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Me. Looking like one of those scary volleyball chicks in gym class who slammed the ball in your head and then laughed.

Funny story about me in a pub with a couple of friends in Tübingen, Germany. (The picture isn’t of me in Germany, but it does capture me looking like one of those scary volleyball girls who would throw the ball at your head and then laugh. It seemed somehow appropriate for this post.)

In Germany, most people drink mineral water — that is the nasty-tasting, salty, fizzy crap in a bottle that is way over-priced. Asking for still water straight from the tap will usually get you a look of shock bordering on horror. Also, the server will believe you to be cheap and will give you a nasty look just for that. Nonetheless, I just don’t have the taste for mineral water. In fact, I feel more thirsty drinking that than not drinking anything at all.

So, in a pub, I ordered both a pint of local beer and a “plain from the tap water.” A look of horror that I had grown used to, but the server complied with my request. A few minutes later, I received my pint and my water. I said the polite “Danke” to the waitress. She looked straight at me, and I swear to God, I heard her say

“Bitch”

I was absolutely too stunned to say anything, and my mouth literally hung open. It was like I had been slapped in the face in slow motion. My German wasn’t *that* bad…was it? I had tried to be extra polite.

I think what concerned me even more was the fact the two people I was with at the pub didn’t seem to see anything out of the ordinary. I had to wonder if perhaps they were agreeing with the server’s assessment, or if I really made a large social faux pas, so I asked them.

“Um, Guys. Did she just call me a bitch for ordering plain water?”

My friends both gave me a really screwed-up look as they replayed the recent conversation in their minds. Then, one of them — a guy who lived in Washington state USA for a year — started laughing. A lot.

Apparently, what the waitress said — phonetically — was “Bitchin”…spelled properly in German is “Bitte Schoen.”

She was saying “You’re welcome.”

Being the damn Yankee American over in Europe is bad enough with all the Anti-American crap going around, so as a guest to my German family, I’ve tried to be as low maintenance as possible. I figured an early morning trip to England from Germany would be no big deal and was pleased to find an airline deal with RyanAir. My family is located in a town outside of Dusseldorf, so I figured a flight from any Dusselsorf airport would would be similiar in distance.

Imagine my surprise when I learned that Dusseldorf Weeze NRN airport is a full 70 KM outside of Dusseldorf in a place the Germans refer to as “Pampa”. (Americans would call this BFE — for Butt F*ck Egypt.) Literally, Weeze is a tiny town nearly in the Netherlands — in the middle of nowhere, and absolutely NOT close to Dusseldorf, and outside of any train or bus access in the wee morning hours — save for one train in the middle of the night that takes 6 hours to travel the necessary distance.

So here’s my rant: how in the f*ck can RyanAir say their terminal is in Dusseldorf when it ain’t even close? What kind of pot were they smoking when they named the terminal “Dusseldorf Weeze NRN”? It makes no sense.

The only way to make my flight was to ask my friend K to drive me. At 4AM.

So much for being low maintenance.

After a search, I found that I’m not the only one who thinks RyanAir is full of crap.   One has to wonder why, a full 4 years later the name Dusseldorf is still being used to describe Weeze.

I am in Germany for the first time ever, and thankfully, I have a good friend who is willing to let me live at his place with his family. Now, for those of you who don’t know, children in Germany start learning English at the young age of 9. My friend’s older daughter M can speak and understand me fairly well considering she just started learning my tongue this year. His young son, J, who is age 6, however, is another matter.I felt bad for the kid. He tried and tried to communicate with me, and we just didn’t. Sometimes I knew a word here and there, and he did as well. We tried unsuccessfully to teach each other our own language with limited success.

Well, my friend had to make a run to the bank and I was left alone with the youngest. I went about making breakfast, and hoped the child wouldn’t get too frustrated with dealing with me. He chattered at some length about I don’t know what, and I nodded and basically kept to my business of making omelets.

And then, he kept asking me something over and over. He went really slow so I’d be able to understand — after all he was speaking in plain German — but I just didn’t get it. So, I ran to the computer and found an online friend who might be able to translate. I had to spell it phonetically. Here’s what I wrote:
“i di da vunst da vIe da?”

After a while, and after saying it slow, he said something about Texas, so my online friend and I sort of figured out he might be able asking me “Is Texas like what it is here?” But again, no way for me to communicate back. My little friend got frustrated and left for a few minutes, and I went back to my breakfast…feeling a little bad about the whole thing.

Then, he came back and said very plainly “Heather” and handed me a piece of paper.

It read “Ich Mak Dich”. I figured it must be fairly important, bordering on emergency, so I ran to the computer and asked my friend what he just said. Here is our conversation

Me: He wrote “ich maek dich” on a piece of paper.  Do I need to call an ambulance?
Friend: It means “I like you”. But he misspelled it. It should be “ich mag dich”

It was at that moment my heart melted.  Talk about being blown away. The kid is a charmer for sure.

So, I finished a triathlon the other day. My first one, and I was excited to get the images.  (Though sad they didn’t get a picture of me out of the swim.)  Here I am in the Bike and Run:

Bike

Run

Thrilled, as it was a big moment for me. I’ve never competed in anything in my life. Of course, I want pictures of the event.

Come to find out, they *only* come in prints. So, I wrote asking for the digital version. Yes, one could purchase the digital version, but one must send a *check* in order to get one. I asked about paypal — for god’s sake, my MOTHER has a paypal account. NOPE. No paypal.

I am appalled at how some people have not evolved past 1992. If you have a website, HAVE AN ONLINE PAYMENT METHOD.

Jeesh.