Migrant Misfit

SYNOPSIS

Migrant Misfit is a satirical memoir of my adventuresome leap from being a rambunctious Southern-belle, to trying to navigate life across the Atlantic in the spendthrift, macho, orderly and unemotional world of the German autocrat. Unfortunately for me, worlds collide at the most inopportune of moments. It makes for a side-splittingly funny story at times, utterly chaotic at others, but a charming and enlightening tale most all of the time. Think Under the Tucson Sun or A Year in Provence but with the main character (me) taking a devil-may-care attitude to a land where there are rules for everything, and I am convinced that I was born to break most of them.

Migrant Misfit transplants me from cushy, privileged shores into the anal depths of German society where the answer to “Don’t you have a sense of humor?” is a quite serious “No”. Where real men are warriors who think their American counterparts are cowards for letting women go through doors first, as though shields from imminent attackers. It's where frugality rules, and people don't ever buy new appliances because they might die soon. It’s also a land of tradition where the world stands still for coffee and cake, even at a crime scene, and the best way to achieve privacy is to "just ignore everyone else". Or at least, that’s what I’ve figured

Migrant Misfit

SYNOPSIS

out so far after my German-born husband, Fritz, led me back to his land of depravity.

Sometimes you get, and sometimes you get got. In becoming a Migrant Misfit, I most certainly got got. But all is not lost, because the last laugh is often on the Krauts, though I eventually become one of them in many ways. Join me for an affectionate adventure of mistrials and fortunes in Migrant Misfit.

Migrant Misfit

EXCERPTS

One Way to Road Rage
One of the first things I became aware of in Frankfurt was that the city planners, or green party, have devised a system to deter people from driving and ruining the environment. This is simply done by making every other street one way and then topping that by making some streets one way to a point, then changing the direction so one cannot go forward or backward but must go left or right, taking you completely around the spot to which you actually were trying to arrive. Of course, for the Germans this is no problem…They pride themselves on being intellectually superior compared to the rest of us idiots (we will discuss that later). They will fastidiously study a city map before they go out just to ensure that they will not make any directional mistakes. The problem for me is that I am just a southern blonde, not a fastidious Kraut. I have never bothered to think that far ahead…If I suddenly cannot get down a street, I do the logical thing.  I just back up. The term “one way” does not count in reverse where I grew up.

Villa Hell Renovation
We decided to have most of the construction done by a Polish crew…they were amicable, eager, available, and at the end of the day, were much less expensive than any

Migrant Misfit

EXCERPTS

Villa Hell Renovation - cont.
German crew... On the other hand, turning to the Poles meant that I would be stuck with a crew of men who smelled of sardines and beer…We did hire local Krauts for plumbing and electricity, but God forbid that German contractors have to coordinate anything with the Polish. Krauts will blame any problem on the Poles, never taking responsibility for mistakes as long as there is a Polish team on the job... When quizzed as to why he ripped open unnecessary spots, he'd simply answer, "one of the Polish guys told me to do it".

We were becoming quite frazzled with the team of handworkers around the house 24/7. They usually began work at 7:30 a.m. and then had a breakfast break around 9 a.m., at which time they set up their portable coffee table and unveiled the contents of their lunch boxes. For the German workers, this consisted of several rolls or sweet pastries plus a large thermos of hot coffee, plus the mandatory cigarette and gossip newspaper, Bild-Zeitung*, with a naked girl always gracing the front page. For the Polish, it would be a can of very smelly sardines and some olives, plus the mandatory cigarette and Polish gossip newspaper with a naked girl always gracing its front page. Several of the men would then disappear into one of the

Migrant Misfit

EXCERPTS

Villa Hell Renovation - cont.
many toilets they were forbidden to use to continue reading their papers while producing smells that none of my family wanted to encounter ever again. My daughter Lucie would literally cry when seeing a worker exiting her bathroom and would refuse to go back in until a maid had sterilized it from the top down. She was often constipated during this time...

Social Twitters
I was at a dinner party one evening, seated next to some bore, the type of man that is not just dull, but a dull that is so contagious that it can cast a pall over an entire gathering. He spent the better half of an hour expounding on how important he was and why it was important that his wife stay home, tend to the children and handle the couple's social calendar. He had no idea how condescending he sounded and how ridiculous most American women would find the conversation. He did not cast his eyes down to admire my alluringly presented décollete even once, much less ask if I had a career.

At the end of his nauseating diatribe, he at long last turned to inquire of my husband's profession... With my biggest blonde smile, I replied that I had no idea, as it never seemed important to me... When I told Fritz, he laughed... He has

Migrant Misfit

EXCERPTS

Social Twitters - cont.
long since adapted the social norms of an American dinner party where one does not discuss business, politics, religion or money... He requests that I "please, never discuss" his business with other people. This is basically impossible in German society, so I came up with a clever way to quickly get off my husband's career topic. When asked what my husband does, I simply reply that he is an arms dealer and then laugh and ask if anyone would like another drink.

Epidural This!
Epidurals are taboo in Germany, "Zay zimply are not necessary". A woman who opts for an epidural is considered a pathetic, weak specimen... I explained to dear Doctor that my first child was born without an epidural, my second with one, and I knew unequivocally that it would never happen without again. Yes, I was weak, but I would rip the balls off any man who told me that it was better to give birth "naturally"... I called Fritz to take me to the hospital. He loves these trips to the maternity ward as it gives him an opportunity to jump in his speedy Porsche, hoping to reach Mach speed on the way if possible.

European women in general also believe that when pregnant, it is no longer necessary to shave legs, underarms

Migrant Misfit

EXCERPTS

Epidural This! - cont.
and for sure, not the bikini area. Mind you, these women still wear bikinis and tank tops. They just feel that during a pregnancy it is too hard to reach these places so let nature take its course…The nurses brought out a razor to shave the obvious part. Imagine their surprise when they realized there was no need. They looked at one another through squinting eyes, their condescending nods basically confirming their suspicions that I must be some kind of a Schlampe* (how did you guess that means slut?). I did not have the required, full forest of a respectful, pregnant woman.

... I started to suspect that it was getting too late for an epidural, and alerted a nurse that they better do it right away. Robo-nurse then turned to me and said, without flinching, "It will be better to have the baby without one." I turned to Fritz, reverting to a primal state…if he did not get me an epidural "that very minute, I would move out of the country and leave him with all of the children." I also told him that his voice would be a few octaves higher and his Porsche would become my stock car. I promptly received the epidural.