Razor Scooters, Toilet Paper, and My Teacher's Boobs

Lately, I’ve been tired. Like really tired- a lot more so than I usually am. I mean, the college student’s life is pretty exhausting to begin with, and I’ve been doing all those normal things- drinking heavily, staying up late (even when I have nothing to do and usually in combination with the drinking), waiting until the last second to study that which requires a good deal of time to learn, etc. But, then, there’s a few things that are a little more unusual; I AM in a foreign country, still trying to adapt to all these things that are new for me, which can wear on a person.
First, unlike the suburban feel of Athens, Nuremberg is definitely an urban area. You know, subways, more homeless people, wider sidewalks, the whole shebang. This brings with it a certain fascination for me. My hometown has a population 35,000 on a good day- like if we’re having a gigantic carpet sale or something. Athens, although not exactly small, is no concrete jungle; we’ve got our crazy homeless people, but you can still get about anywhere in town in less than 20 minutes. There’s stuff to do, but it’s no metropolis. Nuremberg, though, is the real deal. Let’s be frank- we have stoops here. As a result of this, I walk everywhere. Seriously, EVERYwhere. Even if I can take the subway most places, I prefer to walk when I have the time. That way, I get to see all the crazy people on the streets of such an urban center. The other day, I saw a grown man who would only walk forward with one foot. If this seems unclear, let me explain; he literally would take a step forward, but then, unlike most people who know how to walk, would only bring his other foot forward to the point that it was even with his first step. He would then step forward again with the first foot and start the whole process again. Meanwhile, he was discussing, with himself of course, something about how he shouldn’t let his children go anywhere near farms or farm animals or something. I wanted to follow him, but I figured there might be a reason why this individual was so odd, and that I may not have wanted to find out exactly what that was. Also, his peculiar walking tactics made him incredibly slow, and therefore, difficult to stay behind. One more stranger of note and I’ll move on: today, and this one is even more surprising to me than the last one, so I may have hallucinated it, but, really, I saw a grown woman using a Razor scooter as a primary means of transportation. This woman had to be in her 40s at least, and here she was, not even walking the damn thing up a hill, just pushing like a madman. I love Nuremberg.
I also have to be in class every morning at 10:15, and I’m there, with only one 15 minute break in the middle, until 1:30. “Well, John,” you might be saying, “10:15 is really not that early,” but, smartass, one must also remember that this is in Erlangen, which is a smaller town near Nuremberg. In order to get to class on time, I have to wake up at 8:15, catch the subway at 9:00 (it’s a 10 minute walk to the subway), get off at the Nuremberg train station, catch the 9:15 to Erlangen (it’s a 30 minute train ride), and then finally catch a bus for a 10 minute ride to my building. And then I repeat the process to go home. Still think you know everything? That’s what I thought…if indeed you did make the prior statement to yourself. If not, well, at least you’re now better informed of my schedule.
This class, though, is suffocating me. For the entire month of March, plus a little of April, I have this course in Erlangen. It is what the University calls an “intensive language course,” which means, that, no matter what, the only language allowed to be spoken in the room, even if it isn’t directed toward another person, is German. No exceptions, not even to talk to yourself. If you make a mistake, it’s “ach, scheiss,” not “oh, shit.” “Verdammt!” instead of “damn it!”. And, of course, fuck’s just “fuck.” Gotta love American culture swallowing the world, eh? But they seriously enforce this; my teacher is awful. This is a woman that is in dire need of two things: a sense of humor and tightly fitting brassiere. Seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile. And, although she’s probably pushing 60, she just lets ‘em swing like she was 15 again. Really insufferable. Anyway, so the point is that sitting in this class does awful things to a person. I’ve noticed that it changes me, temporarily; I revert back to attending to my most primal of needs in the middle of it. One would think that class would stimulate a student into deeper thought and perhaps broaden his character, but this one stands in stark contrast to this logic. I am so blanketed in ennui that my thought process hibernates. Seriously, I can remember a few moments today that went something like this:
‘…Man, I wish all these people weren’t around- I’d like nothing more right now than to pick my nose…oh well, I hope break comes soon, I gotta go down to that bakery and buy a sandwich…hopefully I’ll be hungry then, not that it matters…I don’t even know what they put on those sandwiches…but I don’t care, I’ll just eat whatever they give me…screw it, if the Germans eat it, it’s gotta be ok for me, right? Of course, these are the same people that use raw ground beef as a spread…oh well, maybe I’ll even use the bathroom at the bakery, this nose thing is really bothering the heck out of me.’
