Category Archives: NAECHSTENDIEBE

I have done it.

So I went to my client’s event and loved it. Every minute of it.

But the way there …

It all started at home, of course.

My two-weeks-ago-carefully-put-together outfit fell out due to one fact I had ignored when doing the sartorial maths. Luckily, I conjured the next outfit on the spot, as you would, and I still had enough time to check it out. Unluckily, the second outfit wasn’t good enough, either. I did tell you I had nothing to wear?!?!

Like in a fairy tale, it was the third outfit, born out of necessity (aka 5 minutes to go) that was good enough and made me feel well, so off I went.

Only to find myself in an old train half an hour later, wondering whether the 3 guys next to me were going to drink all that beer and what the strap of my brand new bag was doing down there. They didn’t, they were rather nice while sipping their beer, and the strap had gotten somehow detached from the bag – without my help.That something like this should happen!

So now what? What now so? Now what so?

Ahhh, my brain cell went, you have some safety pins in your kaputted bag – use them. So I did. The bag lasted till I made the first few steps in the small town I had been headed to.

Do you know Karstadt? It’s one of those warehouses that are going to be abolished because we all shop cheap things online these days (like bags). Anyway, there was a Karstadt near the venue I was headed for and they sold me a most lovely bag within minutes, made all the sympathetic noises while I told them about my stupid old bag, didn’t wince when I used their surfaces to empty the old bag and fill the new one and wished me a nice evening.

I threw away the old bag, what else and had myself a nice evening.

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Pointen zum Abwinken

“Guck mal, hier schreibt ein Forist über den Andreas, duweißtschon, Andreas Kümmert, der nicht am ESC teilnehmen will: “Wenigstens hat er Rückrad!”

😆 … 😆

“Ob das eine Art Rollator für feige Sänger ist?”

😆 …

“… und alle, die’s werden wollen!”

So früh am Morgen und schon so gut gelaunt. Passiert recht häufig; Das unverschämte Sprücheklopfen nach der Art “Mir-ist-Nix-heilig” haben wir in all diesen Jahren ganz gut vorangetrieben.

Und wir sind passionierte Titanicleser.

Mein lieber mitgackernder Mann kann die Lebensversüßungssprüche sogar im Büro erzählen.

Ich gebe mir meistens Mühe, das nicht zu tun. Nicht, weil ich allein im Büro bin.

Als Ausländerin muss ich zwar laufend Beweise erbringen, integriert zu sein, darf jedoch häufig genug nicht zeigen, dass ich zufällig mal bisschen mehr Integration drauf habe. Manchmal ist es viel nützlicher, dem eigens beauftragten Fachmann nicht mitzuteilen, welche Rechtschreibfehler er begangen hat, und auch nicht davon auszugehen, Muttersprachler seien bereit, mitzulachen oder zu diskutieren.

Dazu müsste man mich ja als eine der Ihresgleichen akzeptieren und das ist nicht dasselbe wie voll integriert, das weiß schließlich jeder.

Sei’s drum: Hauptsache nicht noch einmal ESC gewinnen.


A Bad Card

The tall dark girl is visibly unimpressed by her words, though still politely attentive.

This surprises her for a second or two, a sting, a hunch, a pang, but then – well, yes, why should a language student lose her impassive ways simply because a hungry fortune teller is taking time between bacon rashers their hostess provided to announce she may find love but would have to go away, far far away for that?

No, of course not: strictly speaking, it is not her social duty to open her eyes widely in astonishment, to chirp and gush away when told about a distant love. A face so openly revealing travelling ancestors will be told to go away often enough. Will have been told: in words, below and beyond them.

Surely it will.

At least that’s how it’s done here.

“You really like yourself, don’t you?” A last try when the fat hostess enters, checking the bacon plate swiftly.

Now the girl does look surprised, a shadow of unhappiness hurrying across her face for a fleeting moment.

So this is actually news to her? Well.

She looks at her cards for the last time and finally sees it: “Oh, this card’s important, too. It stands for art. It means you have art in you.”

“What about me?!?” the fat hostess barges in, “Why didn’t I get the card!?!”

“Well, you already are an artist, so the card was not necessary.” A logical explanation, if there ever was one. The girl seems worried now. Pensive. She leaves the room quietly. And is still not impressed by her cards, so much is clear.

_ _ _

When the expected moment of reckoning finally arrives, the fat artist has her full attention.

“Remember that dough you put into the freezer? I thought it was going to go off so I ate it for lunch. You didn’t seem eager to, anyway.”

“That’s OK, I forgot all about it.”

“And it would seem you hadn’t been writing down your phone times accurately, because the phone bill is bigger than I expected. So you still owe me.”

“Well, I’ll drop by the bank on my way from work and bring you the money, no problem.”

Nothing else follows, no need to continue lying, so she leaves the room, tired, unhappy, relieved and defiant at the same time.