How To Tell If You're German

Rachel sent me a link to a page called "How to tell if you're German". I'd recommend it if you're interested in getting a better idea of the zeitgeist in Deutschland. I can confirm that a lot of the things on the list are true about Berliners, but I have never been outside Berlin, so I can't say if they're true of Germans more generally.

The first item on the list is well chosen. If you're German, "you think it's you're [sic] right to say your opinion. You may also think that others have the same right".

I say it's well chosen because, although you may know that ping-pong, snooker, and Fussball are popular sports in Germany, you may not be aware of the other national pastime, which is telling people their business.

I've mentioned before that Berliners are aware at all times of what you're supposed to be doing, and they have no scruples about telling you if you're not doing it. This sport is particularly popular among the middle-aged, and middle-aged women are absolutely wild about it.

This morning, for instance, I got on the train and started reading a magazine. Before the train had even started, a middle-aged woman got up from her section three seats away and stood in front of me. After a few seconds, when I was starting to get annoyed, I looked up. She was looking straight at me.

I pulled out one earbud. I only caught two words, one German and one English. The German one was leise, which means soft or softly, volume-wise. The other word she used was 'slowly', which I'm assuming you know. I had no idea what she was talking about or why she was interrupting my reading.

Upon reflection it became clear that she was confused about the difference between the words 'softly' and 'slowly'. She thought the English word for leise was 'slowly', when in fact it's 'softly'.

After observing her gestures, I simply asked, "Die Musik?" That seemed to satisfy her because she walked back to her seat, where she was clearly entrenched in a most delicate operation that required complete silence. On a public train.

Still puzzled and annoyed, trying to understand what made this woman think she had the right to demand that I turn down my earbuds from three seats away on the morning train, I arrived at the FU Mensa where I tried to buy some food.

I've already told you about the silly procedures that require standing in line for a card, standing in line to fill the card, standing in line to pick your food, and standing in line to pay for your food with your card. But there's another procedure, that you are supposed to show your student ID when you pay for your food with your card.

I knew that. But what I learned today is that there is a proper way to fold and display your ID. I was doing it the improper way. See, not only must the middle-aged lady who sits on her Arsch all afternoon taking people's money have to see that you have a student ID, she must also see the date on the ID.

I'm not going to get into why there needs to be a special way of folding the ID, it has to do with the placement of the sticker that functions as a transit pass. All you need to know is that I was given a lesson on ID folding by the aforementioned Frau before she'd let me buy my lunch.

I remember when I told a Polish girl I met at one of the International Club's coffee hours that I thought it was ridiculous how they wouldn't let you bring a bag into the library, and she was nonplussed. But they do let you bring in a bag, she said, as long as it's one of the transparent cellophane bags that you can only buy from them. What's the problem?

The fact that she missed the point suggests that Poland has something in common with Germany that neither of them shares with the US. An American is not grateful for being allowed to do things in a particular manner. We want to be able to do things however the hell we damn well please, as long as it doesn't directly hamper anybody else's ability to do likewise. And we think it's rude to tell other people how to behave, unless those people are children. Your own children.

Americans fervently believe everyone's got a right to her opinion, but it is unbecoming for her to have too many opinions about other people's business. And if she does, she should look down on them secretly and with covert self-righteousness, not openly and with a blatant air of authority and entitlement.

So if there are any Berliners listening, especially of the middle-aged female persuasion, hear my feeble plea: Please don't tell me my business. And please, please don't try to speak English to me unless you actually speak English. It's presumptuous and it makes you look foolish, not exclusively but especially when you're trying to tell me my business.