Whenever I meet new people it doesn’t take long for them to notice my accent. Coming from a country that is said to be a nation of perfectionists I can honestly say that it used to bother me a little bit. Germans don’t like to display their flaws in public and they certainly don’t want to be reminded that they have any.

Nevertheless, I have learned that having an accent is indeed a good thing. Some of the most pleasant conversations I’ve had started with the question: “Where are you from?” And Americans do it in such a polite way: “I have noticed a s l i g h t accent.” Sure! I bet they say the same thing to Sigfried and Roy. I don’t want to make fun of them but if they don’t improve their English, as well as their German, they soon will need a large group of translators plus a think tank to figure out what those magical words coming out of their mouths mean in our world.

Once you confess to Americans that you are German, you will find out that they either have a grandmother who is German, or a German Shepherd, or a distant cousin who drives a Mercedes, or they have been to the Hofbräuhaus in Las Vegas. Almost always they will come to this conclusion: “I’m not sure why exactly, but I definitely have some German blood in me.” To someone who still walks around apologizing for World War II this comes as quite a relieve.

“So what’s it like living in Germany? Is it different there?”

This question has always been difficult for me to answer. It’s not any different than asking me what it’s like to be Michael Meyn. I’ve been that guy for all my life and I haven’t had the chance to be somebody else. Ok, I’ve been living in the United States for over ten years now, but I’m living in Las Vegas, for crying out loud! How can you possibly compare that with any other corner of the world? It’s like Disneyland for adults and you have a permanent hotel room there!

Women always ask me about fashion in Germany. I don’t know anything about fashion. There’s a certain order in which I put on my clothes, however I don’t really care what kind of clothes I put on as long as they are comfortable. But to all you people planning a trip to Europe in the near future, be warned : DO NOT wear white socks! I am not kidding! Wearing white socks in Europe, especially in Germany, is like sneezing in the face of a hypochondriac. People will faint in disgust. I’ve heard of courageous men and women who dared to walk around in public wearing white socks. Word has it that they were abducted by men in black (socks) who took them to a secret location in the Black Forrest. Those poor souls were never seen again.

When I went back to Germany for the first time in four years, I had no idea how much I had changed. I remember arriving at the airport in Frankfurt where I had to wait for an hour or so to catch the train to my hometown. I went to a small cafe, sat down at a table and ordered a cup of coffee. The first sip alone made me feel the increasing blood pressure pounding against the top of my skull.

“Excuse me, please,” I shouted maybe a little too loud and with waving motions of both of my hands and at least one foot while the corners of my mouth were twitching uncontrollably. “I ordered coffee, not espresso, thank you very much!”

“That is coffee.“ The waiter rolled his eyes and in a judgmental tone of voice he speculated: “You must be American.” I was so proud!

Oh, my hometown has its own mall now. It was built a few years ago and it’s the first of its kind in Germany. I’m afraid it’s not doing too well, though. Every time I went there I only saw one potential customer walking around. We e-mail each other regularly now. He wants to come to Vegas to check out the half a dozen malls and maybe even buy something.

Germans hate to stand and wait in lines. They have no patience for such uneventful activities. Every night, after work, my Little Rib tells me about her adventures at the grocery store. Most times it’s this type of story:

“So I was standing in line at the check-out counter and there were maybe five people in front of me and there’s this two hundred-year old woman supervising this young girl who bagged her groceries and when the cashier told her the balance THEN she bothered to check her purse for some cash and believe it or not she didn’t have enough cash on her and so she decided to charge it on her credit card but it was declined so she switched to her checking card but she couldn’t remember her PIN and she tried like three times but it didn’t work even though she thumbed through her diary for some clues and then she finally wrote a check but that took her forever because she didn’t realize at first that she had her check book in her SECOND purse and when she was finally gone the guy behind me chanted happily “Woohoo, one down!” while I wanted to go after her to drag her to the back alley and go Nazi on her!”

Nope, Germans do not like to wait in line …

Traffic in Germany is different, too. The first thing you will notice on German roads are the traffic signs. There are probably more different kinds of traffic signs than German words in the dictionary. Those signs are everywhere. One time I got lost on a hiking trip in one of the most deserted places in Germany. I almost died of thirst and hunger and the last thing I saw (right before I passed out) was a sign that read “No Parking!”

A lot of times you come across a stretch of road with a sequence of traffic signs that seem totally contradictory. You don’t know whether you’re supposed to go 30 miles an hour, come to a complete stop, watch out for cows or turn off the engine. No matter what you decide to do there will be a police officer waiting for you once you’ve made your decision.

My last experience driving with a friend in Germany wasn’t very enjoyable, either:

“What did you just do?”

“They are for your own good, Michael. Trust me.”

Before I came here I almost believed in God, but the infinite availability of parking spots in Las Vegas was probably the tipping point. It’s sheer bliss! And I’ve never been picky. I don’t care where I park as long as I have a place to actually put the car in neutral and leave it for a while without getting towed. To find a parking spot close to my apartment in my hometown I’d have to drive three towns up north because I knew some uncharted territory there. Even there it wasn’t easy to park because everything is just so darn small in Germany. A tight fit is the best you can get. I used be able to park between a bumper of a car and its bumper sticker. I’ve lost that skill over the years and on my last trip to Germany I let my Little Rib park the car.

Well, I just noticed that I have a lot to say about the differences between Germans and Americans. So be ready for part two!

(Submitted to Carnival of German-American Relations)

This entry was posted by Michael Meyn on Wednesday, June 14th, 2006 at 9:05 pm and is filed under Meyn's World. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or a trackback from your own site.