I can’t understand a word these people are saying. I do understand them on other levels. They stack wood like it’s an art form. I am sure I would do the same, if I had wood to stack. Their toilets have a little shelf so they can examine their poop. I have similar interests. They have a sensitive nose for mustard, which is my favorite condiment, and maybe my favorite food. Anyone that has lived with me knows I put it on everything. They have little shame, especially about their bodies, and change into their bathing suits without the need for privacy. My fella was happily liberated as I slipped on my swim trunks
What I am trying to say is that I get these people. I just don’t get anything they are talking about. Not one word.
Apparently there are German classes at my software company. Alison can attend as well. It’s convenient to the kids school (for now — the company is moving across the river in November). So we can learn together and go home with the kids on the tram, if our schedules line up.
I start work on Monday — but I visited the office yesterday for some sausages and beer to celebrate someone’s paternity leave. They speak English more than fluently — including a level of dark sarcasm most Americans can’t keep up with. A memorable remark, involving my mother and the brothel down the street, was particularly impressive.
My workmates have a favorite beer — Freistadt, a small brewery in a local town of the same name. Everyone in the town owns a share of the brewery, based on an ownership contract that was signed in the 1700’s. At the end of the year, when the brewery distributes profits, you can take Euros, or get your share in beer, instead.