a christ-mess carol

(this is a reconstruction of true events that occurred in germany in december 2008. names have been invented as the real identities were not known at the time of writing.)
~~~
once upon a time in the busy pre-christmas season, there were two men who worked for a large courier company in frankfurt. their names were hans and franz. they were colleagues, and together had made many many deliveries all over frankfurt. after work they often hung out and had a beer or two in their favourite kneipe around the corner.

in the days before christmas, the 2 couriers delivered dozens of stollen every day to lucky people all over the city. stollen wrapped in large parcels and small, some home-made, some fresh from the town of dresden, home of the original stollen. this made hans and franz very hungry. mmmm, the lovely aroma of raisins and powder sugar that wafted out of the parcels! one day, hans did not have time to eat the lunch that his wife would make for him every work day for him to heat up in the canteen microwave. it had been a busy morning, and just returned from a delivery run, he quickly left the depot again with his colleague franz and six parcels to deliver. his evil boss would give him a hard time and call him lazy otherwise - the ultimate insult for a german courier. one of the parcels had the unmistakable and irresistible smell of a stollen. the slightly burnt raisins, the candied orange and lemon peel, the moist dough that was embraced by powder sugar like a blanket of snow... hans felt the big hole in his tummy.
*i'm starving!*, he squealed.
he looked at franz, whose nostrils had also been teased by the stollen. (franz had eaten about six leberwurst sandwiches for lunch, but his expandable gut was never satisfied.) the two couriers looked at each other, then at the stollen parcel... then everything happened really quickly. a quiet side street was found. cardboard was ripped, paper was torn, and an innocent stollen brutally ravaged.

when they woke up from their feeding frenzy after a felt eternity (but which was only about 10 minutes) they each stared into glaring eyes and an open mouth laced with white sugar. franz belched, slinging them back to the here and now, fast.
*what have we done*, hans whispered in a toneless voice. it was not so much a question as a statement.
*well, we were hungry, wasn't we?* franz's attempt at justifying the unjustifiable sounded hollow. but hans was not listening. guilt crept in. and panic.
*that was an properly wrapped parcel with a valid address and customer account number, and we destroyed it. WE! DESTROYED! IT!*, hans' voice went supersonic. as he screamed, treacherous powder sugar droplets flew from the corners of his mouth, cruelly reminding him of the offence he just committed.
*stop panicking!*, franz demanded, though his eyes betrayed his own fear. he took a deep breath. *way i see it, there is only one thing we can do.*
hans laughed out loud. the laugh sounded hard and bitter. *turn ourselves in you mean?*
now it was franz's turn to loose his composure. *turn ourselves in? are you out of your mind, verdammt?? we'll never work as couriers again!* he grabbed hans by his shaking shoulders. his stare fixated hans' face: *listen to me, mein freund. we have to make it look like the parcel got lost.* hans slowly moved his head to return his colleague's gaze. *don't be daft, franz! no-one will believe the parcel got lost. this is germany. things do not get lost in the post here.*
franz slumped back into his seat, deflated, resigned. they were silent for about a minute, each consumed by their own dark thoughts. suddenly, franz jumped up, jumped out of the car and ran towards the back of the van. confused, hans followed. franz opened the winged back door. they stared at the five remaining parcels. then at each other. (hans and franz stared at one another rather a lot, they really liked the look of each other.) in an instant, they both knew what to do.
hans grabbed the parcel nearest to him. he figured it was about the same size as the stollen. franz went back to the front seats to retrieve the remains of the stollen packaging. he had to overcome a considerable unease to even look at the card board box, or what was left of it. when he returned to the back of the van, hans had already removed the address label and delivery note from the other parcel. replacing them with the stollen label and papers was a matter of seconds. they had done this many times before, and their expertise now came to their rescue. they looked at the relabelled parcel, nodded at each other, and closed the van door.
like nothing happened, they drove to the next address on their list: the office of the franfurter rundschau (FR), one of the largest regional papers. when they unloaded the parcel, franz padded hans' back and gave him a wink of encouragement. the receptionist at the FR saw them and fixed her eyes on the parcel.
*this must be the stollen from the dresden colleagues!* she yelled into her headset.

the sun shone beautifully red behind the commerzbank tower when the two couriers got back into their van to complete their delivery run. hans looked at franz:
*i'm thirsty, mann!* their laughter rocked the van as it drove along the brightly lit streets of frankfurt into the sunset.
it had been a good day after all.

THE END
~~~

(and this was the story of how millions of highly confidential and unencrypted customer data sets of the berlin landesbank ended up at a newspaper office, and how the german police launched its biggest-ever investigation into stollen theft. the couriers admitted everything.)

