“Servus! Gruss Gott!” Man

Our nearest grocery store is around the corner from our apartment in an U-Bahn stop. I got over the weirdness of grocery shopping in a train station, having to carry my own bags to the store, bagging my own groceries, finding dozens of products that I could not translate into anything that made any sense. Most recently, I got over the weirdness of having to walk by a store called “Sex World” every day when I make the trek to Tenglemann. I don’t think it’s anywhere near out of the ordinary to walk by a display case with a dozen or so multi-colored, multi-angled dildos in a field of fake grass. I guess it was around Christmas time when they added a special festive touch to the dildos that made me move beyond my subconscious Southern American conservatism. Each of the dildos on display had its own miniature Santa Claus hat on it. As if that would make the average person finally break down and buy what they have never had the courage to buy. “Oh, I never thought that artificial penises could be so cute. It’s both functional and decorative!”

I even started laughing whenever I saw the sad, violin player standing outside of Burger King every day. He never plays like he cares anymore. He stands, chin and neck fat wrapped around his violin, dragging his bow across, moving his glove-wrapped fingers up and down the neck. Normally playing the same song, but during Oktoberfest, I heard the unmistakable tune of the “Chicken Dance.” No one was dancing, but plenty of people were going into Burger King and buying American-style burgers that they could have “their way.” I even saw him walking down into the U-bahn station, violin case in hand as if he were coming home after a long day at the office.

Going shopping in Tenglemann can be very hectic, so I usually preface the excursion by having a cigarette on the way there, and sometimes a beer. It is always very warm in there, so when you get bundled up for the walk there, be prepared to begin to sweat, immediately, upon entry into the store. Germans leave their coats on when they shop, having no large carts, nor room to maneuver them inside the store. It’s 75 degrees in the store and everyone is dressed as if they were going sledding.

After having a routine shopping selection: foods I know I like, bread, eggs, crackers, Philadelphia cream cheese, etc., it’s now a bit easier to get in and get out. However, there are certain days that, after having gotten home from work and hunger strikes me like a mind-numbing disability, I wander into the store like a small child in a Wal-Mart, looking for his mom. I know why I’m there, but I can’t seem to stay focused enough to get the job done.

“Ok, I need this and this. But is that what I really want:? Oh, wow! They sell packages of fresh chicken hearts here. I wonder if that’s a good deal for a half kilo of chicken hearts. Do people go fishing with them, or make a soup or maybe…Hey! They have a new type of beer for sale. I think I want a beer. Maybe with dinner. Dinner, right. Maybe I’ll just have crackers and beer for dinner. Maybe and egg sandwich. We had eggs and bread at home, what am I doing here.”

All the while sweating, both from nervousness and having four layers of warm clothes on and an itchy, wool scarf.

My favorite teller is pretty much the only man that works there. He has the most sing-song way of saying things. With peaks and crescendos of voice. For every customer that comes, he says “SErvus, Gruss Gott!” as if on a recording, but more like a recording of Robert Goulet reading Robert Frost’s “The Road Less Travelled.” Saying “bitte” the way a sweet Southern woman would say “please” with about two or three unnecessary intonations and syllables. The numbers are even better. He emphasizes the big numbers and lets the rest trail off. “SECH und neunzehn DREI und DREIzig, bitte!” It warms my heart to hear him say the amount I must pay him and am so often distracted with rush of trying to shove all of my groceries into my bags as he passes them across the scanner and shivering with anticipation at the thought of hearing the amount for the day that I often find myself caught off guard when actually says the price and get lost in the poetry of the numbers. Luckily, there is a display screen that shows the amount. I then unzip the coin section of my wallet and search for some possible combinations of coins that would make his life even the slightest bit easier. Often, it’s only four cents that prevents him from having to reach into another coin slot of his money drawer, thus saving himself two seconds of his life that he could use to say an extra “schonen Abend noch!” as a customer leaves his queue.