Incoherent Scribblings

Fear of the Bavarian Grandma

Today I was over at the bakery across the street and I noticed that they had a “help wanted” sign in the window for someone to work behind the counter selling bread.

I have never worked in a bakery and really have no desire to do so, but after I came home I couldn’t help but think a little bit about whether or not I should apply. After all, it would be close to home and if I was desperate for money or something to do, it would definitely be an option.

True, I’m no baker, but I am pretty well-versed in customer service occupations. I used to be a waitress. I worked for a short while in a clothing shop at the mall. And, of course, I worked at the reference desk at the library. (Which, contrary to stereotypical beliefs, reference librarians are very customer service-oriented people.)

However, despite my customer service experience and the fact that I finally speak German well enough to usually understand and be understood, I am reluctant to work in a customer service-oriented job in Germany.

I am sure many of you think it should be no big thing. After all, customer service often seems like an oxymoron here in Germany. However, though theoretically I could work in a bakery, truthfully the thought of it makes me more than a little afraid. It isn’t working with Germans that worries me. What terrifies me, is working for little old ladies with Bavarian accents.

I have stood in line behind these women when I am at the bakery. I have stood there while they complained about the price of bread, the evilness of the Euro, and a host of other things that I didn’t really understand. When I try to picture myself on the other side of the counter nodding in the affirmative to something that I didn’t quite understand when I should have nodded in the negative and feeling the repercussions of it, my knees get weak.

I think of the sharp tongue that my mother-in-law isn’t afraid to let loose on someone who has somehow offended her and I remember the day that a little old lady had a fit at the butcher’s when the same cut of meat without bones was more expensive than that with bones.

That sort of punishment was difficult enough to deal with in my own language and culture. I just don’t think that my self-confidence or language skills could take it in a language that I still struggle with on a daily basis.