If I had to choose the two most interesting characters one could possibly encounter in real life, I would pick the following folks: the cellphone engineer and the local politician. Why? Well, they both tend to embody certain hypocritical qualities; they both have a pretty smile; they are soulmates…
The cellphone engineer’s personal attitude is boring and averagely accurate; his job is to sell package deals to package-like customers in packed, pseudo-modern storehouses. Hence he is one of the few real-world characters suitable for package-like lump-sum judgments like the one above (during the past couple of years, I had to deal with an estimated 100 of them; in addition to that, I have known two of them personally; I know what I’m talking about).
Just last week, I thought time had come to end my contract with a well-known cellular radio company. Instead, I wished to make use of their pay-as-you-talk service, but I painfully had to learn of the impossibility of my demands. My number had already been deleted and there was no way to reactivate it. The cellphone engineers had made up their bloody minds, despite my desperate demands to give me back my old number. In a world of space shuttles, atomic bombs and 50 gigabyte laptops, it seemed to require unknown technological efforts to reactivate a cellphone number previously dumped by ignorant staff. (Having wasted three hours of my precious lifetime, I finally got it done by another store; same company, same engineers, considering they all look alike.)
Another type of human being journalists often have to deal with is the so called local politician (Lokalpolitiker in German). In Germany, there are three different types of Lokalpolitiker. The first one is the Kommunalpolitiker (communal politician). His job is to keep the polis in good shape so people remain happy. In contrast, the task of the Landtagsabgeordneter (deputy in state parliament) is to deal with political issues on a state level and to make them known within the polis (a task in which he usually fails miserably). The third type of Lokalpolitiker is the Bundestagsabgeordneter (deputy in the German national parliament, the Bundestag). He is busy making sure people do not lose touch with the great Leviathan, the Bund. He is the human face of the unfathomable.
Among the Kommunalpolitiker’s favourite topics are traffic-light-policies, chuckholes (how to fix them most efficiently), and the modernisation of the local garbage incineration factory. What the Landtagsabgeordneter does all day, nobody really knows. The Bundestagsabgeordneter deals with incredible amounts of money, whose non-existence needs to be explained to cursing housewives on idyllic marketplaces. But despite all these ergonomic differences, all three types of Lokalpolitiker have a great many things in common: they are dressed smartly and visit their dentist on a regular basis; their favourite words are “quasi”, “confidence”, and “in particular.” And their annoying let’s-better-the-world mentality, combined with their permanently activated babble-drive, is deeply disturbing, even to taxi drivers.
I recently had to interview a typical Lokalpolitiker on behalf of a local newspaper (they rarely make it to the national press, unless they incite racial hatred or extreme dumbness). As expected, the Lokalpolitiker turned out to be boring and averagely accurate (he had probably worked as a cellphone engineer in his earlier life), a fact that enforced my desire to interview his wife instead, who appeared to be somehow more entertaining. For that purpose, we retired to the bar (I met those guys during a campaign event in a pub with an imperial sounding), where she talked about handing-out leaflets, gardening and menstruation problems. When we got back to the table hosting the Bundestagsabgeordneter, I suddenly felt the urgent need to test his general knowledge. “How was it with my wife?” he asked, smiling obtrusively. “Oh, great” I replied, “your wife is an absolute firestorm. But we left loads of santorum on the bar.”
The Bundestagsabgeordnete didn’t get it. He sat back in his chair and put on his well-practised campaigning smile that could have scared Hella von Sinnen to death. He said: “I have considered making [my wife] my political double, hoho, she’s quasi my personal mnemonic…I take great pride in her…she gives me confidence on the campaign trail in particular…” His cellphone rang; he excused himself and left the room.
[In my own defence: Of course, there was no santorum produced during my contact with the Lokalpolitker’s wife, which remained verbal throughout the entire discourse. I raised the issue of producing santorum for the pure purpose of testing the Lokalpolitiker’s Weltgewandtheit. Back in the old days, when he was a cellphone engineer, his Weltgewandtheit must have been pretty good, as those guys are always freaky-cheeky-well-informed and very trendy. But nowadays, seemingly, it’s all gone to the dogs.]
[Thank you forever, Dan Savage.]
Comments