The original problem was that the basket was attached to a bar, which was screwed on around the bike underneath the handlebars. The joint where the bike was welded to the bar rusted through, and the bike basket fell off one tragic morning when I put my purse in it. German Mountain Man took one look at it, and said he wasn't sure if he could fix it, but he would certainly try. And I got to help!
First, he unscrewed the plates that attached the basket to the (now broken off) piece of metal. Then he unscrewed the arm-thingy from the bike, and decided to see if he could bend the part that had rusted through to re-attach it. When simply hitting it with a hammer didn't do the trick, he brought out the workstation, including a giant fire-maker-thing which softened the metal enough that he could flatten it out, hit it a few times for good measure, and then bend it. Then, once it cooled, I got to down the giant heavy gloves and brush all the rust off with a rust-offer-brush. And I also got to pretend I knew was I was doing.
Once all the rust was off, he brought out the epic power drill and epically power-drilled two holes through the newly bent metal and attaching plates, where previously there had only been a weld. Then I got to take the all-weather anti-rust paint and give the entire contraption a few coats, which was fun. After that, it was just a simple matter of putting screws through all the holes and reattaching the arm to the bike. Voila! Bike fixed! Super super exciting, and in return I gave him banana bread.
In other news, one of my friends posted on Facebook that Ed Sheeran was coming to Göttingen, and I was all WOAH ED SHEERAN. I looked up ticket prices, and they were a measly fifteen euros each, so I bought two and figured I'd find someone to go with me. I was really, really, REALLY excited, for ten minutes--until I realized the concert was in September, when Claire and I will be smack dab in the middle of Ireland. Of course. Probably the only artist I like to ever come to my city, and he does it while I'm petting sheep and making friends with leprechauns.
So, I immediately set about canceling the tickets--until I remember this is Germany, which isn't really as much "customer-service" oriented as it is "fuck-you-and-the-horse-you-rode-in-that's-what-you-get-for-going-to-Ireland" oriented. Neither the online vendor nor the venue itself allow ticket returns. Panicked, I called the bank, hoping beyond hope they would be like any American bank worth it's weight in salt and possess Magical Transaction Canceling Powers. No such luck. Just as I was resigning myself to being out thirty euros, the lady on the other end threw in a cheery, "Oh, but if you call us on Monday after your transaction goes through, we can cancel everything and return your money to you." This makes no sense whatsoever, but as they say, if you look a gift horse in the mouth, you will get pregnant and die.
And that's why I've spent most of today calling the bank in intervals. No, the transaction has not yet gone through, so I'll keep calling tomorrow.
ED SHEERAN, THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT.