I walked out of the O2 store at Marienplatz empty handed and grinning from ear to ear.
The last time I held my head that high, as if I were giving back the finger to any sort of European snide eye, was the day after Obama was elected president. But that instance wasn’t something I really owned or solely accomplished. Since moving to Germany, moments, go me moments, have come few and far between and therefore they must be savored.. with a fine beer, for example, while repeating the word sucker and prolonging the ’sss’.
‘Cause you know, it is a rare occurrence to give my host culture a taste of its own medicine. So often has been the case as an Immi-pat, I’ve casted myself the roll as the quiet observer, the on-looker, or mimicked along. I’ve been the brunt of jokes or simply naive and so utterly clueless you’d think I was one of those crazy Americans who believe in the Jesus Cheeto.
No, not a Cheesus believer.
Honestly I don’t have it that bad compared to other expats. I have an iGerman: my Obi-Wan Kenobi, the bearer of bacon. Problem is, he doesn’t fit into my pocket. I’m left to resolve those close encounters of the DE-kind gone awry alone. So I’ve gained a reputation as the gatherer of problems and have gone about solving them through trial and error. I’ve grown to expect the prerequisite Auslander hauteur but it just feels nice, like being hugged, to know a little justice has been dealt.. at the very least, knowing my logic upheld the German bar.
What I’ve learned in that trial and error period: wishing for justice to be inherent only increases the likelihood that you’ll receive it by chance.. or not at all. What? Choke up to the fact I no longer have the upper hand in Germany? this sucks! How do I turn the tables? get better odds? get it my way!? I know the answer. I just never expected it to be such a constant struggle for those day-to-day trivialities.
That’s probably why I find myself easily distracted, constantly falling off the wagon of well-intentions and stray, like a lost lemming, to the nearest English-speaking kin meet up. If I let myself truly slip, there could be something enticing for every evening of the week. Really I want nothing more than to master more control of my surroundings despite the language barrier even if it is as comfortable as rubbing Meerrettich into my eyes. Is it wrong of me to desire a short-cut or two?
What takes countless hours of getting to know the quirks and habits of one’s host culture can be a cinch to one person or cinch the very soul of another. (I waiver between the two.) Some are naturals -they dive into the slang, the dress code, the food, the German ideology. I’m drawn to this band but have to mask my feelings of unworthiness and seeming too unnaturally timid. Some are adamant -they have a ‘why bother attitude’ tattooed on their foreheads and usually get pissy when the natives don’t speak in an English that agrees with them. I’m finding myself more and more annoyed with group, even those fresh in the old world and flashing of unabashed ignorance. I’m not sure what I did with my tolerance. And then there is another group. Although their efforts are slightly noticeable they are often too insecure or modest. I know I fall into this group on a bad day especially when I feel resistant to advice or think everyone is a know-it-all.
I keep telling myself: integration can be one iota closer from hopeless foreigners, like myself, with practice. There are a number of ways to get from residing in Germany to living in Germany but the important thing is: really do try. I’m baffled (and a little jealous) that there are expats in Germany with very little contact with English-speakers, so some are forced to try. In Munich it is next to impossible to escape the comforts of English-speaking communities and mingle among the locals. This can make the task a feat conducted in vain or a repetitive blow to your ego.
I know, I know. I’m in danger of becoming a perpetual whiner. It’s not Munich. It’s not the German ideals. It’s me. I could probably use a pity party diet and carb-up on some Tubthumping lyrics.. eh, or stick to the ropes and avoid a puke-fest.
And then it happens: a kick-ass accomplishment.
It may be a mundane one and required a total bluff on my part. Without the iGerman, without raising my voice I made the o2-store take back their junk UMTS router. I won.
And to think I almost chickened out because I knew there would be tetchiness from those smarty clerks at the o2 Help desk. Just your classic friendly Munich customer-to-clerk conversation, and in this case I got what I wanted:
- Me – Hi, I no longer have a contract with o2 and so I’d like to return this o2 router.
- O2 – Well, you can keep it.
- Me – It’s over 3-years old and I have no use for it.
- O2 – Well then throw it away.
- Me -I could do that, but I’m sure there is an environmental law that requires all electronic companies, like Apple, Dell, and O2, to take back their equipment.
- O2 – Um, yes. We can take the router and properly dispose of it.. is what I meant to say.
- Me -Okay. Prima!
uh huh. okay. So what if I twisted the truth. Tor für mich.
Gut gemacht!
So, how did you twist the truth?
I don’t think there is a solid law on taking back old equipment, just something companies do to get certified.
Great post, Heza. That distinction between residing in a place and living in a place is a fine one, but an important one. I never got comfortable in Britain until I started living there. I came to Oz with that attitude and it’s made things much, much easier.
Score 1 for Heza. Hello my cyberfriend! Yes, I’d love to chat, Tues evening would be good for me.(Monday might work if my afternoon patient cancels.) Anyway, whens the latest (Germany time) I could call?