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

was ist werbung?

(geklaut von stern.de, aber trotzdem gut)

Du gehst auf eine Party und siehst ein attraktives Mädchen auf der anderen Seite des Raumes. Du gehst zu ihr und sagst: Hallo, ich bin großartig im Bett, wie wär’s mit uns?
Das nennt man Direct Marketing.

Du gehst auf eine Party und siehst ein attraktives Mädchen auf deranderen Seite des Raumes. Du gibst einer Freundin einen Zehneuroschein. Sie steht auf und sagt: Hallo, mein Freund dort hinten ist großartig im Bett, wie wär’s?
Das ist klassische Werbung.

Du gehst auf eine Party und siehst ein attraktives Mädchen auf deranderen Seite des Raumes. Du gibst Freundin A einen Zehneuroschein. Sie gibt Freundin B 8,50 Euro. Freundin B steht auf und sagt: Hallo, mein Freund dort hinten ist großartig im Bett, wie wär’s? Dann geht Freundin A nochmal bei Freundin B vorbei, redet über die Transaktion und fordert 0,80 Euro Kickback.
Das ist klassische Werbung in Deutschland.

Du gehst auf eine Party und siehst ein attraktives Mädchen auf der anderen Seite des Raumes. Du gehst zu ihr rüber, erzählst ihr, wie erfolgreich du im Job bist und dass du Sex die ganze Nacht über kannst.
Das ist… …irreführende Werbung (und die ist in Deutschland gesetzlich verboten).

Du gehst auf eine Party und siehst ein attraktives Mädchen auf deranderen Seite des Raumes. Du gibst zwei Freundinnen von dir einen Zehneuroschein, damit sie sich in Hörweite des Mädchens stellen und darüber sprechen, wie großartig du im Bett bist.
Das nennt man Public Relations.

Du gehst auf eine Party und siehst ein attraktives Mädchen auf deranderen Seite des Raumes. Du erkennst sie wieder. Du gehst zu ihr rüber, frischst ihre Erinnerung auf und bringst sie zum Lachen. Und dann wirfst du ein: Hallo, ich bin großartig im Bett, wie wär’s mit uns?
Das ist Customer Relationship Management.

Du gehst auf eine Party und siehst ein attraktives Mädchen auf deranderen Seite des Raumes. Du gibst einem Freund einen Zehneuroschein, der gibt ihr einen Glückskeks. Sie öffnet ihn, drin ist ein Zettel, auf dem steht Willst Du wissen, wer großartig im Bett ist? Geh zum Buffet. Sie geht zum Buffet. Dort stehst du und grinst sie wissend an, einen Glückskeks in der Hand.
Das ist virales Marketing.

Du gehst auf eine Party und siehst ein attraktives Mädchen auf der anderen Seite des Raumes. Du ziehst deine tollen Klamotten an, läufst herum und spielst Mr. Beschäftigt. Du setzt dein bestes Lächeln auf, läufst herum und spielst Mr. Sympathisch. Du hörst allen Frauen zu und spielst Mr. Höflich. Du unterhältst dich mit sanfter und weicher Stimme, du öffnest die Tür für alle Frauen, du lächelst wie ein Traum, du verbreitest eine Aura um dich herum, du spielst Mr. Gentleman. Dann gehst du zu dem Mädchen und fragst: Hallo, ich bin großartig im Bett, wie wär’s mit uns?
Das ist Hard Selling.

Du gehst auf eine Party und siehst ein attraktives Mädchen auf der anderen Seite des Raumes. Sie kommt herüber: Hallo, ich habe gehört, dass du großartig im Bett bist, wie wär’s mit uns?
Und das, sehr geehrte Damen und Herren, ist die Kraft der Marke.

shoes

an iraqi journalist threw his shoes at george w., and the whole world is talking about the symbolism of shoes in the middle east. fact is, shoes are dirty. fact is also, the journalist could have thrown his microphone or his mobile and the act would have been equally hostile and potentially harmful to the president's health. let's face it mr. president - shoes are not bombs! and no weapons of mass destruction, either.
but let's talk about the shoe symbol. throwing shoes at a person or a statue, or walking over a poster is to show your disapproval. so far, so obvious. apparently, us army tanks in baghdad have been showered in shoes since the incident.

