How to be anybody

I recently read a blog article by an English guy who lives in Germany and wrote a ‘guide’ on how to become a proper German (http://venturevillage.eu/how-to-be-german-part-1). Some things really annoyed me, such as the suggestion that wearing house shoes is very German. You don’t wear house shoes in Britain, because there’s carpet everywhere (even in airports) and no pretty hardwood floors. Although you should wear house shoes, because the houses are badly insulated.

I totally agree that Germans wear functional clothing (Jack Wolfskin stuff). And when you are old and married, you and your partner wear the same model.

I can understand that some things in new countries get more attention there as in the home country. It is sometimes good to go back and see the similarity of countries. Like finding out that meat is also a very common part of meals where you grow up. Funny enough that a lot vegetarians that I know always say that their home country is best for vegetarians. Probably not American vegetarians. But I don’t know any American vegetarians, maybe they don’t exist there. Or a meatless diet is called there the “low carb veggie lifestyle”. Anyway, I had a big piece of roast beef as my Sunday Roast treat yesterday (but the gravy was too thin).

These “How to be” articles are mostly rubbish. They use stereotypes that are sometimes right, sometimes wrong but never achieve truthfulness, because you cannot generalise a man, a woman or a country in this case (I’m quite sure that this Brit does not live in Berlin or Hamburg, or anywhere else above the Weißwurst-border, which is right behind Kassel).

I never use stereotypes. Only for Americans. Maybe I should change the nation to Liechtenstein. I have never met anyone from there, you don’t hear anything from there and I am frankly questioning the existence of that country. So who would be bothered?

Let’s think of steps “How to be from Liechtenstein”. I can’t think of any characteristics of that country except for: be rich (mixing that up with Luxembourg?), be small (country is small, and so are you because of lack of space) and have a shiny smile (try to say “Liechtenstein” without smiling).

And suddenly the face of Berlusconi pops up. Liechtenstein must be near Italy right? Doesn’t matter anyway. All the same.

Routes? Where we’re going, we don’t need routes!

I had one of the best bus experiences that I can imagine. I was on a bus, boarding in Hackney and happy to find out that the Oyster Card Reader didn’t work and ready to enjoy a bus ride that should – according to the tfl website - take approx. 43 minutes and 4 seconds. As we were driving (‘we’ means the bus driver and me) through Canary Wharf and I was glancing at all these evil banks and some workaholics smoking in front of the glass cages (on Saturday) that are supposed to give the feeling that these money companies are transparent (ha), I was thinking that this is a very peculiar and long bus route from Hackney to Commercial Road.

After passing the “financial heart of Britain”, the bus stopped near a McDonald’s next to a dual carriageway. Engines off, lights out. I was briefly alarmed (it was already dark outside and I was still the only passenger) of getting robbed, raped or being in some way a victim of harassment whilst filmed on CCTV. The bus driver came to me in the back. I was doing the cliché of sitting in the last row. My instinct knows how to build an arc of suspense. The bus driver said: “Hey, I need to go to the toilet. I’ll be off for three minutes” And ran to McDonald’s. So I sat alone in a dark bus somewhere near the Thames. When the bus driver came back, he murmured something that sounded like an apology for the delay and then we raced off the dual carriageway and suddenly stopped at a dodgy park station. “Final Destination”, the bus driver said to me. I thought “yes, not one of the best horror movies I’ve seen, but I remember that in sequel 2 or 3, people were killed on public transport” without realising that it was the end of the route and we hadn't passed my bus stop. I told him that (about the bus stop) and he responded: “That was a long time ago, when this bus was on that route”. That the website told me that we were supposed to go there just had rolling eyes as a reaction. “Where do you need to go?” – “Commercial Road” – “Okay, come with me, we'll drive back and then get off at xyz”. When I got off at Canary Wharf, because there would be a direct bus to my final destination for that evening (and I also couldn’t remember the station the driver told me), he saw me standing on the pavement and shouted through the closing doors of the bus: “That’s not the stop!” – “I know, but I have a connection here”, I shouted back.  – “Ah, ok”. And this bus, for which I hadn't paid a penny, went off.

I now think it was a bus back from the future, where they have different bus routes and people don’t have to pay because of a communist government that came to power after the economy crashed and the Chinese took over Europe. But it will be a moderate communistic work-attitude, because the driver was allowed to go to the toilet at imperialistic McDonald’s.

No need to be afraid of the future, Marty!