German Language 101:

I have a little black book I carry around with me pretty much everywhere I go. It’s a big help for taking note of addresses, bus lines, times and dates of appointments, and so on. But I also use it as a catch-all for other information I think seems interesting or useful, including, for example, my own German telephone number—it’s about thirty digits long and occupies exactly no place in my memory, even after almost 5 months of use.

A lot of people have a notebook like this, I think, but for me it’s a variety of behavior I probably modeled on my dad’s use of a little pocket calendar that he always carries in the pocket of a sports coat. That is, “The Peripheral Brain,” a term coined by my mother to describe the cannot-be-overstated importance of this particular pocket calendar, the secret, illegibly penned information it contains, and the ensuing Total War freak out when this little book is temporarily misplaced (i.e. it’s still in the pocket of the other navy blue sports coat.).

Anyway, every since coming to Germany, the work of my own little black book has probably quadrupled because of how many new things I need to remember. Just to get through an ordinary afternoon, there’s always at least a handful of words I *really* need to know how to say in German—perfectly normal, common place words—that I’ve read, learned, sworn to memory, and immediately forgotten a thousand times before.

My first week in Heidelberg I encountered this exact frustration over the same little words so many times, I started making lists of Key Words that I knew I would eventually need (and forget) while going about my day. I’ve done this so much, actually, that the book has started to function as an abridged, unalphabetized dictionary that keeps a sort of humiliating record of my daily priorities. September 19th’s, case in point:

This list, I think, (in addition to an absurd amount of prepositional confusion) should make it pretty clear how I’ve really been finessing my way through Germany.

--> At the University: “I am too frustrated, I want to register on the school.”

-->In the copy shop: “Have patience, but sorry I break this strange printer.” :(

-->Pretty much everywhere: “I want to bite a delicious sandwich. Recommendation?”

And it would be nice to think that last one on the Verbs list was deliberate irony but, unfortunately, I didn’t find my monstrous forgetting very lustig at the time.

In the several months since Totally Inept September, though, I’m happy to report that my German has gotten much better. Enough so, at least, that I can later recognize when I’ve said something completely ridiculous, and sometimes even (Schadenfreude) when other people do. The following anecdotes constitute a mini, beginner’s course in German language, what not say:

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An English-speaking friend in a coffee shop, talking about weekends plans: “Zuerst können wir in meinem Haus vorspielen!”

The barista, who overheard this massively failed direct translation of “First we can pre-game at my house,” was kind enough to tell us, “umm that’s not what you mean, vorspielen is something …totally different.”

Thanks to her very subtle hint, we were able to figure out the translation of her original sentence: “First we can foreplay at my house!”

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Me trying to be nice to the next person using a bathroom stall that had run out of toilet paper: “Es gibt keines…Po Blatt.”

Translation: “It has no ass paper.”

I guess it passes in terms of descriptive accuracy, but as it turns out the actual word for toilet paper in German is, compared to my hideous invention, so, so much easier: Toilettenpapier. Keep it in mind while traveling, folks.

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Boyfriend, Matt, during a telephone interview for admission to grad school: “Es freut mich, dass wir über das Telefon gesprochen haben.”

Translates to: “It pleases me that we spoke about the telephone.”

German prepositions + grad interview =

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One of the many, ever-pedantic Hygiene Questions to arise from the Hygiene Chapter offered by our foreign language textbook: “And what do we use when we brush our teeth?”

Reply shouted by an over-zealous language student to the left of me: “ZAHNBRÜSTE!!”

Sadly, no.

His answer translates, amazingly, to “tooth boob.”

And actually this is a pretty reasonable mistake. Dyslexics beware, the word for toothbrush is “Zahnbürste.” Another useful one FYI, travellers.