Names

The other day at the eye doctor's:

Me: Hello, I'm here for an appointment.

Lady behind the counter: What's your name?

Me: Sommermorgen.

Lady: Oh. 
{Pause} 
That's 
{even longer pause, clicks her tongue and shakes her head} 
"different". Sometimes it is good to be 
{pause so long that I could have run across the street, bought a coffee at the little coffee shop across the street, read the paper, completed a sudoku and would have still been back in time for more tongue clicking, head shaking and a deep sigh}
 "different".

Me: O- kay, Miss 
{pause in which I'm trying to read her name tag}
 LeJu'lique. Is that French?

Lady: - - - 
{doesn't say anything but gives me a look that held the potential to kill an innocent soul} 
{later charges me $80 for an eye exam that confirms I don't need glasses}
***
I've said it before and I'll say it again: I need an American name! International students from Asia get to choose one. I want one, too. I'm open for suggestions. Feel free to comment below.  

Getting a new driver's license in the South

One day, when I was still relatively new to the South, I had to get a new driver’s license. So, I went to the local DMV. Upon my arrival, I was greeted by a huge hand-written sign that read “Public display of profanity is a misdemeanor and will be prosecuted.”

“Ooookay, well then”, I thought and stepped inside where about 8 more of these signs plastered the walls. Something told me that this office often has to deal with profanity.

I was still wondering if the neon orange walls might have something to do with that, when an officer handed me the license application forms and told me– just in case I hadn’t gotten the message yet –that I am not supposed to use any profanities when filling out the forms in the waiting room.

The waiting room was a small room next door and the walls were no longer neon orange with handwritten signs on it, but instead a poster read “Stop domestic violence against women and children in the rural south”. Since I was the only customer at the DMV, there wasn't really any waiting on my part, so I just completed the forms:

No – I don’t have a middle name,
No – I am not a US citizen
No – I would not like to register to vote,
but
Yes, - I would like to donate my organs in case of a fatal accident.

Turns out that if
No - I don’t have a middle name and
No – I don’t have US citizenship and
No – I don’t register to vote Republican
then
NO - they also don’t want my organs in case of a fatal accident.

Fine! If I end up as road pizza, I’ll take my Germanic flesh and blood – or whatever might be left of it – and I’ll have it shipped back to Europe. Thank you very much!

I was still recovering from the fact that my precious gift of life for some profanity using Mississippian was denied when the officer called me to step up to the counter for some questioning and picture taking.

Seriously, is it really possible to look good in a license picture if you’ve just been asked about your height and weight? - I don’t think so.

So, there was really nothing I could do. I blame the orange walls for my skin looking purple and a couple other things in my life. When I was finally handed my license, it took a lot of willpower to suppress my urge to publicly display profanity. Suddenly, everything made sense. 

Adventures in Mississippi

Nach drei langen Jahren im Tiefen Süden, ziehe ich nun in einem Monat endlich wieder in den Mittleren Westen. Da ich am Freitag meinen letzten Arbeitstag hatte, bleibt mir neben dem Packen endlich wieder etwas Zeit zum Schreiben. Deshalb poste in den nächsten Wochen ein paar von den Abenteuern, die ich in den letzten 3 Jahren hier im Süden erlebt habe. Manche davon hatte ich auch schon mal auf Facebook gepostet. Hier ist eines meiner ersten Abenteuer:

 So, one weekend, I went shopping for the sofa of my dreams – a cranberry-red loveseat. I had not seen this sofa in real life, yet, but I already convinced myself that I could no longer live without it.

 Anyway (back to my adventure), I went to this furniture store and, of course, it didn’t take the shopkeeper very long to notice that I am not an authentic Southern Belle. So, I told her that I was from Germany which apparently makes me an Über-Yankee and not very popular with the Southern folks. Nevertheless, this shopkeeper was very eager to tell me about her neighbor who is also not from the South:

 “He speaks this foreign language… I`m not quite sure what it is… I think it`s Islam or something like that.“

 My mouth dropped open and I stared at her in disbelief.

 Her eyes narrowed into a stern expression. She quickly checked that nobody was listening in on our conversation before she leaned towards me and whispered:

“If the political situation in this country stays down” – and she quickly checked again that nobody was listening in on us - “I might end up having to learn a foreign language myself!”

 And with that she pulled herself back to an upright position, nodding her head, her firm look still focused on me.

 I left the store without buying my cranberry-red sofa.