02 March, 2005

Sherlock Holmes und der verschwundene Löffel!

When most of us think of Europe, we think of a land of a generally more accepting people.  It didn't take the national guard to desegregate schools and none of the countries are led by people who actually hate gays, and blame them for all of the problems of society.

Well, a lot of people are like that, but sometimes you come across someone who may or may not have grown up in a hole.

My neighbor, for instance. We share a kitchen together along with another girl from Poland.  We each are given a cabinet, and a small section of the refrigerator.

Well, when I first looked through my kitchen, I saw a few signs saying: 

While it wasn't exactly welcoming, I figured someone was a little cautious of their stuff, and wanted to make sure that none of it was broken.  I was fine with that.

Well it turns out even better.  The only reason she put those signs up was because she thought I was Spanish.

"We germans have our prejudices!"  She tells me.

I wasn't sure why she didn't like the Spanish, but I could safely assume it was one of the following reasons:

A)  One bit her when she was young.
B)  One stabbed her in the refrigerator.

And using Occam's Razor (Whatever's more likely must be the cause), you can easily arrive at the conclusion.  That's right, you guessed it:  B.  Some Spaniards stabbed her in the refrigerator.  Her food was spoiled and she had to wait a whole week before the Hausmeister replaced it.

This is, of course, a perfectly logical reason to hate the entire Spanish race, and it clearly explains why Spaniards can't keep milk from spoiling:  When one sees a fridge, he is irrevocably inclined to stab it.

And so, thinking I was Spanish, she of course HAD to write the notes, hoping that they would deter my compulsion, at first site of her knives, to stab the refrigerator.

This incident aside, a few days later, she asked me if I had taken her coffee mug.  I had not.  At this point she assumed that "The Polish girl" had stolen it.  Long story short, the cup came back and all was well in the kitchen again. 

About a week after the fateful day I now remember as "The Coffee Mug Massacre," I peacefully entered my kitchen.  She and her friend were just sitting down to eat.  Looking back, I am convinced that her friend grew up in the same hole she did, and if not, it must have been one just as deep and close by.

My neighbor told me she had another question to ask me.  I assumed that something else was stolen.  Having had nothing better to do that day, she found herself counting her spoons--and yes, ONE WAS MISSING.

I believe it was at this point that she transformed her physical and mental being into Sherlock Holmes. Wearing an overcoat and hat, she now looked at me through a large magnifying glass and questioned:

"I had six spoons and now there are five, have you done something with my spoon?"
"Are you sure you haven't seen my spoon?" 
"Have your friends seen my spoon?"
"Will you ask your friends if they have seen or misplaced my spoon?"
"Have you seen the Polish girl using my spoon?"
"Have you seen the Polish girl's friends using or misplacing my spoon?"

Having not been fond of the Spanish, I was surprised that she used their tactics of Inquisition.

At this point her friend, I believe her name was Watson, chimed in, "I bet it was the Polish girl."  She informed us. "I heard they steal for the Russian Mafia!"

Sherlock seemed to agree and stored this jewel of information away as she would undoubtedly need it to prove her case against the Polish girl in court.

Elementary, my dear Watson, elementary.

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