Fluffy

It’s been a busy week.

For starters, let’s go over my work visa.  I needed to obtain this visa from the Italian consulate in Frankfurt.  After 2 weeks of calling and emails, I was unable to schedule an appointment.  A friend of mine, Jim (also my temporary roommate), drove me to Frankfurt since he didn’t feel like going to work anyway.  We thought we were all set with maps, address, phone numbers, and the GPS in his super-hot BMW.

So we arrive at 17 Beethovenstrasse to find a rather shady apartment building.  WTF?

After many more phone calls to the office and my boss, we are still at the drawing board.  On a lark, we drove to the train station, parked, and went to the tourist buro to inquire.  The clerk was very nice and said that the consulate had relocated.  Fortunately, it relocated only a few blocks away.  We walked to the consulate and I had just taken a number when my cell phone rang.  It was my coworker, who’d called both the Italian embassy in Berlin and the US embassy in Rome.

Him: You’re chasing a ghost.  There is no consulate in Frankfurt anymore.

Me:  Really?  Okay, I do, I do believe in spooks, ’cause I’m in the freaking consulate right now.

Not cool.  Even their own freaking embassy didn’t know they had relocated.  The address on their ultra-crappy website said 17 Beethovenstrasse.  Seriously, I challenge you readers (as if anyone reads this blog anyway) to do a google search and see if you can find any info on the Italian consulate in Frankfurt.  Their phone recording and even their own visa applications still have the old address.

However, my luck changed.  This very hot Italian guy who spoke excellent English with a very sexy accent was appointed to assist me.  Thank goodness I had dressed nicely; lots of other people there were wearing sweats and sneakers.  I had everything I needed except a SOFA card and visa photos.  He said not to worry about the SOFA card, but he had to have photos and that it would take 24 hours to get the visa back.  He could mail it to me, but I needed my passport for the upcoming weekend in Amsterdam (more later on that).  I explained that I had come a long way and asked very politey if there was any way I could run out quickly to get the photos.  He said they closed at noon because their insurance would not cover them past noon, but that he would let me back in the building to give him the photos and also that he would personally call his boss in Rome to see if they could push it through.

I made 4 photos for the bargain price of 5 Euros and brought them back.  Jim was such a good sport about it all.  Once I handed the fellow the photo, he came back out 2 minutes later with my visa.  I actually started doing an impromptu happy dance in the corridor.  It was just such a relief to get my visa and he was so nice about it.  Whew.

On the drive home, I suddenly realized that I did not have a SOFA card.  Normally, dependents of active duty military, GS civilians, and government sponsored contractors receive a SOFA card upon arrival in Germany and also have an exit stamp in their passports from when they officially departed the United States.  Since I separated from the military while still in Germany, I never had to get a SOFA card to enter the country.  This isn’t a huge problem, but if I had gotten into any kind of legal trouble I would have been without proof of my SOFA protection.  Scariest of all was the fact that I did not have an exit stamp from the US since I came to Germany from Korea on military orders.  In fact, I’ve never had to use my passport to leave the US.  So for all practical purposes, it looks like I am an American who somehow exited the US and entered Germany without any proof of doing it legally.  Kind of scary when you consider how I’ve flown to Italy, Poland, the Azores, and Greece in the last 6 months.

Okay, on to Amsterdam.  Really cool trip.  Jim and I had an awesome time; food was good, we saw the Van Gogh Museum and Anne Frank house, people were nice, and even rented a fun little 4 door SmartCar for the trip.  You just have to see the city for yourself.  It’s awesome and much cooler than the last time I went when I was 9 years old. 

To get home, we had to first drive out of the Netherlands and then into Belgium.  We crossed into Germany around 8pm and noticed 2 cars and a van pulled over on a left turn lane, which was rather odd for a 2 lane road.  From a distance I saw blue and red lights so I slowed down, expected a road block.  But by the time we got close, the flashing lights had ceased so I kept on driving and forgot about it.  I abide by traffic laws and was not speeding.  A few minutes later, a Polizei pulled in front of me and flashed a marquee that said “Follow Me”.  That same van got behind me, this I was boxed in.

