Different Strokes

Where is the light switch? Oh that’s right, it’s located on the outside of the room.  It would be too easy to have it located on the inside.  Since this is Germany, there has to be a process to entering a room. First, one must turn on the light to the room one is entering. Next, the door must be closed. Then, simply enjoy.  But, what if one wants to turn off the light, say to go to sleep without having to open the door? That’s a great question, and one where the process to turn off the light begins.  First, one must open the door. Next, the light must be turned off. Thirdly, sleep can resume. But, what if I am  sleepy from a long hard day, want to stay in bed and turn off the light which presumably most people in civilized cultures would like nothing more than to do? Move to America!  So many times I’ll be in the room, close the door and….DOOH!! After the 12^th time in a single day, I usually just sit in the dark.

It’s these seemingly little differences that accumulate up to create this alien world known as Germany. Sundays, businesses are shut down, but the powers that be don’t stop there.  They even shut off the traffic lights around the mall areas to save energy!    In a restaurant, any restaurant, you have to pay for water. The bus boy coming around with a big jug of unlimited tap water anytime your glass is empty is not happening.  Beef is expensive, way more expensive than in the states. A thick juicy steak with some veggies is going to cost you a week’s salary. But if you want some pig, here’s a dump truck full for 3 euro! The refrigerators are smaller, for energy efficiency and because people don’t “Costco” shop. They purchase a few items for a couple of days, not for next year’s Christmas Eve Party.  Many apartments don’t come with kitchens. You have to buy them! Cabinets, refrigerator, dish washer, sink, the works. When you do get that place, 3 months deposit is required instead of 2. Untrusting bastards. The first floor is really the second floor. A two-bedroom is really a ONE bedroom.  To open a door, you pull, not push. To get off the subway, you have to push a button to open the door!  The German engineers have built a microwave that has somehow harnessed the power of the sun. They are incredibly strong!  All German’s stare. They love it!  Hint for tourists*; reciprocate by crossing your eyes and sticking your  tongue out to the side to make them stop. Instead of paper towels, the bathrooms have this self cleaning towel roller thing! That’s where I get off the Save the Trees train.  Can a brother get some paper towels please!  Serving size is smaller, even at the supermarket. Quality over quantity I guess. Book stores are still thriving….for now. Starlight Express the musical is STILL going on here! Do u want to know where the American pop star goes when they die??? They come here with the same song and talk to some guy named David Guetta. REMIX!!!!. The mighty McDonalds has even identified these differences enough to market to them.  They’ve decided that Germans will buy even more burgers with sausages on them. Not one, but 3 sausages on them!  http://www.werbejunkie.de/mcdonalds-huettengaudi-teil-3-mit-camenbert-chicken-und-schuhbecks-feines-zweierlei/

And then, there is the language. I’d like to go back in time and kill the Roman who decided 2000 years ago that Latin wasn’t hard enough.  That it would be much easier if certain things were referred to as der, others as die and what’s left over as das.  This bastard is laughing is ass off at those of us who are know paying are hard earned money to learn this disaster. How dare he randomly fuck with people like that? If only I could invent a time machine, and make him suffer.  How you like my DER in your eye bitch! It’s not the fact that these pronouns exist. This isn’t an arrogant American pleading with the Germanic speaking world to “get it right’ and just speak English. I in fact love the distinctness of a place and want to firebomb McDonald’s as much as anyone else.  It’s the randomness of there being. There is no method. A table is der, but a lamp is die?  For one to even place masculinity in a table is retarded. 

I believe that one day soon, all of these differences will fade away and I will see the Christ Child’s light.  That just over the horizon, my shoulder will be clear of bruising from trying to push through the door.  That my hands will finally be dry after washing them in the bathroom, and using the nasty towel rolling device.   That der, die, and das will become drinking buddies of mine.  That the train won’t leave without me getting off because I pushed the button.  That love for sausage will conquer my addiction to steak.  That a kitchen will be seen as just a room, that you have to pay to fill.   That I can one day proudly say I have assimilated and am truly home.

EDEN

The most amazing thing occurred on the way to Aldi; I saw a trip listed for 4,999 euro per person, NY to Singapore by boat!!! 39 days!! Only in this country could such an offer even be conceivable. Aldi is a discounter in the same vein as Costco, but Costco could never fathom listing a trip for 39 straight days. Never in all of America’s collective imagination could it dream of taking a vacation for that amount of time.  In the USA, the population lives to work, here, they work to live.  I’m not trying to piss on America by any means, just stating an absolute fact.  Maybe that’s why people are so annoyingly patient here, why the atmosphere is so sickeningly relaxed, and not so rushed. Why the beer tastes better, and the lines don’t seem so long.

