Part 2
One thing the Germans really like saying is 'shit.' Maybe it's part of their when-in-Rome philosophy. I sense that they see the American lifestyle as eating greasy, fattening fast food; having affairs with their automobiles; and cussing at every moment's opportunity. Which might just about nail it. I just wish they had some other bad words in their repertory. I mean if they're fluent enough to know what 'whale' and 'excursion' mean, they might as well be familiar with 'crap,' 'damn,' and 'hurts like a mother' too.
.
Thursday afternoon gave me my first dilemma. On the itenerary was a bus tour through downtown Atlanta. Two buses--the Copland bus and the Beethoven bus--arrived in the Woodruff lot to pick us up. My woodwind friends were gearing to load up on the German bus. There was only one problem. Waiting outside a few minutes prior, I struck up conversation with Tobias, a six-foot cellist. He was the cutest boy in the section.
"Wie geht's?" I said.
"Oh you know German?" he smiled.
"Just a little," I confessed. "I took one year in 7th grade."
He said something rapidly in German.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand."
"Vat instrument do you play?"
"Oh, clarinet," I said. "And you?"
"Cello." He said the word and mimicked a bow sweeping in front of his chest.
"Wie heist du?" I asked.
"Tobias."
The problem was, Tobias was going on the American bus. Now the loading doors were slid open. I looked at Jessica, oboe. What am I to do? my wavering expression asked. "Come with us," she said aloud. I obliged.
The Beethoven bus was nearly full by now. All the way back I followed, to the last row on the right. Then Michael, bassoon and Jessica's boyfriend, showed up. Suddenly there was a shortage of seats. Quick minded Jessica promptly sat on her boyfriend's lap. "I hope you don't mind feeling a little squished." But I had a different solution.
"It's best for everybody" I assured her. I got off and made my way to the American bus, leaving behind Michael, Jessica, and the frown on her face.
Such a move was unprecedented in my post-pubescent history. Never before had I ditched my friends in favor of pursuit. Never before had I been so brash. It's hard to fully appreciate the shock value of this deed. It was as if I had suddenly decided to take up jai-alai or move to Montpelier. Soon I would discover what a mistake I had made.
For his part, Tobias was plenty nice to me, even offering me some European chocolate. I also met his friend Maria, who seemed to like me. She took a picture of me with her digital camera, which was somewhat empowering. The tour guide was pretty good. His southern accent tickled the Germans. "At the end of the Civil War Atlanta was burned down," he explained, "so there's nothing really old left downtown, that is, except for myself." He also told them Georgia was the nation's leading producer of poultry products and that there were no peach trees on Peachtree Street so far as he knew. We rode past the stadium and the grave of MLK, but the biggest attractions by far were the nudie bar next to the Shakespeare Tavern and the Hooters a few blocks further south. It is a dark secret that Atlantans don't come downtown themselves except for work during the day and less wholesome activities at night, and I felt downright embarrassed that we were showcasing it to our guests. Nevertheless, the Germans certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves. At Centennial Olympic Park they played gleefully in the Olympic rings fountain. Someone spotted a German flag.
We had dinner at the CNN Center. I sat down with Tobias and a string player friend of his. As Tobias started eating his salad with ranch dressing, I was beginning to realize I didn't have much in common with him or his friend, and I was running out of things to say to him. In addition I was suspecting from his friend's jokes and mannarisms that the friend was a tad homophobic. I was beginning to want out.
Tobias wondered into a gift shop with his pal to get some postcards and a hat. The friend pulled out Maxim magazine and started flipping through. I stood by, but I was getting bored and a little uncomfortable. A portrait of Michael Phelps in his bathing suit on the cover of Time caught my eye, but only for a second. Casually I wandered back out into the lobby, where I ran into Joseph.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey."
"Are you on the German bus? Oh that's right. You're not."
"Sorry," I said.
"Why were you on the other bus?" he asked.
"There weren't enough seats on the first bus." (Dale Carnegie said, there is the reason you tell people, and then there is the real reason.) "I was hanging out with some Germans," I confessed.
