I'm Just Trying to Help....

Tempest Chronicles Day 19

I’m delighted and surprised what a great start we are off to. The unobstructed sun illuminated the pewter sky at 6AM and from inside the air conditioned house between patches of condensation we can see that there’s a bit of a breeze.

When we get outside it is exciting to feel just enough air moving around us that we don’t feel the need to sit down on the steps and cry. Which proves my favorite self composed adage:

New Orleans always feels better in the summer when there’s a hurricane somewhere else.

The tail feathers of Arthur are still in the area but after 21 years of living here, I can tell that they are looking at us in the rearview.

No mockingbird, and the crows seem very distracted since it’s trash day so the only thing that stands out on the rainbow is that just as I was descending, the shallow puddle on the wooden landing that I stepped in was so….. so….. so slippery that I had to grab myself to keep from entering into a bumpy slide down 44 steps to my embarrassing and probably bloody death.

I pictured Ed sort of just standing there, beseeching brown eyes to anyone jogging past “Can I come home with you? This one doesn’t seem to be working anymore.”

There aren’t many runners yet, just a couple of dog enthusiasts who surprisingly understand the rules. On your way out of the park towards the docked battleship? On the right please. Heading to the Quarter? Everyone to the left.

When civilization participates together, the well oiled machine that is my inner school marm is so much happier.

Speaking of rules, for some reason a majority of the crowd last night was Germans. No one could figure it out, even the German that I knew that was having pizza at table 5 was perplexed. We decided that perhaps they were on a peripheral World Cup tour and they could be on a day trip from wherever there might be a soccer match.

Watching the orderly procession of park goers, got me to thinking about our 2018 vacation to Germany which is a textbook, almost prototype example of a culture in absolute love of their rules.

I was “taught” this the hard way in the dark of night in a public square in the town of Mannheim after our vacationing quartet had consumed multiple bottles of wine.

We were staying with a friend at the time who had access to a lovely fourth floor flat with a view of the green area across the street alongside the Rhine. In the morning there were families with their children, people walking dogs before work, the elderly on the way to the bakery. It was a typical pastorally urban setting that was pleasant to watch from the balcony.

On the corner nearest us was the area recycling location, in America this would have been loud and messy and covered in indecipherable graffiti but because this was Germany, everything was as it was intended to be. There were 4 bunker sized, polyethylene squares of sensible colors (white, brown, green, blue) for the various different types of glass. Signage was affixed in both German and English so even an American could figure out the system.

That turned out to be the problem. Too many choices. Too many rules that felt like the consequences of getting it wrong would result in harsh punishment. For some reason there was a listing of times posted on a public street sign only in German.

0700 - 2100 and then some sort of umlaut laden script.

So here it was around 10 and the thimble sized basket in the apartment was overflowing with mostly green, but a couple of clear empty wine bottles. (Don’t judge…there were 4 of us and we were on vacation.) The friend we were visiting had brought his chihuahua Rocco and it was time for his evening constitutional and me being the benevolent and multitasking angel of compassion that I am, I said :

“I’ll take Rocco and we’ll get rid of some of those bottles.”

Down the 4 flights and a bee line to the bunker sized recycling containers, and even though very inebriated, I could still feel my self righteous inner authoritarian cresting its’ head.

“They make it so easy here.” I said to Rocco

I held the dog leash in one hand and gingerly dropped a bottle into the opening. The container must have been about half full.

After a couple of tinkling crashes, I saw the headlights of a car speeding towards me and being a self centered American traveler, I assumed the driver was going to thank me for my dedication towards saving our planet.

As the car came to an abrupt stop the man behind the wheel rolled down his window and started yelling something at me and pointing to the street sign. I pulled Rocco a little closer to me and reached down in the plastic bag for another bottle.

“I’m American.” I said, “I don’t know what you’re trying to say.” letting go of the vessel into the recycling abyss.

Looking over my shoulder, I could see the man glaring at me directly in the eye, he brought his pointer finger up and began tapping on his temple and yelled: “Use your FUCKING brain!!!”

“Use my fucking brain for what man? I’m just recycling.” I said, letting go of another.

“It’s AFTER 2200! This is a neighborhood you idiot!” USE YOUR FUCKING BRAIN!”

I do not have to be told twice.

“Hey you fucking asshole you’re not the sheriff of Mannheim, don’t drag your ugly ass over here and tell me how to recycle!” I was doing my part to further the stereotype of the American tourist.

At this point, the passenger who I hadn’t noticed before poked her head around and directed her screams at me also.

“People are sleeping and the sign says no recycling after 2200! You are so stupid!” she said.

“Hey pal, why don’t you take your stupid German ass and your Jane Hathaway looking hag next to you and go the fuck home! I’m not BOTHERING you.” I said dropping the last of the bottles into the bin. “You’re the asshole here driving up and telling me to stop saving the goddamn planet! Get the fuck away from me before I pull out my American gun and shoot you two assholes.” Said the wine…….

It was quite apparent that these 2 were not accustomed to being challenged. They both stared ahead slack jawed, eyes looking past me, maybe they were channeling the ghost of German rule writing, maybe they were thinking about veering their car to the left and running over me and heading back to their quiet, regulation following life.

The previous consumption of wine did not allow me the luxury of an inner debate. Instead I picked up my friends’ dog and I stomped off to the area that was clearly marked for pet walking across the street.

As I got out of their line of sight, the couple put the car in gear and backed away from the scene, off into the night to probably go terrorize a jay walker or some other flagrant rule breaker.

I looked down at Rocco and said; “You have 3 square feet in which to poop, better make the best of it.”

Vitals: 84 degrees under sunny skies with an 84 percent humidity makes it feel like your electric vehicle broke down on the side of an active volcano and the only way you can get the windows open is to break them with your skull.

18 days down

165 to go………