Bloody Germans

12. Typically German

The Euro Currency

Out here in Germany, everybody went Euro-geld mad on January 1st 2002, but my Rolf went and messed it all up on its first outing.

The new Euro money was pretty easy for the Germans to figure out; what was once 20 Deutschmarks, is now 10 Euros. So to work out the comparisons between the old and new currency, all they have to do is either half or double it. This is just a precautionary measure to make sure they are not being cheated or overpriced during the changeover, as we all felt we were during our UK decimal introduction back in 1971. But it seems to me that the Germans were quite happy with the new Euro introduction, and they had no real problems adapting to it at all.

Although the new Euro currency officially came in on January 1st 2002, most of the shops were shut that on that New Year’s day; as with any bank holiday in Germany, so it didn't really get its first real test until the following day. The Germans were still allowed spend their old Deutschmarks -- up till Feb 28th 2002, but after that, all transactions would have to be in the new Euros.

However, during those first early days, the poor shopkeepers and alike, had been given, or were simply forced to volunteer to spread around the new currency -- they were not allowed to give any change other than the new Euros, no matter what money was being used. So the people who operate such things as small kiosks, shops, taxis and bus drivers alike, had to do the work of the banks and sort out the introductory conversions.

 

It kinda slowed everything up for them and everybody else.

Rolf and I wanted to go close to the city centre and decided to travel by underground train. At the small station or U-Bahn, close to where we lived, they had two ticket machines -- one was for the New Euro's and the other was for the old Deutschmarks. Rolf only had the new Euro money on his person; in both notes and small change, as he had prepared himself, like many other Germans, long before. However, as luck would have it, the new Euro ticket machine was not working and without a ticket, if you are caught on a train -- you’ll receive an on-the-spot penalty, and no matter what your excuse may be, you would find it extremely difficult  to escape a pretty hefty fine.  If you happened to see a ticket inspector around, they can sell you a ticket from their books, but you'd be far wiser to ask for it before boarding the train, or you would have a hard time trying to prove to them you were not attempting to steal a ride.

Anyway, Rolf kept shoving his new Euros into this machine, but it just wouldn't have it. Then some old guy came along and put his old spare Deutschmarks into the machine next to it -- and out popped his ticket -- no problem.

 

So Rolf went over to a small nearby cigarette, magazine etc., kiosk and asked the guy behind the counter, if he could change 10 of his Euro's back into 20 Deutschmarks, so that he could buy a ticket  from the old machine to board the train.

 

Well, officially the guy would have be breaking the law to make such an exchange, but then, being a practical German, he saw how much it was needed. So he went ahead and did the reverse or backwards monitory changeover from Euros into Deutschmarks.

Rolf then bought his ticket out of the old Deutschmark machine, and we both boarded the train.

So sometimes, not all of these big ideas go fully to plan.

Speaking about money -- do you know, when I was living in England, and even when I pop back for short breaks -- I am always finding and picking up money (coins or notes) that has been dropped in the streets.

I have eagle eyes for things like that.

Yet in all my time in Hamburg -- I have not found one Pfennig; or to be more modern -- one Euro cent. But I think there is a much better explanation of this than it simply being the Germans are ‘tight-fisted’.

Unlike British men, and possibly Americans, Canadians and Australians etc., who carry all their loose change in their pockets, and many times -- do not even carry a wallet for notes.., the Germans tend to carry around a little purse. I believe this is also the same for France and possibly many other countries within Continental Europe. Some of them, even carry around a kind of male handbag. I found that very strange when I first came out here.

When I first met Rolf in UK. I can remember going into a shoe repair shop with him to pick up a pair of shoes of mine. In order to pay the right money for the bill, I tried to use my loose change rather than give the shop man a large note. But I was a few shillings short, so I asked Rolf if he could help. He took out his little purse, and started to shake it around looking for the correct coinage. As he did, I looked up and saw the shop mans eyes raise up to the ceiling -- you know how one does in disgust or contempt.

Afterwards, I explained to Rolf that the only person who carries around a purse with them in Britain is a ‘Tight-git’; usually more associated with Scotland. Since that day, he got rid of his purse, and thankfully -- has never carried one about with him since.

So that is the real reason I never find any money lying in the streets of Hamburg. Because it is all safely locked away in tight little neat male purses or swanky leather handbags.

Tight Gits!!!

Queuing In Germany

Being an Englishwoman living in Germany; a foreigner one might say, I only just found out the other day that I should have applied for a residence permit when I first came to live out here. By law, everyone has to register themselves at their place of residence; which I did, and as far as both Rolf (who remember is German) and I was concerned, that was my residence permit.

But unfortunately, I discovered to my horror, that it wasn’t. So this morning, we set off to the main place to organise myself a proper and legal residence permit.

We had decided the day before, that it would be wise for us if we were to show up at the main doors a little before 8 am, opening time; in order to beat the crowds. However, when we arrived there at just gone 7.45, it was already far too late -- the crowds had long beaten us to it; they must have been waiting since at least six or seven.