a shoe seems a very awkward object to throw in public. i mean, am i supposed to throw the shoes i'm wearing? if so, what are the chances that i fail to retrieve my pair and have to go home barefoot or with someone else's footwear? risking that people sneer at me disrespectfully for being too poor to afford a (decent) pair of shoes? or do i always carry a disposable pair of *protest shoes* with me?

germans, by the way, seem to be rather close to the arabic thinking on shoes. we, too, take our shoes off when entering our or someone else's home. as opposed to english people, who leave their shoes on when they lie on the sofa. dear english fellow londoners, it's a disgusting thing to do. appalling! i also remember a discussion i had with my boss at quam in munich. our new shops were to be fitted with doormats bearing the quam logo. we decided against it as we did not want to see the symbolic *trampling all over the logo* by our customers. apparently, a huge code of arms decorates the oval office carpet, that every visitor has no choice but to walk over. in their dirty shoes. there is symbolism for you.

dear julian hartley,

customer service director at ing direct,
i'm one of the few people who still have pounds in an account with you, as i remember that you used to be one of the best and most profitable savings bank.
you write to me today to inform me under the heading *peace of mind* that you are no longer part of the uk compensation scheme. apparently, the dutch guarantee scheme was increased to 100,000 euros and is therefore so much better than the uk one.
question: if you go belly up in the future (no offence but stranger things have happened lately), will i have to write to the dutch finance minister to get my money back? you forget to mention this minor point, and to include his address details. please provide both. but then again, with your new savings rate of 2.75%, keep your compensation scheme. i'll take my money somewhere else.

weisheit des tages

*man muss das geld zum fenster hinauswerfen, damit es zur tuer wieder reinkommt* - karl lagerfeld in der zeit.

outrage

so gordon brown is irritated by comments of german finance minister steinbrueck in newsweek about the hysterical dishing out of billions of pounds in britain, without obvious positive effect on the economy? good! about time someone criticised the british government, as no-one in the uk does (here brown is allowed to call himself saviour of the world). after all, it is only a matter of months until britain will want to join the euro, and then this massive debt by overspending is no longer a british problem, but a european one.

in the meantime, the government mouthpiece, bbc, is delighted to be able to stir up some anti-german sentiment (again). not learnt anything then, clearly.

german christmas market

es ist vorweihnachten in london und die german christmas markets schiessen wie pilskoepfe aus dem boden. lange genug hat's ja gedauert, bis die londoner endlich angebissen haben und nun auch auf buden, gluehwein und bratwurst mit senf machen. der weihnachtsmarkt in hyde park hat sogar currywurst (mein freund war im 7. himmel) und einen live-musik entertainer, der unsere ohren mit kalinka verwoehnte. er koennte ein ossi sein. oder halt ein russe. auch eine muenchner rutsch'n kann man finden, sowie ein gutes altes kettenkarussell. auf dem cologne market auf der south bank verkauft eine bude kueppers und gaffel koelsch fuer 1 pfund pro reagenzglas.
angeblich verbinden die meisten englaender nur koeln und nuernberg mit weihnachtsmarkt, denn dahin sind die reisebusse voller rentner aus birmingham frueher immer gefahren. heute fliegt man ja.
eine offenbarung waren fuer mich die mini pancakes aus holland (poffertjes?), mit nutella oder kirschkonfituere, und immer mit viel puderzucker. die ueblichen buden voller handgemalter holzkloetze und mundgeblasener glaswaren duerfen natuerlich nicht fehlen. eine gute nachricht ist, dass der markt in hyde park bis anfang januar geoeffnet ist. mich hat es in deutschland immer geaergert, dass der weihnachtsmarkt gerade dann schon wieder abgebaut ist, wenn man ihn am meisten braucht - an den feiertagen!

pound to euro

lying on my sickbed, i'm just realising that when britain joins the euro (next year?), this will be the third currency reform in my life. not bad for someone in her mid-thirties! i do seem to get less enthusiastic, and altogether less emotional about the whole affair every time. when we traded east german marks for deutschmarks in 1990, i was part looking forward to, part dreading it. we had our abitur graduation party on the night before the waehrungsunion, and the organisers made us pay for everything days in advance so they had time to pay the money into the bank for conversion. when we all gave up deutschmarks for euros in 2002, i just wondered what was going to happen to prices, and by how much i was being ripped off. i did not feel the urge to keep some dm coins as a memento.
now with the pound making way for the euro as well, the only questions i have is when (before or after summer 2009?), will we still be able to afford a house in italy, and what will it do to my salary level. one thing is for sure: a currency swap is not the big deal some people make it out to be. brits will get used to euros very quickly. as long as they can keep their credit cards and ridiculous mortgages.