August 11, 2009

He Did What? (11.08.2009)

 I was half-asleep and struggling to hold back a yawn when it happened. Markus Heide had just wrapped up his presentation at Hümboldt and the group was milling around the fifth-floor lecture room. I wanted to go home and get to sleep, but I had to wait for Muhammed. The afternoon sun poured into the room, and beads of sweat started collecting on my brow. The windows kept shutting themselves and I cursed so-called brilliant German engineering. I slumped back in my chair, checked to see if the cloud outside the atrium window still looked like Franklin the Turtle, and tried to pick an eyelash off the side of my lower left cheek. Markus saw me picking with one finger from my left side, three chairs down—to him, it appeared that I was digging for gooey gold like a Yukon panhound. We exchanged glances and gentlemanly nods, my index finger still trying to pluck the pesky eyelash from my face.

 I didn’t realize it until later, but to Markus, I was tickling boogers. It’s tough to build an impression off of that. Oh hey! Remember that Boogerpalooza you saw? Yeah, I’m that gross... Say, you hungry? Muhammed finished up talking and I started towards the door, passing Markus along the way. I thanked him for his presentation (a good lecture, really) and extended my hand. It’s wrong to say that Markus recoiled, but he certainly reacted, well, as if a kid with boogery fingers wanted a handshake. “Right,” he said with an amicable slap on my shoulder, “it’s time for me to run as well.” I found the whole act disconcerting. I go for the shake; he hesitates, and pats me on the shoulder. Then it clicked. I was caught yellow-handed in a ruse.

 That little fiasco is reminiscent of a nagging theme in Berlin culture: flash misperceptions. I thought Berlin was neat and space-age when I drove through the city with Shawn on my first day; it’s grungy. I thought the building across the street was a daycare because so many single women hung around; it’s a brothel. I thought David Hasselhoff would have his own blimp flying over the city; not yet. Further down that vein, the observations and realizations we make after a closer look are crucial to our learning experience—not just about the city, but more importantly about each other. I’m learning about you guys, you guys are learning about me, and it’s all groovy.

 Whether it’s the HoffZepplin or a phantom booger, nothing in Berlin can be written off after first glance. Once you think your Ts are crossed and you Is dotted, you’ll notice a serif. It’s just the way this town seems to work. So take three or four looks at everything you can, because when in doubt you’re probably wrong. You got that, Markus?