Being an ex-patriot, the possibility that I could go on a trip of that magnitude is beyond comprehension. My brain seemingly can’t accept it as reality.  The cruise is all inclusive, includes stops in Bali, Sydney, Goa, flights to the port of embarkation in L.A., and extended layovers in Dubai in a 5 star resort. Screw Disney, Aldi is the place where dreams come true.  For along with having these top notch vacations, they also sell huge blocks of prosciutto de Parma for 11.99.  Prosciutto and a 39 day cruise. What more can a person want?  As well as having all other sorts of goodies like proseco for 1.99 a bottle, they have a bread dispensing machine!  Just push the loaf button, and presto.  Rolls fall out still warm!  Whoever invented this contraption should be knighted.  How the hell can Somalia be starving when they have bread machines?  The warlords should buy thousands and litter the countryside with warm rolls. 

All of these amazing deals and innovations got me thinking about what else Aldi may have up its sleeve.  Perhaps they’ve figured out cold fusion, or invented a healthy cinna-bun.  With inventions like bread dispensing machines and mozzarella for .79 a pound, Aldi has become my Steve Jobs.  It has inspired me to reach for the stars, to go where no Jim has gone before; to the bottle dispensing machine! I know some you of snobs might be thinking that I’ve grown a mullet, and now must be rocking confederate flag t-shirts, but here, everybody does it.  They consider it a public responsibility or something.  The shops bill you the deposit upfront forcing you to recycle to re-coop the money. Here, a bottle collector can be a  full time job that’s worth it. Professional can collectors in the states should save up and check out the dumpsters here.  It’s paradise. Those bastards can make a killing if they can hit a sporting event just right.  Now I haven’t seen an enterprising bum pushing a shopping cart full of empty bottles yet, but I bet they are out there.

For a long while I thought it was all a façade, a collective lie. That these German’s couldn’t possibly be so chill. I roamed the streets looking for road rage, but found only drivers patiently performing the zipper during lane closures.   I arrogantly cut lines at Rossman to try and wake the German dragon, but instead got nothing but kindness; I was short .20 cents and as god as my witness she payed for me! For weeks I wondered how, I wondered why. Then I went to Aldi and found a new meaning for world peace, a blinding alien light cutting through the darkness, the meaning of what Mike Reno/ Anne Wilson were really singing about in their 1980’s hit , Almost Paradise.  In those fluorescent lighted aisle’s, there is peace and cheese, there is gamoodlich and cheap salami, there is the German way. 

The Interview

What a day. Woke up at 3:30 in the morning thinking of demons. The new movie trailer “The Devil Inside Me” was to blame. See here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uWPGSbHlI2w After realizing that I wouldn’t be spitting out green bile and contorting my body into shapes that would make a Russian gymnast blush, I had some corn flakes.  With the fear of demonic procession behind, and my hunger assuaged, I could now worry about more important things, namely my first job interview in 6 years.  Though I am a people person, the fear of rejection gives me the bees knees, and zits as big as small children.  Hence a job interview to me is about as horrible as your worst dentist appointment on mushrooms.  Compounding the pain was the fact that later in the day, two Polacks would be coming over to put up wallpaper in our brand new flat.  Time constraints on such a big day can be problematic and give you that not so fresh to death feeling.  Comparable to trying to do Six Flags Theme Park while your wife is in labor.  Further fracturing my chi, was the fact the Voice of Germany started at 8:15 tonight!!  Even though that mattered little, it shows how riddled with confusion I was.  Getting to the new flat to drop off some supplies for my polish babysitting duty later, I quickly changed from old, busted Jim, to hot salty buttery Jim. My suit was crisp, my Donald Trump tie a perfect complement to my brown Steve Maddens. My finger however was not cooperating with the look. It was leaking!!!! A reluctant carrot during the previous night’s dinner prep was too blame. The minimal damage now appeared smeared all over my collar.  Cold water can be a man’s best friend, and thank god it seemed to work. Rushing out the door to the bahnoff with plenty of time, I thought the majority of my crisis’s were over, until I reached for my wallet. Damn.  I was soon in full Olympic stride down the street in the rain.  Making like a Kenyan marathoner up the stairs and then frantically looking for it, and then finding it in the most unlikeliest of places (the bathroom. What the hell?) I raced back down just in the nick of time to catch the train. My body then began to thank me for allowing it to participate in such a magnificent cluster fuck by spasming everywhere all at once. So off I went on bent hubcaps to the center of town.  Right before getting off the bahn, the smelly homeless man who constantly walks along the tracks as though he is looking for his lost contact said hello to me!  After looking at him, I came to the quick realization that I’m in pretty good shape!!! The language schools offices are right in  Frankfurt. The women turned out to be very good at her job, and we talked for about 2 hours.  Hence, it went really well, and she invited me back for the second interview with the head of the Frankfurt office.  Later, back at the residential, the polish dude’s showed up, got to work, and didn’t try and rob me! Somewhere a unicorn has given birth over my joy!

