Dead Man's Honda

Ever have those days when you feel like you've spent your mental energy on something completely meaningless? I can't believe I spent time commenting on WalMart pulling out of Germany when things like child labor in Zambia (these are the hands of a nine-year old boy crushing rocks as his job) is on the rise and also occupying space in our newspapers and commanding commentary by economic and social analysts. This is what I, and business analysts, economists, and human aid workers should focus on---not why WalMart suffered in the German market. Sigh. Shame on me.

"Billig! Billig! in Deutschland. Amerikanisch Geschäfte sind teuer"

"Cheap! Cheap! American stores are expensive!" Uncle Fritz, the elderly German man with whom I lived would say over breakfast. His large, knotted hands would sift through every page of the Lidl advertisements as he praised the inexpensive goods down the street.

Every economic analyst worth his or her salt is commenting on why WalMart pulled out of Germany. A gauntlet of explanations have been offered. One CEO is quoted as saying "Did you know that pillowcases are different sizes in Germany?"

Uh....clearly someone forgot to do their research.

Just as WalMart pulls out of Germany, screenings of "Wal-Mart, the High Cost of Low Prices" initiate their debuts at the Berlindale, Germany Film Festival. Wal Mart promises to produce its own film, with a catchy title seemingly snagged from a junior high youtube political commentary: "Why Wal-Mart Works: And Why That Drives Some People Crazy."

Could it be, perhaps, that it drives people crazy that because WalMart pays their workers below-market wages and a disproportionately large percentage of their workers are on Federal or State assistance programs?

Most analysts look to the recent lawsuit against workers who "flirted" with co-workers at a German WalMart. They cite that as an explanation as to why such a successful chain in the U.S. flopped overseas. Others believe it really was the pillowcases. The Company also laments that their consumers in Germany turned out to be Americans, not Germans, as their early market studies (uh, again, bad research) seemed to suggest.

Personally, I think there are two reasons why WalMart failed in Germany.

1) These guys were underestimated by WalMart: Two brother's who made a fortune on low-priced produce in the country.

2) The WalMarts (in Western Germany at least) were too darn hard to reach.

Getting to WalMart without a car (and many Germans use the incredibly good public transport system) is a day trip. The gigantic stores were usually located far outside a town on the second to last stop of the metro. I made the sacrifice of my day because they were the only place that sold M&M's. If you've ever gone months without M&M's, you would understand. But after two of these journeys, I gave it up and went for the Germany version. Those were located (conviently) everywhere. I could walk two blocks to the Lidl or ride my bike the Aldi store.

Stores like Lidl, produced by the two brothers above, are geniously small, placed in every nook and cranny of the country, and provide very low-priced and diverse goods---from cheap fruits to citronella candles to folding chairs. They have the quaint feeling of run-of-the-mill small-town village stores like those WalMart succeeded in driving out of the U.S. Midwest, but they provide cheap enough goods to compete with larger conglomerates. Plus, their pillowcases fit.

As I write this, the hill outside of my office is on fire. Smoke has filtered through the ventilating system and it stinks. My computer has frozen. And there is a lingering odor from an oddly-smelling woman who was camped out in the office next to me trying to see the fire.

Yet I am not annoyed by any of these things. I am annoyed because….well…..let me explain.

Yesterday as I pulled out of my parking spot in the garage, Honda puttered her way backward and then I paused for a passerby. The woman for whom I stopped, rather than waving and moving on to her parking spot, came, instead, toward my car. She leaned toward the front of my vehicle and with a long, pointed finger yelled:

“That is a SAD looking vehicle!”

Not generally expecting such behavior from a complete stranger, I laughed, smiled, and continued to lurch along in my undulating little putter.

Today in the lunch line, that same woman showed up next to me. I was stunned. Before I could think of something to say, she was rude--again. What did she do?

She CUT ME OFF AT THE SALAD BAR!!!! She kept going around and cutting in on top of me, grabbing the tongs practically out of my hands. Jumping behind and before me until people in the line were beginning to furrow their brows.

