June 20, 2018
Tuesday
FMM: 10,492 steps
Talkin’ Trash and Coming
Clean
Guten morgen, faulenzer,
How does one recycle a piece of paper with a dead fly in it?
Does it go in the compost bin or the paper one?
Do I have to extricate the fly from the paper?
How does one recycle trash into six categories when one only
has four wastebaskets?
What should one do when faced with a sign such as this at
the locked metal bar garbage facility?
Hier nur zugebunde
Gelbe Sacke ablegen!
Alles andere, mit
Ausnahme von Sperrmull,
muss uber den
Restmuil oder Kompostmull entsorgt warden!
Zuwiderhandlungen
warden kostenpflichtig geahndet (100 Euro)!
Now you might say that I could go to Google and attempt to
translate this. But, after all, I am a faulenzer
just like you. I must say that the three
exclamation points and the capital letters make me shudder. So, I try to put out the garbage only when
no one is around. I do know that it is
supposed to be in specific bags for separate containers. The problem comes when there’s no garbage
already in the dumpster. Then what? Is
the bag biofab or restmull (very frowned upon) or whatever goes in the orange
bins? I have also been known – before I
knew the rules – to put the garbage out in a couple of Target bags I brought
from home. I have lain awake nights
(more on that later) worrying about whether they can trace those bags back to
me and fine me 100 euros or worse. So
far, I have escaped capture, and I only have about two weeks to go. Wish me luck.
Not only are the Germans very fastidious about their
garbage, they are also very stingy with their lighting, especially in hallways
and basements. That means that when you
enter a building or room, you often have to push a button to have light. I wouldn’t be surprised if Stephen King had a
hand in designing my path to the laundry room. Those of you who live in high
rise apartments know that when an elevator door opens, you never know who is
going to be on it or who will step onto the elevator with you. In my case, a rather creepy guy who reeks of
tobacco and always has on a cardigan sweater and is a few years older than I (ok,
I can’t say for that sure) has joined me.
On my first elevator
trip with him, I must have said, “Hello” instead of the German “Hallo.” This caused him to smile widely and burst
into a song in English about love and kissing girls while he raised his arms for
dramatic effect as he leaned into me. I
would’ve backed up, but remember I was on an elevator. He
did the same thing – song and all - when
Bob was in the elevator with me. However, Bob deemed him just a friendly
guy. Whatever.
In order to brave a trip to the laundry room, I must take my
phone – just in case I need to dial the emergency number, which I thought was
411 until I was reminded that it’s actually 112. Whatever. With
my laundry, detergent, keys, and tokens, I must then go down to floor -1 . When I step out of the elevator, it is pitch
black. I quickly push the light button
and look around for interlopers. Then I
go down one hall, turn left into another hall after which I must remember which
is the correct key to unlock the laundry area (trust me; this itself is quite
scary for me). I then must pass a long dark hallway filled
with locked storage closets on my left, a bolted door on my right where anyone could
jump out (Jack Nicholson maybe, yelling, “Heeeeere’s Johnny!”), before I turn
into the laundry room which is pitch black.
Can you imagine all the places someone could hide on that journey? I can.
Once I get into the laundry room, the nightmare is not over. I must have the correct tokens, put them into
the correct slots, and pray that I have set the machine on approximately the
right settings. If I accidentally set
the dryer to 30 seconds instead of 30 minutes, it will keep my token and leave
me 3 euros poorer with a wad of wet clothes.
Then I begin my dark journey back to the elevator where I very tentatively
push the button and wait for the door to open……..
Last time I promised to tell you about my life of possible
crime over here. Well, the Target bags
could still catch up with me, but they haven’t yet. However, something else may cause my
downfall.
Shortly after we arrived, our landlord provided a new bed
and mattress. When she came a few days
later and asked how I had been sleeping, I said that I had had my first full
night’s sleep since arriving. I told her
that I had had to take a sleeping pill on a few previous nights. Wide-eyed, she looked at me and made the sign
of cutting her throat. Then she
said, “That’s against the law here. “ I
said, “Oh, I have a prescription.” She
said, “It doesn’t matter. Don’t tell
anyone.” Well, I decided to check this out with another source. We went to dinner with a group of teachers
and the director of the school where Bob is teaching. At the dinner, I asked him about it. He said that no German would ever admit to
taking a sleeping pill. So, now I guess I’ve broken the law and ruined
my reputation here in Deutschland.
Dang. I wasn’t even trying. Don’t tell anyone, ok?
Well, I am sitting at McDonald’s, and, no, they don’t put
ice in Cokes here. Mine is empty, and
they don’t provide free refills either. And
it costs a half-euro to go to the bathroom. So, I think my time is up.
Pondering and laundering,
I remain
Tizzie/Tiz/Liz/Mom/Tizmom/Grandma Tizzie/Grizzie/Frau
O’Connell
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