Damn Germans

All I wanted was a new cell phone. This seems like a simple enough request, but as it is with most things in Germany, wanting and getting are two totally different things.

I woke early on Wednesday morning. And of course by early I mean 9:30, which, technically for me anyway, is early. I went online one last time to look at the different phones and plans at the three or four main German cell phone companies, just to make sure that there wasn't something that I had missed in my previous 1400 hours of looking. After showering and dressing myself in a sassy ensemble of a hellblau polo, jeans and some black pumas, I was on my way. My first stop was the O2 cell phone store.

Before we go any further, I think I should explain a few things about the German cellular phone system. First of all, Germans are more interested in having a phone that does anything but make phone calls. Germans, as a general rule, don't make many actual phone calls. They tend to prefer the text message, and therefore look for a phone with the easiest keys to press in the most efficient way. It isn't odd to see at least 40 or 50 Germans on any given day walking around with their heads down, frantically typing some message to be sent off into the wide world of cellular space. Second, unlike America, where you can buy a plan with 400-500 minutes for roughly a fair price, in Germany such a plan would cost you up to and including 80 euros. A price I am unwilling to pay, especially considering you only look cool if you are sending a text message.

With that knowledge off I went into the store. I informed the greasy looking Turkish fellow (I know, I'm racist, but he deserves it...you'll soon see why) that I want to order an O2 phone over the internet (thereby securing 2400 free text messages...I'm a thinker) and I have come in to seek his advice on which phone I would like. So, instead of getting off his lazy ass to show me the finer points of each phone, he simply points to where they are and tells me to go have a look. (See, told you he deserved the racist epitaph.) I then ask him if I can get a cell phone with a credit card, or if I have to have a German bank account. This seems to annoy him and he answers, in a not very friendly tone I might add, that credit cards cannot be used. This in a country where it's perfectly normal to buy a lottery ticket with a credit card.

So, dejected and phoneless, I make my way to the bank in order to get myself a bank account, eventually a cell phone. After walking about 14 km, and waiting in a line for about 20 mins, I am informed by the cute guy behind the counter (who I'm pretty sure was flirting with me) tells me that I can't have a German bank account until I have a residence permit. I then tell him that I can't get a residence permit without a job, and when I get a job, they're going to ask for my bank account number, since the only way you can get paid in this country is by direct deposit. He shrugs, gives me an application for my perusal, and sent me on my way.

So here I sit, phoneless, bank accountless, and jobless. Maybe tomorrow will be better.