Now, as a typical English person, the one thing I am so used to and have been brought up to believe in, is that when a person joins one or more persons; to wait for and obtain something, they must form an orderly queue. I believe the Americans simply call it ‘standing in line’.

In England, we just love to queue; it is a big part of our national heritage -- we even form a queue to join a queue. But in Germany, nobody appears to queue for anything.

Of course, this behavioural standard, must also not apply to anybody else from outside England, except for perhaps a few other countries like USA, Canada and maybe even at a push -- Australia, because the place we went to was only for Auslanders, which means, apart from Rolf, everybody there waiting for the doors to open, were all foreigners -- and from all over the globe. None of them seemed to care or even have prior knowledge of the delightful system of forming an orderly and civilised queue.

Believe me, it was just one mass heap at the door, consisting of perhaps fifty or more people.

Of course, its things like this that blow all theories out the window, that the Germans are a nation of superior organisation. Each time a member of staff wanted to enter the building; to go to their place of work, they had to scramble their way through the crowds to try and get inside the main doors and to their desks. And each time enough space was allowed for them to get through, once they had done so, the mass crowd surged forward again to tightly fill up the space that was temporally allowed. And when they did this, everybody just seemed to try and get ahead of each other, or far closer to the main doors than they were before.

Rolf, being a typical German and well-trained for this exercise, surged forward and made excellent ground each time. Me, being a typical and reserved English person, wanted to have no part in this shameful and  impolite exercise -- so stood back from the mass, tutting and shaking my head in utter disbelief.

I could have seen the logic in all this, had it been a matter of pure survival. If we had been a mob of starving refugees, waiting behind the back of a food lorry, stacked up with only enough for about a third of us. I could have perhaps understood then, that us English types would no doubt starve, whilst the Germans and others similarly not so polite, would always be the first in line to fill up their bellies with stale bread. But heck -- this was just a few of us wanting to go into an office and simply apply for some kind of necessary paperwork!

Then suddenly it was 8am and the doors were fully flung open, and I just could not believe my eyes with what happened next..,

The whole crowd of fifty or perhaps now even far more, including Rolf, who was by now almost up at the front.., surged forward as one mass heap; as if they were all joined at the hip. When they reached the borders between the main entrance door frame, they all came to a momentary halt -- and then they all pushed forward again; as one large strong body, and shuddered their way through the door frame.

I thought the bloody door frame was going to be carried through the gap along with them, as they all finally broke through. Then from where I was standing, began something like the start of the London Marathon, as they all sprinted forward and overtook each other as best and as fast as they could.

As I watched the thick wall-to-wall mass of warm winter-dressed bodies run through, I slowly followed in my own sweet and casual pace, not knowing whether to laugh or cry at such an uncivilised display. But much more to my embarrassment, my Rolf was the worst of them all; I could see his bald patch, at the back of his head, bobbing up and down as he hastily sped at the helm of the mob.

When I finally entered the hall, with the doors to all the numbered Zimmers alongside, I saw everybody sat down on one long wooden bench; in a kind of now sitting-down orderly queue. As I walked down the line, looking for Rolf, I found him quite close to the front. In fact  he had made ticket number 007. He then told me he would have not have been so lucky to reach that low number, had not a few people, who were  in front of him, fallen over in the mad rush down the hall. He said he was able to leap over them and get more ahead of the line, otherwise he would have been ticket number 010.

I was not there to witness the final part of them all entering the main hall, but Rolf told me that the way the people ran into the corridor and jumped onto the wooden bench, that now formed the respectable queuing line, was quite reminiscent to the beginning of the television Simpson’s Show; when the family all rush into their living room and leap onto their sofa to watch TV.

Rolf painted the picture so well for me.

He went on to say that as soon as everybody had sat down, in some kind of desperate musical chairs manner, the main office door opened and a guy came out to issue them with their numbered tickets. Everybody quickly stood up again, to ensure that their place in the line was well established, and received their tickets one by one starting at 001.

Of course  afterwards, I could understand the logic of it all; the guy who hands out the next-in-line tickets, only to those now sitting on the long bench, only gives out a certain amount each morning. The office is always so busy because it is understaffed, due to employees consistently taking time off for stress.  So after  handing out just a certain amount of tickets, he tells the rest of the people to go home and try again tomorrow..,

“Sorry, no more tickets left for today!”

Now the thing is, with my attitude and my way of polite upbringing, without any known or recognisable standard of queuing going on down there -- for me, tomorrow would never arrive; I would be going down to that office each and everyday -- forever. But with Rolf’s bad mannered and well skilled German pushing and shoving; even far more skilled than the Auslanders,  we not only got dealt with that same day, but we also only had to wait for one hour or so, because he was fast enough to get ticket number 007.

Of course I felt guilty! When we arrived at the main doors at 7.45 am, as said, there were already a good fifty or so in front of us, that had been waiting since God knows when. Maybe many of them had been sent home a good few times before.  Some poor woman, with the same mentality as mine, who probably was the first one to stand at the door on that cold morning around 5 am -- she never stood at chance at all. Perhaps she has been going down there everyday for months or years, but has still not learnt to be pushy enough to get to that bench bloody quick and receive her prized ticket.

