Sunday, February 25, 2007

I totally got her number. And his. And his too.

I went to a fun party last night with my good friend Luke. It was a birthday party for our friend Caro, who just turned 27. It was at her little apartment, and the place was packed with boys and girls, all of whom were Caro's age, plus or minus five years... a good place to meet people, then.

Luke and I are always looking to meet new people - we both moved to Hamburg around the same time, and met soon after, lamenting about how we don't know enough people, and now despite our charm and talent, we are dreadfully single. I came home with three new phone numbers in my little cell phone. Go me! But wait, two of them are guys. Wha... ?

This is something that's happened often over here in Hamburg. I go to a party, and meet new and interesting people. Someone will sprechen at me, and tell them sorry, I'm the one guy here who doesn't speak German. A few of them bail immediately - especially German girls who don't speak English very well; they tend to be really self conscious about it which is funny, because I'm a guy, so theoretically it shouldn't matter: "Baby, your head may not speak good English, but that body is slammin' it's way through all kinds of language barriers!", etc. - but most speak English really well. So we talk about America, California, San Francisco, Germany, Hamburg, why I'm here, and how it's possible to be an English-only writer in Germany and on and on and on.

And because we're all basically friendly, interesting people, and I guess because there aren't too many other Americans around to hang out with, eight guys out of ten (a rough estimate) ask me for my number. And now that I think about it, I don't have anything near that kind of hit rate with women. I think last night is pretty typical - a 2:1 ratio. Hmph.

I went to a lot of parties back in the states (or at least I went to enough to notice this pattern now) and I don't remember reflecting on this issue - I never got a guy's number. Maybe it's because so many of the parties I went to were made up of a group of people I spend time with anyway (school, work) so getting ahold of them wouldn't require contact info. Or maybe there were loads of men desperate to give me their number, but they were afraid someone would think they're gay. I'm sure this is illustrative of something to do with American males vs. German males, but I'm not sure what it is. Does any body know what it is? Are there any guys out there who can offer an explanation (or perhaps their number?)

Anyways, in addition to two really nice guys, last night I spent a lot of time talking to a lovely girl named Sandra. We covered many topics, including cities of origin, occupations, German vs. English, and why she lives in the boonies of Hamburg. We spent a bunch of time talking about how one of the few things I know how to say in German is Ich möchte eine latte machiatto bitte, and the chaos that ensues when the waitperson assumes I sprechen and then follows up with a barrage of coffee-related questions. She was interesting, tall and lanky, and just the right amount of goofy. She made the most adorable facial expressions. She was wearing red Adidas sneakers, and I'm a sucker for red sneakers. And in a delightful reversal of the social order of German twenty-somethings, she asked me if I'd like to meet for a latte macchiato some time, and I told her I'd love too. She grabbed a pen, handed it to me, and held out a very long left arm. I left my name, number, an American flag, and a cup of coffee with steam above, a saucer below, and smiley face on the cup. Then I got her number and put it in my phone, you know, just in case she forgets, and then showers too vigorously.

No comments: