A Collection of Hamburg Stories

Hold on to your hats my friends, cuz I gots stories.  Instead if doing a general rundown of the day, which is my usual plan of attack, I'm going to divide the stories so there's no confusion.

The Portuguese Consulate Story

So I hitched a ride into Hamburg this morning (he was very nice) and immediately hunted down the Portuguese consulate.  I arrived at 11.30, and was immediately instructed in Portuguese to write down my name, my business, and sit my ass down in the waiting room.  So I did.  And waited.  And waited.  For two and a half hours.  It was absolutely miserable, and I'd forgotten to bring a book, so I just stared at a wall and stewed in my own anxiety juices while I waited for them to kick me out.  The people around me, all Portuguese, were absolutely insane.  At one point, there was a guy right in front of me rubbing up really awkwardly on his morbidly obese wife, while his thirteen year old son really, really awkwardly rubbed up on him.  Then on my right, another couple was awkwardly feeding each other oreos over their sleeping baby, while to my left, a girl was awkwardly swishing the ratty end of her ponytail around on her boyfriend's face.  And I just wanted to stand up and scream "ALL OF YOU GO HAVE SEX SOMEWHERE AND LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE.  YOU TOO, YOU WEIRD INCESTUOUS FAMILY OVER THERE."

In the movies, this is the point when I would have been called in, but it wasn't, I waited another hour.  With my free time, and to distract myself from Incest Family, I started planning my lies.  Everybody and their mother knows that I am a horrible, horrible liar, BUT if I have enough time in advance to rehearse my lies until I make myself believe them, I'm practically CIA worthy.  So I had my whole story worked out: my cousins had invited me to live with them right outside of Coimbra, where I could take an intensive Portuguese-language course over the summer and start school there in the fall.  It was brilliant, and the lady I dealt with absolutely believed me, was 200% supportive, and didn't even give me shit about how we did everything in German. Everything from there on out was easy as pie.  I got signed up for an ID card (which I have to pick up in person next month) which was great.  But for one terrifying minute, I thought my story was going to go up in smoke, when this happened:

Lady:  So, would you like a security number?
Me:  A what?
Lady:  A security number, for when you live in Portugal.  Normally I don't recommend that people get them, since they all stay in Germany, but since you're planning on moving back to Motherland, you should have one.
Me:  (Fuckfuckfuckfuck)...Please, dear lady, tell me about this security number!

As it turns out, it's okay.  I don't have to pay for it, and it's just basically them putting me in the computer, in the event that I move to Portugal and take out an insurance policy there.  As long as I don't activate my insurance in Portugal, the number just sits on my card to remind me that I'm in the system.  And since the Portuguese health care system is absolute shite, that number is going to stay asleep forever.


The Bakery Story


With something of a high going just from standing up after nearly three hours of sitting in a chair, I eagerly bounded out of the consulate and looked around for something to eat.  Because it occurred to me, somewhere around 2 pm, that I hadn't eaten anything since 7 am, and my low blood sugar was punching me in the temples.  So I got out onto the main street, and there I beheld a beautiful site.  Cherubs sang, the gates of Heaven opened up, and I laid my eyes on a Starbucks.  But no, I sighed to myself.  I'm trying not to be American.  So I turned around and walked into the City Bakery. Looking at all my options, I started planning and grammatically correcting my order in my head, but there was Starbucks out of the corner of my eye, singing Handel's Messiah.  "No, Starbucks, not today," I said.  I got in line.  I decided on a croissant with jelly.  Oh, and a hot chocolate.  The girl at the counter looked up.  She opened her mouth, and I could see her lips forming around the words to call me over.  And I thought: Fuck this shit.  I just sat in the Portuguese consulate for two and a half hours, lied through my teeth, and tried not to stare at the incest that was going on right before my fucking eyes.  I have earned the right to be fucking American for twenty fucking minutes.  Fuck you, bakery.  And I marched right out, crossed the street, and triumphantly ordered myself a blueberry muffin and a vanilla bean frappuccino.  It cost me almost 10 US dollars, but I ate it and it was glorious.