NEW YEARS!!!!! I'M ALIVE!!!!

Happy New Years! Slide Well as they say here. I can’t believe I am still alive today! Last night was nuts. These Germans love shooting fireworks at EACH OTHER!!! The girls, I and Bjorn went rolling down to some bar right on the Main River last night.  Apprehensions were high when we arrived at 9pm to a scene that had no pulse.  Even the guy at the door seemed surprised we were there, but we sat down early and got a bottle of champagne anyways.  Soon enough, the place was packed and we had moved on from champagne to a harder variety; vodka. Why is vodka itself cheap but when you add the two words Red Bull in front, it becomes 10 euro?  I know how much a red bull costs, and that’s exactly why I BYORB bitch! Bjorn and I would rotate paying up for a 3-shot glass of vodka, and then play bartender under the table with the Red Bull I purchased for 1.50.  Pretty soon, we were snapping pictures, inspiring  our girls to,” act like you’re about to bang the guy, you unzip his fly and….and…you can’t find it! It’s WAYYYY too small. Give me that look! Ready! 3-2-1.”   For a whole hour we played that game to the consternation of the tables around us. Yes, we were THAT table. Explosions of too loud laughter, breaking the cool code with a variety of unsavory facial expressions, camera flash going off every 5 seconds like a Japanese tour group, speaking as if we didn’t care because we REALLY didn’t!  If only all my Saturdays could be spent almost urinating in my pants from laughter!  All that changed quickly, when everyone in the place cleared out to hit the streets.  Outside, in a scene straight out of Syria, there was all out war. A mob of Frankfurters had gathered at the River Main to view the fireworks as they do every year, and they came armed with every firework known to man.  M-80’s, black cats, and mortars, were firing from every conceivable angle. It was a full on artillery barrage!  With not a cop in sight, it was every man,  women  and child!? ( what the hell were they doing here?) for themselves. Impromptu firework displays began to pop up like dance circles at a rave.  Everyone in the mob was drinking or drunk.  Pretty soon groups began to square off like in some demented musical, firing anything that could inflict bodily harm.  I began of course filming the drunk mayhem earnestly. Out of the corner of my eye, a young Turkish youth tired to throw an M-80 in our vicinity, but the butter fingers got him.  As I was wiping my brow in relief, the fiend looked up to see me eyewitness news'ing his ass. A sinister smile soon developed on his face as I panned away to more of the debauchery. I now of course knew who HE was aiming at. Pretty soon thereafter,  3 rows of people that were in front of me soon weren’t.  A bottle rocket made a b-line right for my leg. With Chuck Norris like agility, I boot stomped the projectile into the street, and went looking for the Kebab kid.  But I would have been better off looking for an Italian who doesn’t talk without rapid hand movement.  He  and his gang of merry twits had vanished in a swirl of firework fog.   Off to go car-jack some poor defenseless grandpa.  Happy New Year dickwad!!! Then the finale went off. A thick San Francisco mist began to drift over the entire area, straight out of some colonial battle field. My body began to convulse unexpectedly, as Bjorn poured a half bottle of champagne into my already FULL glass. PTSD? No, thank god. I just needed to piss. Pretty soon, the madness was over, and the masses made for the trains.  Vio, Emily, and I consequently lost everyone we were with. Shortly after that, I lost my glasses. Damn it. Not the greatest encore of the evening ever, but the night was one of the most culturally enriching new years I’ve ever had to date.