I was thinking: "good Lord Woman, are you one of Hitler's illegitimate spawn????" Who treats human beings like that--on a regular basis? She didn't even recognize me but I was THIS close to confronting her. I held it back---that red-head fury----and resisted. ;-)

The sheer blatant and apparently consistent (since she didn’t recognize me) disregard for common civility by that woman is what annoys me. Not the fact that I’m trapped inside a building with a huge fire outside.

Also of note today:

I had an interesting meeting with the head music lawyer here. He is long, lanky, subtly effeminate, red-haired---and (this is the kicker) -- he was a drama major. That should tell you something about his personality. I can say that without malice because my parents met in drama and I gratefully grew up around the theatre.

His computer froze repeatedly and then he'd stop the meeting, turn, and yell at it (while we're all sitting in the office) "FU--A!!! fu--a!!" I sat with my eyes widening to enormous dimensions. Was he having a panic attack of some sort? Like, seriously? Who DOES that? In the workplace?

He then calmly turned back to us and told us he was at a meeting recently explaining why a certain music company would probably sue for this and that. Then someone asked "Why is [Music Company] being so difficult with us?"

He responded:

"Because they are shi--y, awful, lying, miserable people. And they're the biggest crooks in Hollywood."

To that an attendee piped up:

"Wait, who's their President?"

He replied: "Jo Schmo (or whatever his name is), and HE is the biggest shiester crook in Hollywood too and a total piece of sh--t."

“Really?” a voice said from the audience, “He’s my Godfather.”

How he is STILL the head lawyer, I do notknow.

I walked into the lobby of my building and a medical book sale display was set up. As I jetted past the shelves I noticed one book in particular. It read "Dr. Susan Loves Breasts Book."

What?! I was astonished at the insane title but dashed into the elevator instead of asking questions.

While riding up to the fifth floor a woman in a floppy hat looked at me and said,

"I've been admiring your pants."

I smiled. "Oh thank you," I said.

"Yes, I think I kinda like them."

Uh, thanks? I think I kinda appreciate that?

Who says that when they're doling out compliments?

"I think you kinda look nice today."

"I think you kinda did a nice job on that report."

"I think I kinda like your hair. It's kinda pretty."

After baffling at that I sat down and informed my research team that a book about Dr. Susan loving breasts was downstairs. Apparently one guy already has the video collection. (uh, EWW). Then I thought for a half second the breast part was singular. Maybe Dr. Susan only loves one breast. Maybe I read it incorrectly. Maybe I'm beginning to see things that aren't there.

Then I decided to see who would publish such an odd-sounding book about women's health.

Apparently I did indeed read the title a bit incorrectly. My bad:

I didn't understand a single word. I sat toward the back with my two sisters, equally ignorant but smiling, while the pastor made announcements, engaged with the congregation, while they sang songs we didn’t know. We were there to hear my brother give a sermon.

In the dimly lit chapel a young boy reached over, and with two fingers, held down the eyelids of his younger brother for prayer. Helpful.

In Western services, we are often asked to greet one another on Sunday mornings. Everyone, including me, generally makes a 360 degree turn from where they stand--sticking out their hand to anyone it will reach. We smile, shake and move on. We don’t really move out of our tiny spaces.

At the greeting segment of yesterday’s service every individual rose out of their seats and came over to welcome us. I was hugged. My hand was grasped tightly. I was kissed. I was approached from every angle. The waft of individuals made the seemingly small congregation seem as though it swelled and I almost felt overwhelmed. After we were introduced as newcomers, a young girl sat next to me.

“Do you understand a little?”

I shook my head. She seemed surprised, (considering it is, after all, Los Angeles) and began to interpret small elements of the service for me.

I like attending services where I don’t understand the language or much of what is going on. They remind me of what someone who has never stepped inside of a church, or who has no understanding of liturgy, or who feels ostracized by a language they don’t understand, might feel like around religious people. I become more sensitive to strange phrases that get adopted into church vocabulary but have obscure meanings or, for some reason, seem to clang against the senses.

I truly don’t know most of what went on during those two hours yesterday. What I do know is that I was hugged and greeted and that I received smiles and well-wishes and Bienvenidos….though in my ignorance I repeated back “Bienvenido”, as if it meant hello instead of “welcome”. What I do know, is that I was welcomed in a way I would like to emulate. Not just on Sunday mornings, but in my daily life.