The Walking Around Hamburg Story


Not really a story.  I had time to kill between when the consulate freed me and when my ride was leaving, so I ran around the city a bit.  Terrible weather, but I saw some attractive buildings, a nice church, and a horrendously terrifying statue in the harbor that I did not take a picture of, but found on the internet to frighten you.  Enjoy.

The Bucket List Story, Part I

Well Sam Barry, when I got in the car with my rideshare on the way home, he asked where I was from.  I said the US.  The whole car turned to stare at me in silence, until finally one guy said "No you're not."  "Yes I am."  "No, you're not."  "Yes, I am.  And I have my passport on my person if you want to see it."  They didn't say what ethnicity they mistook me as, but they clearly mistook me for something, so I'm counting it. That's 3 that I've been confused for, and only 3 more before I've fulfilled the Bucket List obligation!

The Bucket List Story, Part II, or: How I Gave My Flower Away

I was sitting in Hannover, waiting for my second ride share guy to pick me up, when two men in their fifties walked up to me.  The one said "What are you...wait.  Don't move," and promptly ran back inside the train station.  I looked at his friend and raised an eyebrow, but his friend shrugged and said nothing.  A few minutes later, the first guy came back out of the station, this time holding a white rose.  "A gift for you," he said.  "What is this for?" I asked.  "You look like you needed a flower.  A woman should never wait alone without a flower."  He smiled at me through his bad teeth, and I smiled back and said, "That's very kind of you.  It's lovely."  He said goodbye, and walked away.  

I stared at it for a few minutes, and then the light bulb went off in my brain and I was really excited.  Because, for those of you who have really excellent memories, task number 3 on the Bucket List reads: Give a stranger a flower.  Which, if you have retardedly amazing memories, was inspired by this occurence from Konstanz, when a Persian girl on the bus gave me a rose after we'd randomly bonded over how difficult it is to be a foreigner sometimes.  Clearly, I thought to myself, the universe is trying to tell me something.  With this random white rose that I have just received, I am meant to do good and complete a Bucket List task: give my flower away.  

Stop laughing, assholes.

Anyway, when I got to the main train station in Hannover, I eagerly looked around for someone I could give my rose to.  An old lady, I thought, who's having a bad day, or perhaps a couple on their way to reconnect in some distant city.  I tried to give away my goddamn flower to not one, not two, but FOUR people, and no one would take it. The first two old ladies stared at me like I was insane, and didn't even say anything. The couple angrily said, "We don't own a vase," and stormed off in the other direction, like I'd insulted their parents rather than offered them a flower.  So it was with a heavy heart that I boarded the train back to Celle.

"All I want to do is give my flower away, but nobody wants it," I said to myself. "Maybe I'm supposed to keep it."  But then the rain finally broke, and a lovely rainbow lit up the sky, and I said, "If I were the double rainbow guy, I would say: what does this mean? And then I would answer: it means I'm supposed to give my flower away."  I briefly debated handing it to the guy sitting next to me (dressed in all black, probably hates flowers), and dropping it as I went past the old lady a few rows up, then running when she tried to give it back to me (too much risk it would stay on the floor).  Then it occurred to me: I should take my flower into town, locate a female bike, and drop it into the bike basket.  But not stick around to watch the unsuspecting girl find it, of course, that would be almost as creepy as putting it in her basket in the first place. Upon reaching this conclusion, the sky once again lit up with a giant piece of vertical rainbow over the Hannover skyline, and I said, "Double rainbow guy, you might be on to something.  The universe thinks this is a good idea."

So, I took my flower into Celle, located a bike clearly belonging to a woman, dropped the flower into her basket, and ran.  It was so clean and professional, it was like a drive-by shooting, minus the shooting.  I went home content that I had fulfilled my Bucket List task.

And that, my friends, is how I gave away my flower: silently, covertly, and to someone who was totally unwilling.

Stop laughing, assholes.  This is serious shit.