Suffocating in Suburbia – Day 3 Group

I don’t know what got into me… really.  It was like I was possessed by a mad woman – nope, just looked in the mirror – that mad woman is me.

“I need to buy a phone.  Just a phone.  Nothing else.  Don’t need it to be able to make tea or walk the dog.  Just a phone.”

He got it.  But the look on his face showed that he was not happy.  The ultimate crap customer, the ones that take all the fun out of his job.  I saw him size me up and find me wanting.

But who was he to talk, I ask you.  Get this picture:

Metrosexual male, complete with at least an hour of hair styling in the morning.  Oddly complicated facial hair – seemingly shaved by Picasso.  A large thumb ring, a brown three-piece suit with coordinating shirt.  Flashing bright blue eyes.  There was no doubting he thought himself a pretty hot bit of stuff. 

When he realised I was never going to fall for his charms, he resentfully pulled out the cheap & nasty phone and requested my credentials.

“Oh, an Australian passport – I have never seen one of those before.”  Sure… everybody says that.  “How long have you been in Germany?

I mumble something along the lines of a year or so.

“But your German is so perfect!”

“Yeah, well it is an easy language, I picked it up on a weekend course.”  He was too afraid to ask if I was kidding.

checkpoint_charlie

“I could have had an American passport..”  he boasted.

Oh yeah.. like how? Was your father born in America?

“Well not exactly…”  he is shuffling a bit, and I have the feeling I had just asked him if he had changed his underwear that day.

“He was born in a country at the same time America was retreating.”  His exact words (translated of course)

Hmmm… let me think about that for a minute…where could your father have been born?  Berlin perhaps? 

I decided not to torture the poor guy any further… bid him a ‘good day’, snapped up my phone and left, mouth agape, dazed and confused.

No fancy blue passport for you my friend!

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