Hello dear readers! Remember me? I'm sorry for the long silence. I moved away from Finland and so the basis for my blog posts was swept out from under my feet -- although I'm the one who did the sweeping. I'm not going to change the name of my blog, though, because I still like karjalan piirakoita.
I've been living in Eastern Germany for the past three and one half years. I won't go into the reasons now, though they have to do with love, health and livelihood. But I'm longing to go back to Finland, and hoping that I will be able to in the near future.
So much has happened during these past years. A pandemic. A war. A bizarre presidency. I won't write about those. People who are so much better informed on those issues have already done so, and will continue to (I hope). I'll return to focusing on the cultural differences I observe in my own life, without any ambitions of applying them to a bigger picture.
I hope you won't mind if I start by complaining. My caveat, as always, is that I'm a privileged white female with an Ivy-league education, so on the scale of people with things to really complain about, my stanines are not high. But it's my blog. So here's the subject of my complaint: German people.
Of course this is not a universal. But the percentage of people I've met here who are rude, mean, condescending or impatient towards me is the highest I have ever experienced. I always try to be friendly and caring when dealing with strangers. It doesn't always work, but at least I don't get any joy out of bullying or irritating people. But it seems that most of my encounters with people I don't know in this country start out in the same way: 1. I have done something wrong. 2. They point out what I've done wrong and how it makes it impossible for them to help me. 3. They are so awesome that they'll actually help me anyway.
What the actual crap. Does this happen in any other country?
I'll give a few examples. Go into local copy shop. Ask to have copies made. Have it pointed out that I did not organize the documents properly on my pen drive. Have it pointed out that I can make the copies myself -- all I have to do is use the copy machine over there.
OK, got it.
Next time: I go to said copy machine. Have it pointed out that it would be nice if I would inform the guy that I wanted to use the copy machine.
Arrgh.
Another example: I fall and hurt my foot. I go home and by the time I get there, I can't stand the pain and I can hardly walk. I get a taxi to the nearest clinic. The taxi driver goes in to find someone to help. The 'helper' has a wheelchair and I get in it, and she spends the next five minutes, as she's wheeling me into the building, talking about how some people think that life is a 'wish circus' and that they can go to just any place they want, when what they (I) should do is to go to the clinic on the other side of town. But no. Some people (I) want to ruin her lunch hour by scheduling their accidents between 12 and 1 so that she has to spend hers finding a wheelchair and wheeling 'some people' around. (To quote Dave Barry, I am not making this up.) How can people be so thoughtless? She paid no attention to the fact that I was crying because it hurt so much. She simply parked the wheelchair in front of the dark reception area, which wouldn't open for another 10 minutes, and left.
Uggggh.
Can you stand another one? I got a message that there was a package to pick up at a local UPS station. I went in and waited while the clerk was on the phone (personal, of course). She finally got off and asked what I wanted. I said I had a package to pick up and showed her my passport. She said "There's no package here for you." She took another phone call. When she got off, I said "But I have a message here that says I have a package." "I told you, there's no package here. I can't do anything about it." Shrugs shoulders. "Are you absolutely sure?" Surly look, shuffle over to packages. Unbelievably and in violation of the General Data Protection Regulations of the European Union, she starts to read the names off. "Schmidt." "Schleppenbecker." "Fahrvergnügen." "Saranpa." Aha! "That's it!" I said. "But that's not your name," she says. I look at her in disbelief. "Let me see your identification again." Apparently she doesn't know how to read a passport and thought my last name was Joensuu. No apology. She asks for my identification once again, because she has to do that in order to give me my package to make sure I am who I claim to be. At this point, my patience was at an end. After getting my package, I left in a huff.
Grrrr!!!
There are lovely people in Eastern Germany. Just not enough of them. Is it me? I know I grew up in a 'politeness culture', but this seems to have less to do with politeness and more with meanness. I have heard the explanation that East Germans still have a deep sense of being losers -- that the fall of the Berlin Wall didn't just mean freedom, but also that the system they had been a part of was deemed a failure -- and so, by association, were they. East Germans still earn on average less than West Germans and have lower pensions. There are still unflattering prejudices against East Germans. I understand, but trying to make other people feel like losers doesn't seem very productive.
Well, enough for today. Just wanted to do something to get this blog started again. Next time I'll write about something delightful in Eastern Germany, something that will explain where my krazy blogger name comes from.
