And I think to myself, “Oh, holy God: not this shit again.”
Because another day in Germany means another struggle with language: to watch TV, to read a newspaper, to buy a ticket for the subway, to talk to a clerk in a grocery store. I study, I memorize, and I get a little more confident. And then I pick up a German copy of Harry Potter and realize I can't make it through a paragraph. It's a little damaging to the ego when you realize you can't compete intellectually with people whose primary medical complaint is inextricable M&Ms.
It doesn't help that the Germans pretend that this is entirely my problem, because they do everything perfectly. They pride themselves on being amazing, a rumor I actually believed when I lived in America. The thing is, we're grading them on an EU curve. Yes, Germany is the most productive, most accomplished country in the EU, an organization that includes Italy and Greece. But it's easy to look intelligent next to a country that decides criminal trials with a dance-off.
Maybe at some point in the past Germans were perfect, but there are cracks in the pavement now.
The language has quite a few inexplicable rules, but the worst has to be this: sometimes words randomly divide, with one part running somewhere else in the sentence. "Anrufen," for instance, means "to call on the phone." "Ich kann sie anrufen" means "I can call them on the phone."
If you actually make the call, though, the "rufen" breaks off and moves forward. "Ich rufen sie an" means "I am calling them on the phone." There's really no equivalent in English: you won't really try to understand somebody and then, when the time comes, really stand under them.
"Umfahren" is an odd German word that has two opposite meanings. Originally it meant "to drive around," but then somebody decided that was too limiting so they added "to run over" too. I guess sometimes the thoughts merge in German heads. If you're still in the planning stages, it's "Ich kann sie umfahren." When the times comes, naturally the "fahren" scurries forward and it's "Ich fahre ihn um."
I'll admit this vagueness could actually be helpful. The policeman questioning you about the body on the sidewalk might glance off into the distance for a few seconds. He might shrug his shoulders and write something in his notebook. Regardless, you can drive off to fahre another ihn.
Desexing language also hasn't come to Germany yet. While we banished "actress" and "waitress" as being separatist and sexist, they still have "Schauspielerin" and "Kellnerin." In fact, they still have the word "Chefin," whereas in English I don't think anyone ever used the phrase "Lady Boss."
Germans randomly swap the order of nouns and verbs, while English-speakers like the noun first. I'm not sure if there's a rule, but it unnecessarily complicates things. I guess it's technically the same in English but nobody's actually going to say, "That's an unruly dog, think I."
I patted myself on the back for memorizing everything there is to know about baking: "In einer Bäckerei, sie backt im Backofen mit Backpulver." ("In a bakery, you bake in the oven with baking powder.") And then I went to a farmer's market, confidently ordered the Backfisch, and watched as the chef lowered it into the fryer. Apparently German logic was asleep at the wheel when somebody decided, "What's the difference? Hey, cooked is cooked!"
In some ways, though, German actually makes more sense than English. For example, German has a different "There is" depending on if you're saying "There is a dog" or "There is an overriding gender-based privilege inherent in the patriarchal paradigm." This makes sense, because in the latter example people shouldn't shoot quick glances around the neighborhood while asking, "Where?"
In Germany, as in America, animals and humans are made of the same stuff. In Germany it's "fleisch," while in America it's commonly "meat." Since Germans combine existing words instead of inventing new ones, they don't have random-letter sequences like "pork" or "venison" or "veal." They tacked "fleisch" onto the animal's name to get "schweinefleisch," "rehfleisch," and "kalbfleisch." They similarly dodged our rather odd "gums," too, by adding the suffix onto "tooth." Though it's easy to applaud their logic and it makes their language easier to learn, it can frighten visitors to hear someone say, "Ow! My tooth meat hurts."
A friend tried to further my education by warning that the German word for "birds" also means "to fuck." While "Er ist gut mit Vögeln" ("He is good with birds") might commonly be heard in a forest, you're more likely to hear "Er ist gut zu vögeln" in the trees by the truck stop. Sure, it's weird, but weird slang isn't exclusive to Germany. In America, if someone comes up to you in a bar and says they want to bang, it's up to you whether you have sex with them or stick a firecracker up their ass.
Still, the more I learn German, the more ridiculous it seems. For example, "kleid" is a woman's frock. The word "kleidung," though, means clothing for both sexes. Again they created a new word by reusing an old one, but this time they screwed up.
Now, every time I heard "kleidung" I hear "kleid," and I start picturing men in women's clothes. I start wondering why a word that includes men's clothing was built around a word for female stuff. And I imagine exactly how this stupidity came to pass.
GERMAN LANGUAGE EXPERT: We need a word for "clothing." Everything for both sexes, male and female.
ASSISTANT: Hmm. Okay, how about bra-lettes?
GLE: Hmm. Well, it’s not particularly great, but thanks for throwing it out there.
ASSISTANT: Better: how about girdle-ectable?
GLE: How about we think of a word that isn't derived from women's clothes?
ASSISTANT: Fine. You're right. (PAUSE) How about frilly-panty-tocious?
Yup, they went with kleidung. And this is a smart country? I'm actually supposed to learn this shit?
Not today. Not this guten morgen. And now, I’ve got to get dressed.
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