Making my morning trek to the
bakery, I often listen to French lessons on my iPhone. Why French?
Lots of explaining to do, but to continue:
So, this very odd American
strolls down the street casting out a string of very random phrases in French.
Nobody seems to be with him and no one dares approach to ask.
I don’t understand what you
mean.
You don’t understand what I
mean?
Do you understand what I mean?
I am excited to understand
what you mean.
I didn’t understand yesterday,
but will try to understand what you mean today.
Understanding what you mean is
very important to me.
Does this mean you understand
me?
Can you understand me when I
tell you what I mean?
Some people only stare and
Germans are among the world’s best starers. Others gather their children protectively. Those walking their dogs cross the street and
readjust the leashes. I smile. They clutch their children closer.
The German bakery (Bäckeri),
just fifteen minutes away, is my German wakeup.
I chat with random people, know most of the staff, read a book, drink a
couple of coffees, and munch a redolent roll just retrieved from an industrial
oven that billows out steam and fresh bread aroma when a bakery clerk cracks
open the door.
D--- is a beautiful woman, in
her mid twenties and pregnant with their second child. She works swing shifts, modified to allow one
parent to take their son to the kindergarten.
Yes, Germans use the same word, which in German means Children’s
Garden. Oh, that it were so in every
school everywhere.
D---’s husband is a metal
worker and the money is good. Her back
aches some. Her baby is doing fine, but
she sometimes has morning sickness. I
pull a trashcan over and she smiles.
The apprentice program is
still a bulwark of jobs in Germany.
Electricians, carpenters, bakery clerks, plumbers, as well as office
workers all serve an apprenticeship of some length. For bakery clerks it’s a
couple of months, long enough to impart sufficiency in every phrase of the
operation. And it’s a big operation, with not only more than half a dozen
satellite outlets, but also trucks leaving for deliveries to shops and
restaurants and grocery stores in a steady flow of morning traffic.
Some of the ladies here have
been here for years. Pleasing smiles and welcoming attitudes are
ingrained. Every customer is respected
and the customers are varied. Some workers in well-worn work clothes come in
for a coffee and roll to go (to take with, in German), others want a
sandwich. One woman, whom I believe
works at a nearby kindergarten, strolls out with a huge sack of rolls every
early morning. If you get there at 0730,
you’ll have missed her.
Interesting how the clerks ask
the questions in a different way than we do in English.
Instead of “Who’s next?” They say, “Who comes?”
Instead of “Anything else?”
or “Is that it?” the Germans say,
“Another wish?”
M--- is a longtime counter
clerk and she always asks about my family.
“How’s your wife?”
“My wife? I’m not married.” I pat the seat beside me. M--- gives me a reluctant smile or
grimace. Hard to tell. With a dismissive wave, she goes back to
work. But, she does come back later and
steps much closer.
Mostly it’s the people that
keep me coming back, but it’s also a very nice and comfortable spot to observe the
changing of the seasons based solely on what customers are wearing. They’re in scarves and jackets now and the
parade of folks is as interesting as their sartorial styles. Open toed sandals have given way to clunkier
footwear. The young mothers push one well-wrapped babe in a stroller and eye a
toddler making a mess of the glass on the display counters. Retired men and women sit at one of the three
tables and chat while they sip milk coffee and pack in enough sweet rolls to
supply Mrs. Betty Buns’ obesity club.
The older wives come in, dressed to the nines, the way American women
used to dress before our culture gave up the ghost.
But, German youth have spent
enough time immersed in American TV culture that they also sport ripped jeans,
untied sneakers, an array of tattoos and hair colors formerly reserved for
rodeo clowns.
From my experience, German
bakeries serve as the same kind of social leveler as pubs do in England. Everyone is welcome and everyone comes by,
even if a strange American comes through the door spouting unrelated sentences
in French.
So cute!
ReplyDeleteI love my. Bakeri! It's yummy and friendly.
ReplyDelete