The series "Hogan's Heroes" showed us bumbling, nearsighted German officers who were kind when bribed with a chocolate candy bar or outwitted easily by more intelligent Americans. More serious World War II films starring John Wayne or Charles Bronson showed us the rigid, immovable German officer who took it upon himself to punish "good" American military men, with no mercy. Their tactics seemed so cruel and inhuman. A lot of Americans grew up in fear of Germans, if they watched enough of these films. We were led to believe that every German man is a Nazi in the Gestapo. That's just not true.
Another stereotype we grew up with was the beer-drinking, Lederhosen-wearing, fat, blonde German man who toasted his beer Stein and sloshed beer all over himself and his comrades. (As I got older, I realized that not only Germans do such things -- drunks in general tend to be sloppy when they drink.)
There were milky maidens and singing nuns mixed in with these two male stereotypes, coming from storybooks and movies. Therefore, what we formulated was a picture of German speakers that were either very strict, shouting out commands in their choppy, unmelodic language, or those who were able to raise their own goats and live happily in the green hills of a lovely little Alpine town.
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| Google "german" in pictures, and this is what you get |
Now that I have spent about a year-and-a-half here, I've had the opportunity to meet many real Germans.
The first thing I can say without doubt is that most Germans I've met live in very clean houses. They maintain order inside and out; they sweep their sidewalks, they leave their shoes at the door, they have (lots of) rules about where things are put and how things are cleaned.
And things are cleaned quite often. Germany is a very tidy country, and except for the occasional cigarette butt, blowing paper scraps or graffiti, you won't find much trash on streets or sidewalks.
As far as the beer-drinking, leather-clad German stereotype goes, I have encountered very few like that, except in Munich, where there were so many people of all ages dressed in dirndls and lederhosen ("Trachten") that it was a feast for the eyes. Even young men my son's age wore the complete outfit, not just as a costume. It was how they dressed for festivals and special occasions, or maybe on a daily basis. I tried to picture my 25-year-old son doing the same, but I don't think he would honor such a tradition, unless a pretty German girl convinced him he should.
In Bavaria, there are also lots of loud, sloshing beer drinkers gathered in one place at Oktoberfest, and that didn't bother me at all, except that we had trouble finding a place to sit down to drink and slosh our own beer.
As stated above, there is more order in a household in Germany, and if you create chaos, you might get yelled at. For example, where I live, I must clean and tidy after myself, just as I did at home in the States -- nothing's different. However, there is now a German following my every move and often looking over my shoulder, even when I do the smallest things, like placing recyclable bottles into a plastic bag or putting groceries into the refrigerator. Though I am of an advanced adult age, the German believes that perhaps I can't handle such tasks without his supervision.
You can make lots of mistakes in Germany, so be careful. Just this morning when I was about to spread some Leberwurst on my toast with a knife containing micro-molecules of butter, I heard loudly from across the table, "Keine Butter an der Wurst!"
My worst experience with Germans so far was at the grocery store. I pulled up in front of the store on my bicycle after work. I locked my bicycle by the flower cart and walked into the store to buy a few things. After just a couple of minutes, I came back out and began unlocking my bicycle with the goods packed into my school bag, which was over my shoulder. When I had pulled up, two older German men were chatting by the cars parked in front of the store. They were still there when I was unlocking the bike. Behind me, customers were coming and going, and I felt the movement of the flower cart, so I assumed the one of the clerks was taking it inside.
After only a few seconds, I heard, "Hallo. Haaaalllloooo. HAAAAALLLOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" The old men were yelling at ME!
I had no idea what I had done until I turned around. The flower cart was rolling, alone, toward the cars parked in front the store. It occurred to me that I had bumped the cart with my bag, though ever so lightly.
I was dumbfounded, motionless, and couldn't have stopped the cart if I tried.
Then, by some act of God, the cart turned so that it was parallel lengthwise to the cars, and it went right between two of them, not touching either one. Not even a scratch.
As I pulled the cart back up onto the walkway in front of the store, one of the old German guys was giving me the dirtiest look I've ever seen ANYWHERE. But the grocery store manager came out and was apologizing profusely.
Later, as I reviewed the whole thing in my mind, I wondered why neither one of those old farts bothered to stop the cart or help me catch it. (It is here that I would interject cusswords, but I will abstain.) I don't know which German rule I violated that day, if any except for recklessness. Ever since, the flower cart has its wheels in LOCK position when placed outside.
It's a good thing real Germans have mostly good characteristics. Being ordentlich, bossy, micro-managing, cruel and inhumane will get you only so far.
