Obviously, there are differences between the individual residents of a country and a country’s officials. This is true everywhere to varying degrees. Like many U.S. citizens, I have experienced the bureaucracy unique to some of our more frustrating systems (the DMV, for example). Never before, however, was a power display as frustrating and simultaneously humorous as when we were aboard the D-Bahn leaving Germany.
I am a writer. I observe and record, and I try express my opinion with some sort of balanced, open-mindedness. But there is also a mischievous Catholic school girl within me, (let’s call her Suzy) who when faced with a verbal scolding or a passive-aggressive guilt-trip, must bite her tongue to keep from laughing. Hopefully, Suzy Wise Mouth won’t surface too much as I describe our departure. But I can’t make any promises.
So we were on the D-Bahn, and the conductors were coming around, as they do, checking passports and stamping tickets. Benjamin had purchased our tickets over the phone. The DB official on the phone instructed him to print the tickets at the station and show them to the conductor when asked. This is what Benjamin did. When Conductor “Franz” came by, he took a look at our papers, sighed melodramatically and said, “No, this is not ticket. Please you looking for ticket.”
Benjamin was calm at first. “This is what the machine printed.”
The conductor sighed again, and I swear I saw him roll his eyes. “You buy on phone?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied Benjamin, “and the man on the phone told me to print these at the station. This is what the machine printed.”
Conductor Franz began to steam a bit around the ears. “No, no,” he shook his head, “This is seat number. I need order number. How I know you pay for ticket?”
“I don’t understand,” said my love, trying for reason, “How would I have a seat assignment if I didn’t pay for a ticket?”
Franz wasn’t having it. “No, no. You call please and get order number. Then I make in machine you buy ticket. You call please. You get number and write number here.” He pointed to the top of the paper.
As the one in our partnership who dealt with the utilities people, the apartment people, the bank, and the HR department of his job, Benjamin had had enough of German red tape. He was tired, and he just wanted our vacation to get under way smoothly. I hadn’t dealt with as much German civil service, so I had more energy, more faith that this was simply some sort of mistake. I also rather liked practicing the little German I had learned, so I decided to make the call.
Now, speaking on the phone in another language is one thing if you’re trying to do something fun, like rent a bike for a day, or find out if a store has a certain brand of shoes. It’s ok if you’re taking to an actual human. When you’re dealing with an automated service that is providing options of buttons to press, and you have no idea where most of those buttons will take you, well, you press and guess, and hope you’re not sent to another robot. I pressed and pressed until I heard a blessed human voice. This DB official was very nice, and she actually laughed saying that the number that Franz was looking for was indeed there, on that paper, in the left lower corner. He didn’t know to look for it.
Hmmmm…now Suzy was ready. I was trying to keep her in, but man, she wanted out badly. She was positively aching to snort with laughter in his face. I mean, c’mon. This was a classic “head-does-not-have-a-clue-what-the-ass-is doing” kind of a moment.
But when I returned to our seat, I saw that Benjamin was clearly upset, thinking that they were going to kick us off the train. I reassured him that it would be ok. I whispered that it was Franz’s mistake, I had memorized that order number, and I was ready. Benjamin breathed a little sigh of relief. Suzy felt protective. She hated it when anyone made her love feel this way.
To make things even more unnecessarily complicated, Franz brought his boss to our seats. I bite my tongue. I had to. The two of them looked like a pair of ridiculous bobble heads, with their fingers in their belt loops, rocking forward and back above us, trying to be intimidating. They were saying things that were supposed to make us feel bad like, “Paper tickets are better. Why you not buy the paper ticket? This is not good.” And blah blah blah…I could feel Suzy beginning to smirk, and I had to swallow to stop her.
I didn’t want to make matters worse. For Benjamin’s sake, I quickly and silently told Suzy that knowing we were right was enough. We didn’t need to prove it. So instead of laughing, I changed my face to mirror their non-expressive mugs, and very slowly, with an ink pen, I hand wrote the order number as large as I could on upper part of the ticket (centimeters away from the computer-printed number of the same digits). I showed it to Herr Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee. “I believe this is the number that you need, ” I said, deadpan as I could muster.
“Ah, yes, very good,” they responded, and after fiddling with the machine that would print yet another paper, waiting for this machine to connect on-line, and bobbling some more, they left us alone.
Suzy finally smiled, triumphant. Benjamin could rest now, and we would cross the border soon. Tschuss, my temporary German home, Auf Wiedersehen!