I was terrified that I had done something illegal, not to mention the fact that I didn’t have any proof of SOFA protection.  I pulled over and the cop walked up with a flashlight and asked in German for my ID.  I showed him my passport and my ID card, explaining that I worked at an American military base.  He also spoke some English so we were able to communicate.  I asked if there was a problem and he told me to step out of the car.  He was quite polite and professional, but I was scared since I had no idea what was happening.  It clearly wasn’t just a passport check or DUI check.

Our conversation went like this:

Him: Have you been traveling?

Me: Yes.

Him:  Where were you visiting?

Me: Holland.

Him: Could you be more specific please?

Me: Yes, we went to Amsterdam.

Him: For how long?

Me: We stayed 2 nights.

Him: Why did you go?

Me: Just taking a quick vacation.

Him: What did you do there?

Me: Toured the Van Gogh museum, Anne Frank house.

Him: Ah yes, the Van Gogh museum is nice.  What is your relation to the man in the car?

Me: He’s my friend.

Him: Okay.

Me: Could you please tell me what is happening?  Was I speeding?

Him: Oh no, you didn’t do anything wrong. 

Me: Oh, because this is kind of scary.

Him: It’s okay.  We received a tip about a car with a Munich license plate and your car has an “M” prefix.

While this interrogation was going on, the other cop was asking Jim the exact same questions, I guess to separate us in order to confirm our stories.  He seemed to spend quite a while flipping thru my passport and examining my ID card.  The cops then spoke together briefly and kindly told me just to take a few deep breaths and wait a few minutes to calm down before driving off.  So it all turned out okay but let me tell you, that kind of thing is scary as hell.  Don’t ever try to take anything illegal out of the Netherlands into a different country.  Those guys are pros at figuring out these kinds of things and you are only safe if you have nothing to hide.  I have seen them near the borders with binoculars and vans near the airports, but never been pulled over like that.  Again, they were very professional and respectful and didn’t give us any trouble, but I hope you readers never have to go thru anything like that.

And let’s give a fond farewell to our beloved Mr. Don Knotts.  He’s probably cracking jokes in Heaven already and making God laugh.

The countdown will be starting soon on my departure for Italy, once I get my freaking work visa and someone at the Italian consulate actually answers the phone or responds to an email.

But as always, it comes sooner than you think and the full circle syndrome is already taking place.  I keep running into people that I have not seen in ages, but even if they are not exactly my favorite people, at least I get some sort of closure.

In the last 24 hours, I have run into:

Chad: guy I used to go motorcycle riding with, along with his buddies, until they learned I was a captain.  I saw him at the bowling alley and he was really nice and I thanked him for everything, which I never got to do beforehand.

German Guy: I saw him at the local grocery store.  We only talked briefly, but he was nice and seemed genuinely glad to see me.  He has a really bad haircut now, Three Stooges style.  No kidding.  I wished him luck.

Creepy Motorcycle Guy: this guy was always nice and took me to dinner and some rides on his Hayabusa at speeds exceeding 145 mph.  It wasn’t his fault that he was creepy, but at least I got to give him an update and thank him for his kindness.

Bunker Boy: I met this guy downrange over 3 years ago and he is still a hottie.  Such a nice guy and it was nice to say goodbye in person this time around.

Even Bus Boy completely surprised me by emailing me today, and later helping me take some boxes to the post office.  Still not sure what his game is, but at least it is nice to know that he enjoys my company.

Kind of cool how things come full circle.  This always happens and I am grateful for it.

I know what I am writing is morally reprehensible and offensive. Maybe I’ll get some cool hate mail. But allow me to explain

I do not like children.

But even that alone never inspired me to wish such events on them, until Thursday night. I moved out of my house on Thursday afternoon and took up a coworker on his offer to crash at their place, along with his family, which includes a little boy who is almost 4. The little boy is pretty sweet as far as kids go.

But my coworker failed to tell me that they are “potty-training” him. To those of us fortunate enough not to have procreated, this means “teaching your nasty little shit to quit taking a dump in his pants and expecting someone else to clean it up simply because he did not want to miss 2 minutes of “Dora the Explorer” to sit on the toilet like a normal person would“.

Note to crotchfruit owners: people appreciate your hospitality and are likely truly grateful that you offer your residence during their periods of temporary homelessness. However, you as a host have a moral duty to uphold that you remove the dirty patina of parenting from your vision when making your offer. A kid who is almost 4 who refuses to use the toilet and instead prefers to crap in its pants, or worse, the bathtub and bathmat on which your guest only moments before had taken a shower and placed her bare, clean feet, is grounds for cancelling your offer. At least give guests the courtesy warning (flush? I’m so clever) about the influx of fecal material that is coating your floors, sheets, furniture, and who knows what else.