"That you just met." Pause, and then, "You could have hung out with us."
Tobias and I didn't talk for the rest of the tour. On the ride home he sat in a different seat, leaving the one next to me empty.
.
Thursday afternoon gave me my first dilemma. On the itenerary was a bus tour through downtown Atlanta. Two buses--the Copland bus and the Beethoven bus--arrived in the Woodruff lot to pick us up. My woodwind friends were gearing to load up on the German bus. There was only one problem. Waiting outside a few minutes prior, I struck up conversation with Tobias, a six-foot cellist. He was the cutest boy in the section.
"Wie geht's?" I said.
"Oh you know German?" he smiled.
"Just a little," I confessed. "I took one year in 7th grade."
He said something rapidly in German.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand."
"Vat instrument do you play?"
"Oh, clarinet," I said. "And you?"
"Cello." He said the word and mimicked a bow sweeping in front of his chest.
"Wie heist du?" I asked.
"Tobias."
The problem was, Tobias was going on the American bus. Now the loading doors were slid open. I looked at Jessica, oboe. What am I to do? my wavering expression asked. "Come with us," she said aloud. I obliged.
The Beethoven bus was nearly full by now. All the way back I followed, to the last row on the right. Then Michael, bassoon and Jessica's boyfriend, showed up. Suddenly there was a shortage of seats. Quick minded Jessica promptly sat on her boyfriend's lap. "I hope you don't mind feeling a little squished." But I had a different solution.
"It's best for everybody" I assured her. I got off and made my way to the American bus, leaving behind Michael, Jessica, and the frown on her face.
Such a move was unprecedented in my post-pubescent history. Never before had I ditched my friends in favor of pursuit. Never before had I been so brash. It's hard to fully appreciate the shock value of this deed. It was as if I had suddenly decided to take up jai-alai or move to Montpelier. Soon I would discover what a mistake I had made.
For his part, Tobias was plenty nice to me, even offering me some European chocolate. I also met his friend Maria, who seemed to like me. She took a picture of me with her digital camera, which was somewhat empowering. The tour guide was pretty good. His southern accent tickled the Germans. "At the end of the Civil War Atlanta was burned down," he explained, "so there's nothing really old left downtown, that is, except for myself." He also told them Georgia was the nation's leading producer of poultry products and that there were no peach trees on Peachtree Street so far as he knew. We rode past the stadium and the grave of MLK, but the biggest attractions by far were the nudie bar next to the Shakespeare Tavern and the Hooters a few blocks further south. It is a dark secret that Atlantans don't come downtown themselves except for work during the day and less wholesome activities at night, and I felt downright embarrassed that we were showcasing it to our guests. Nevertheless, the Germans certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves. At Centennial Olympic Park they played gleefully in the Olympic rings fountain. Someone spotted a German flag.
We had dinner at the CNN Center. I sat down with Tobias and a string player friend of his. As Tobias started eating his salad with ranch dressing, I was beginning to realize I didn't have much in common with him or his friend, and I was running out of things to say to him. In addition I was suspecting from his friend's jokes and mannarisms that the friend was a tad homophobic. I was beginning to want out.
Tobias wondered into a gift shop with his pal to get some postcards and a hat. The friend pulled out Maxim magazine and started flipping through. I stood by, but I was getting bored and a little uncomfortable. A portrait of Michael Phelps in his bathing suit on the cover of Time caught my eye, but only for a second. Casually I wandered back out into the lobby, where I ran into Joseph.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey."
"Are you on the German bus? Oh that's right. You're not."
"Sorry," I said.
"Why were you on the other bus?" he asked.
"There weren't enough seats on the first bus." (Dale Carnegie said, there is the reason you tell people, and then there is the real reason.) "I was hanging out with some Germans," I confessed.
"That you just met." Pause, and then, "You could have hung out with us."
Tobias and I didn't talk for the rest of the tour. On the ride home he sat in a different seat, leaving the one next to me empty.