pulled my attention back to what was going on inside the room, the interviewer had arrived and was introducing himself to the guys with a little help from the interpreter.

I took my usual seat beside Zacky, knowing that we were going to be here for quite some time. I had listened in on the first interview they had done that morning, back on the bus, and had learned that it wasn't always as simple as the magazines made it seem. Especially when there was a need for an interpreter to be involved - they had to make sure that things didn't get lost in translation.

Despite my every intention to listen, I found my mind wandering. I caught the occasional snippet of conversation and had to wonder at how the guys managed to do it - it wasn't often that I heard a genuinely unique question, so to the guys it must have seemed like doing the same interview time and time again.

Boring.

It would have taken a lot of practice, I assumed, for them to build up the resistance that they obviously had against said boredom. Unsurprisingly, Matt was the best at it. He was all smiles, hands waving enthusiastically as he spoke. Jimmy hadn't moved from his spot on the couch, where he was still sprawled out and doing nothing more than listening in. For the most part it was Matt and Brian who did the talking, though occasionally Zacky spoke up. Johnny remained as quiet as Jimmy.

It soon became apparent to me why the interview was being done in a building as opposed to on the bus: a photoshoot was to follow. The guys insisted that they had known about it all along, but one look at what they were all wearing had me doubting their honesty. It wasn't even the fact that they were still wearing the exact same clothes that they'd been in the day before - it was the fact that they were a mess, looking like they'd just crawled out of bed.

"Nothing a little hair and make-up can't fix," Jimmy assured me. "You'll see."

He turned out to be right, of course. A quick trip to a lower floor had the guys by a group of women who clearly knew a lot more about hair and make-up than I ever would. In next to no time they had the guys looking fresh and new, ready for their shoot - all without making the guys look heavily made over at all. It was almost as if they'd fixed themselves up, only somewhat better.

We moved quickly from the make-up room to the photographic studio, just across the corridor. Here was a place where I stuck to the walls not only to keep out of the way, but to ensure that I didn't touch anything. Everything in the room - from the cameras to the flimsy looking umbrella lights - somehow managed to look like it costed more than my entire house and all its contents.

I got a few curious looks, and sunk deeper into the shadows.

The shoot itself was nothing too exciting - white backdrop, blank stares, Matt in the centre with Brian and Johnny to his right, Jimmy and Zacky to his left. Much like the interview itself, it was a lot like most other pictures that I had seen of them. Not all - but most.

How it didn't seem to bother them, I would never know.

There was no doubting that they all looked relieved by the time it was all over, though. They were all smiles as they thanked and farewelled each individual person who had been a part of the ordeal.

"Work's done for the day," Zacky informed me as he retreaved me from my corner. "Time to head off."

"Back to the bus?"

"Food first," Jimmy growled, giving us both a shove towards the elevator, "and then back to the bus."