Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Germans are a funny sort

Germans can find my letterbox only when they want me to pay them money, it seems.

My European Health Insurance Card has been lost to the ages and my Yeah Yeah Yeahs ticket nearly suffered a similar fate, but for the efforts of one stalwart postman, who managed not to leave the ticket in my letterbox, but rather left me a little blue slip, informing me that the letter containing the prized ticket was mine to have - if I came to pick it up in the post office.

It seems like a set-up which could descend into a cavalcade of hilarious misadventures, but the truth is far more banal. I showed up, signed for the ticket (hence why they couldn't just deliver it to me the old-fashioned way) and I was on my merry way. Karen O in Koln, here I come.

In reference to my opening sentence, that was a misadventure far more whimsical and, well, misadventurous than my Yeah Yeah Yeahs ticket debacle. Cast our minds back to my first week here, nay, my first proper night's sessioning here. Ten shots of an unquantifiable liquid later, and the next thing I know, I'm awake outside the door of my flat, sans cl├ęs, impossibly hungover.

One drunken conversation/beration from my Hausmeister later, I've a new set of keys, with the ominous warning that "this is the last key you will get" delivered in broken English. You know, so it sounds far more sinister.

Bed is good, so Eric fall into bed. Eric get knock on door. Keys in hand of nice lady. Bugger.

A week later, the one item of post I've been able to receive successfully since I got here arrives. It's a bill, for €220. Seems they don't take too kindly to losing keys 'round these parts. Alas, this isn't as dramatic as it sounds. I presented the "first they were lost and now they are found" keys to the relevant authorities, and my financial obligation to them was stricken from the record.

Wunderbar.



there's a great black wave in the middle of the sea for me

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