Or: "I Got Yer Package: RIGHT HERE."
I just had to tell a Deutschbag to go fuck himself. Yes, I tend to over-react emotionally in all sorts of situations where most normal people would simply keep a stiff upper lip and bend over and take the sheisse. But I'm not normal people (scroll down through the past posts and say "yup").
By now we all have figured out the Berlin is not Germany; it's more of an island of poor in a rich country, a chaotic, spastic lily pad in the otherwise still lagoon, and many more metaphors I have yet to think up. So flush your stereotypes of 'German Efficiency' right down the no-standing-while-pissing shelf toilet and hitch a ride on the inefficiency express.
Enter: delivery deutschbag. "Package for Herr Hasenpfeffer."
dd: "But do you know where HH is?"
db: "No, sorry."
dd: "Then can you take this package for him?"
db: "Ummm. Just said I don't know the fella. Why in HELL would I take a package for someone I don't know?"
dd: "But I can put a note in his mailbox and you can bring it to him."
db: "You know where his mailbox is, know he's in the building, and want ME TO DO YOUR JOB FOR YOU?"
The dialog above has been slightly fictionalized for theatrical purposes, but this rant/spleen vent/whinge is all to say that there seems to be a serious problem with Deutsche Delivery Dudes in my 'hood. I understand that in an uberefficient world, there would be flat numbers, floor levels and colorful maps next to each name on the buzzer/mailbox. But after about 44 different DDDs from a half dozen delivery companies asked me to hold their plain, light brown, sweaty packages I just had to cry 'BULLSHEISSE!' and let slip the dogs of db.
I'm thinking that there's only a dozen flats in our building. I'm also thinking that it would take the DDDs all of 5 minutes to investigate all 3 flats on all 4 levels to find their Herren and Frauen. Lazy fuchsen. Better yet: HEY! Here's an idea: your company delivers to this building every single business day of the year. WRITE DOWN THE NAMES OF THE PEOPLE/FLATS AND GIVE IT TO YOUR FUCKING DRIVERS FOR FUCK'S SAKE.
End of rant.
This particular DDD today happened to be the last in a long line of lazy fux who ring my bell, dragged me away from my kung fu theater flix and hit me with their deutschbaggery. I had to yell at him and tell him to go fuck himself, this is true. But in my defense, this occurred right after I politely refused to hold his package and he stormed off muttering in a pissed off tone. THAT's when he got the business end of my foul mouth.