The other foreigners, the ones who were very pushy -- and even beat Rolf; especially the guy who got 001, they must have learnt from several hard and long experiences, after they had been told many, many times before..,

“Sorry, no more tickets left for today!”

In Germany, it just seems to be the survival of the fittest and the good guys.., well they just always come last.

But if Rolf ever tried that very same thing back in England, they would all hang him to the nearest lamppost for sure.

Although I may have written my resident permit experiences with humorous tones, my underlying thoughts were of utter disgust. At the time, or at least after what I had witnessed, I did feel that these poor people were being treated no better than cattle.

Rolf wanted me to print out the above tale for him to take down and give to the guy running it all. I mean he must witness this event every morning for himself, yet he still allows it all to go on.

 It is absolutely ridiculous that one can be told at five minutes past opening time, that they should go home and try again tomorrow. An hour or so before closing time maybe, but not just after five minutes of opening.

I said to Rolf, it would be perhaps a good idea for us to go down there again, but take my video camera along with me -- it would certainly make interesting viewing, either for a documentary or for a comedy sketch show.

But then we would need two camera’s -- me behind the back of the mob and Rolf positioned in the main hall, so he could film them all as they turned the corner and made haste for the wooden bench.

He would have to be exceptionally schnell to get that far ahead.

I belong to a Website forum for ex-pat Brits living in Germany, and one lady posted up that she had discovered, after driving on her UK licence for 4 years, that after one year it was illegal. It must be exchanged for a German licence, despite the licence being called 'European'. She said that she had to go to an office in Berlin and had to wait up to 3 hours in a place that had no chairs. She was 8 months pregnant at the time.

Germany is very different to UK when it comes to bureaucratic offices. In UK, one normally goes into a large room and waits to be called up to the main desk, which is attended (hopefully), by numerous amounts of staff, who will attend to our needs.

In Germany, its all rooms -- or Zimmers. You go to one room; Zimmer 406, who then send you to Zimmer 623, back to Zimmer 406, then onto Zimmer 321 -- and so on. This is okay when can you do it all in one building, but many times, going to Zimmer 623 could mean catching a bus to another area and going into another building and then, being told to go back again to the other building and Zimmer 321.

It is so hard to do all the necessary in one day alone and of course the biggest fear that everybody must have -- is if they are told to go to Zimmer 101.

They are probably never seen nor heard from again!

Reviews

[Frank]

I thought I had landed in 'Woolly Woofter Land’ (no offence intended).

You are introducing stereotype racial and behavioural prejudice into your article, it will put many people off from continuing to read. Your article should be professional, objective and free from common and your own prejudicial approach to life. I think I know you, I think you are decent and balanced, however be aware that we all carry these flawed outdated attitudes, you mean no harm, yet they do harm minorities.

If you really do think that phrase is important then qualify it, otherwise cut ruthlessly any arguable phases because people will argue them, and then you paper is devalued because the statement was unimportant to you.

[Christine Peters]

Thanks again Frank.,

You know, I have been having those same thoughts about 'Wooly Woofter' ever since I posted it up.

I think maybe I knew I would receive some comment about it so I am glad it was from you.

As said above, I meant no offence and I was just adding some humour into my story. However, I totally agree with you. These now more thankfully modern days of welcomed acceptance, I probably did step over the line using that phrase.

After posting this, I shall erase it.

Its a strange thing really. People within minorities or groups are free to use whatever words they choose about themselves (and they do), yet those outside of it, are not. Kinda sometimes makes writing a very difficult path to tread.

Once again, thanks for your honest review.

Christine

[Frank]

Its a difficult one Christine, James Heriot managed to write about a a large number of people in the Yorkshire Dales and yet, as far as I know, no one took offence. He stereotyped the Yorkshire mean and told some strange stories of even stranger characters. I guess the Brits are used to us stereotyping each other, but now 50 years after the age of Empire it is a completely different world.
I did read your book in the wrong order, took a sample as it were, but ti is a lot to get through Christine and will take some time. You write very well actually. And it is very difficult to get things just so.

[Christine Peters]

Thanks Frank,

I do really appreciate your comments.

I mostly write short stories based mostly on humour and my observations. I often think my humour writings are nothing more than 'stand-up' scripts about life in general. I think if I had more courage when I was young, I would have been a stand-up comic writing my own material.

I have also read your posts. I have written some poetry or prose, but do not really consider myself as a poet. The next book that I (may) intend to post called 'I Am Me – The Inner Way' , contains some poetry and prose. But again, I do not see myself as anything but a humorous writer on life experiences.

Yet for you, I will post up next one of my favourites from that article. Its simply called 'More of What'.

It is deep and meaningful, especially at the end. But one needs to see that in a most philosophical way.

I feel sure you might. If not, I will explain.

PS. My friends call me Chris or Chrissie. I am only Christine when I am in trouble.

Chris