My daily life
The girls in the room where I work each day are so kind to me. They zip in and out for interviews, and when they’re back, they type furiously, hardly taking time to engage in frivolity.
But when they do, they do their best to include me.
It usually goes something like this:
“Krista, what do you think about our editors?”
“Bitte, wir mussen Deutsch sprechen,” I say, still hopeful that every little bit of German conversation will result in some new vocabulary gem.
They smile kindly, willing to indulge my fanciful belief that a normal conversation is possible on so little language skill.
“Was denkst du über unsere Redakteure?”
“Oh, ummmm…”
At this point, the whole thing begins to break down.
There is lots of rapid conversation around me, sometimes requiring everyone in the room to gather closely to listen to whispered revelations.
Now, I don’t know if girls in the States talk quite this fast, but I can understand MUCH less during these tête-à-têtes than I can when I’m listening to German spoken by other people. I lean in close, hopeful that perhaps a better angle will improve my comprehension. I nod knowingly. I laugh heartily.
I have no idea what’s going on.
And in such situations, it’s never entirely clear who is asking who, what. It’s only when there’s a sudden silence that I realize something’s gone wrong.
“Krista?” someone usually says, slowly and deliberately. “Waaaas Deeeeeenkst Duuuuuuu?”
I try to look pensive. Sometimes, it helps to exhale slowly. By the time I get around to slowly shaking my head in some sort of a vague signal indicating that I both agree and commiserate, everyone is laughing politely.
The worst is when I’m typing away, tuning everyone out. The German in the background turns into a low buzz. During those times, when my mind is focused on the English on my computer screen, it doesn’t matter what they’re saying, or how slowly they’re saying it: I don’t hear it.
Then, I find myself looking, ridiculously, for some sort of a cover when someone appears right next to my desk and, practically knocking on my computer screen, asks if I’m going to go to lunch with them. I turn around. Everyone is waiting, jackets on, smiling sweetly. In most cases, they’ve asked me several times if I want to come along. I just didn’t hear it. My consciousness, in those moments, was in English.
These girls, truly, deserve gold medals. Or perhaps just nice floral bouquets.