Seriously, these were my thoughts until I realized how sad this was. Meanwhile, my teacher was trying to encourage us to discuss the pros and cons of the university sponsoring a program that would send high school kids out to sea for a semester to work as sailors on a trans-Atlantic sailboat. Seeing the topic of discussion, can you now really blame me?
Finally, if I haven’t already said in a previous post, I live in a dorm again. Which rocks. Kinda. But we all know how tiring it can be. Yet, there’s always people around so I shouldn’t complain. It does bring back all sorts of fond memories, such as having to carry all your groceries the long way from the parking lot, all the way through the building to your room, by which time, you are now sweating. For me, though, I don’t drive, so I have to carry them from the store. Which, here, makes you pay for grocery bags, so I often don’t get them; I just carry them in my hands. However, due to my latest dorm experience, I believe I will start shelling out the 10 cents for a bag.
We’ll begin the story with a mental exercise: think about all the things we buy from the grocery store; do we really want everyone seeing us bringing ALL of those things home? Hmm? And here’s where our story begins. I’m making my regular trek down to my neighborhood Aldi (the German Kroger; it’s only about a 7 minute walk away from my dorm) to pick up a few things I’m needing. The rooms here all have their own bathrooms and kitchens, and one must remember, that the tenant, of course, must keep himself stocked. Well, my bathroom had one roll of paper (the starter roll, I called it) when I moved in, but that was quickly expired, so, of course, I had to get some more. I was also in the market for some body wash; with delicate skin like my own, harsh bar soaps just won’t do. So I’m at the Aldi, and I’m looking through the toilet paper for the best deal. Everything seems so expensive and the biggest pack I can find only comes with 4 rolls, so I’m starting to get audibly pissed off until I finally spot Golden Boy. He’s sitting at the very end, almost hidden from view and he’s only got two of his pals left. Golden Boy is large pack of 8 rolls of environmentally-friendly, recycled-paper. He even has his own handle and a re-sealable zip-loc top. Just what the doctor ordered. Next, I turn to the soap section in pursuit of the elusive men’s body wash. Again, I’m getting nothing. And there is no liquid soap cousin of Golden Boy specifically designed for me to be seen. Reminding myself that, as an American, I have nothing to prove about my masculinity to these Germans, I grit my teeth and pick up the “tropical citrus dream” body wash. I pick up a few other things and finally check out to be on my way home. It’s about 8 or 9 pm, so everyone at the dorm is starting to go out or think about going out, and, on this particular evening, I’m of a similar opinion, but being that this is one of my first days in the building, I don’t know many people yet. Oh, but Lady Luck hadn’t forgotten me…or had she? I’m walking up the stairs when a cute blonde Danish girl I recognized from orientation catches my eye.
“Hello, I’m Sanne,” she says, “you’re an exchange student, right?”
“Uh…yeah…that’s me,” I respond, caught off guard. You’ve got to remember, I’m holding in my hands some very embarrassing loot. I’m trying to look cool in front of this girl while I have in my hands, most prominently to her view, the jumbo pack of toilet paper and women’s body wash. I’m also sweating a little because I’m carrying a case of water in my backpack, and there’s no elevator in the building (I’m also wearing a flannel shirt and my jacket because it’s cold out; get off me, this IS normal). Real smooth; I look like a single dad on a typical Monday night.
“Well, if you don’t have any other plans tonight, I’m going to meet up with several of the other exchange students; do you want to come with?”
“Well, yeah, but...” I say, trying to think of something to say that might break this awkwardness. “Well,” I finally finish, gesturing to my body wash, “I…uh…kinda need to shower.” Note to self: that was definitely not the rescuing witty comment. But I still got her phone number and met up with the group later. It was a good night, but it still began with a most awkward beginning, as you probably can tell. Oh, well, I’m still in the game here, and, as long as I’m in the line-up, I’m still playing ball, and that’s all I need.