My roommate, Martin, is German. He makes jokes about being a fascist and throws his arm up into the air, giving an accented “Hiel, Hitler,” when he enters a room. My kind of humor.
He is pretty serious about saying, “Cheers.” That first afternoon in the apartment (no, the sun had not yet set) he asked if I wanted a whiskey. My kind of booze.
“In America you don’t look in the eyes when you say, ‘Cheers?’”
That’s important. I was watching my glass as my poor motor skills could easily have led me to pour booze all over my new whiskey-toting best friend. I explained and have not messed up since.
I do, however, occasionally forget to wait until everyone in the room has a drink open, has clinked beverages and offered the salutation to the gods of fun before taking my first sip. Also a mistake.
Two days after moving in, I went with Martin to visit two of his German friends also studying at the American University. We were watching a soccer game, drinking beers and shooting the shit. It was fun. They spoke in German a lot, but I’ve grown used to just listening to “gibberish.”
At one point this guy, Sebastian, was telling a story about some other guy who sucked. He was moving along in English until he tried to describe the guy’s haircut. He said something in German, the others laughed, and he inquisitively turned to me.
“What do you call it when the hair is long in back but short in the front?”
Even the Germans get it.
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1 comment:
Our friend's Grandma from Germany says that not looking in the eyes when you cheers can be 10 years of bad sex. That'll learn ya!
We miss you when we ride the rickety trains and almost twist our ankles on the cobblestone.
Oh, and when we drink cider.
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