a berlin blog
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a berlin blog |
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Saturday, February 05, 2005 The Dreadful Story of Mike and the Basement DoorThere's one thing about Germans that grates, if you're not ready for it: They like to criticize. They have no shame about staring at you in public and then passing summary judgement. I got through about three weeks in Berlin without a single note of censure from anyone, even after jaywalking once or twice. But a neighbor in the building yesterday must have realized my time was up, and finally let me have it. I came up from the basement storage room and he was waiting for me.He said, "Did you lock the door?" I nodded vaguely. Hadn't I? "Because someone hasn't been locking the basement door, and that's very dangerous." He went on about people stealing from the basement storage room. He was a middle-aged man with glasses and a scruffy beard. He spoke in some northern accent I wasn't familiar with, so I understood only every third or fourth word. He said he lived on the fifth floor. For some reason this made it even worse for him when people didn't lock the basement. In case of fire -- still worse. Or was an unlocked basement door actually a fire hazard? Either way, in his very civilized and patient complaint, the building had somehow caught fire, and he was trapped in his fifth-floor apartment, and this was all my fault. I must have looked confused. He said, "Well, you know, concrete also burns." Now I just wanted to go back to my apartment. I said, "I locked the basement door." "Aha! You did?" "I think so." We both went down to check. I had not. He smiled, tolerantly. After a few more mild remarks about fire, he let me go. Now I know all about this man's temperament, I know what his nightmares are like, and I know where he lives. But I still don't know his name. posted by Michael Scott Moore | 10:24 AM | |
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