To top it all off, the kid puked 3 times. After the second puke, his parents tossed him in the bathtub, but not before yanking off his filled diaper and putting it into the trash can right next to the sink, the very sink where they expected me to brush my teeth. I have no desire to look at human feces while brushing my teeth. In fact, the entire episode made me sick to my stomach and I probably would have puked too if I could have found a sanitary place in their house to do so.

Parents, I realize you love everything about your crotchfruit, from the drool dribbling down their chins to the foul smelling substance oozing from their darling little rear ends, but for fuck’s sake don’t make the rest of the world put up with it.

Fortunately, the above story has a happy ending. The cute guy from the volksmarch last week had casually mentioned that he had an extra bedroom and bathroom, plus he lives 5 minutes from work. Panicking after puke #2 and the unpleasant bathmat incident, I called him up. I said “Well, the people I am staying with are potty training their son” and he nearly yelled “Oh God, don’t say any more, come on over whenever you want”.

His place is typically bachelor pad, with lots of cool gadgets, mismatched dishes, and porn video collection neatly stacked on the entertainment center. But his is also very clean. In fact, I smelled bleach and Clorox disinfectant when I walked in.

P.S. I rented “The Exorcism of Emily Rose” over the weekend. Not particularly scary, though a bit disturbing. For those who have seen the movie, let me say I have woken up at 2:58am and 2:59am precisely over the last two nights, scared out of my mind, clutching my ancient teddy bear for dear life.

You would think that after living in Germany for 9 years as a kid and another 1 1/2 as an adult, that I would have discovered the wonders of Schnapps by now. Sadly, it was not until this Saturday on yet another cold and miserable volksmarch (organized hike) that I did discover this substance. Here is an ode to the wonders of that fabulous libation.

Schnapps, oh Schnapps
How you brighten my soul
You warmed me up on the volksmarch
When it was too f-cking cold

We were hiking 15 kilometers
In freezing wind and breeze
I was already sick
All I did was sneeze

When suddenly there appeared a hut
Filled with the usual snacks and beer
And a local Frau said “Schnapps?”
And four shotglasses did appear

I downed the shot, spilling some on my glove
It burned my throat at first
But then suddenly I could breathe easily
And it cured my aching thirst

7km later, we reached another hut
This one had Schnapps, too
My companions and I downed another shot
Wheeee, whoo-hoo!

The rest of the hike was not at all cold
Rendering my previous complaints mute
Even the guy who’d been hitting on me all day
Suddenly appeared pretty damn cute

Schnapps, oh Schnapps, you did save the day
And I wound up having a wonderful time
So next time you’re in the liquor store, buy some Schnapps
Shout “Prost!” and raise your shotglass high!

Maybe it’s the weather, maybe it’s the stress of moving to Italy with no appropriate passport stamp yet, maybe it’s the fact that my landlord, Herr Hitler, wants to charge me 900 Euros for a new bathtub, or perhaps a combination of all three, and more.

But for some reason, I have been compelled recently to listen repeatedly to various musicals and REO Speedwagon.

Seriously, I actually rented “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang” over the weekend and watched it at least twice, not counting the multiple times I scrolled thru to my favorite songs. Then I rented “Fiddler on the Roof”, possibly my least favorite musical of all time, and got caught humming “If I Were a Rich Man” at work. And the only CD is my stereo is REO Speedwagon - the Hits.

I tried listening to a little bit of Rage Against the Machine, but I got only 3 songs into “Evil Empire” and had to resort to Chitty Chitty Bang Bang again. It is rather a strange feeling to go from shouting “IT’S COMING BACK AROUND AGAIN, THIS IS FOR THE PEOPLE OF THE SUN” straight to “Near far, in a motorcar, on Chitty Chitty we depend”.

In other news, I finally added some links to other blogs I enjoy. Check them out.

P.S. I’m also open to suggestions for what to do about the landlord issue. The housing office can’t help. Maybe invite some people over, buy a keg of beer, pass out some sledgehammers, and tell them to go to work? Might as well get something out of the 900 Euro.