Marathon Man – Part 2

As any runner will know, the second leg of the race is a little like this:

1. You begin it with a sense of positivity – euphoria even – because you aren't feeling half as bad as you thought you would

2. Gradually, bit-by-bit, you start to become exhausted and achy in places where you didn't know it was possible to ache

3. You hit the 'wall' and begin cursing everything and everyone and wondering why the hell you decided to do this in the first place. 

4. Denial: after the race ends, you forget all of the exhausting moments of the race and commit to doing it all over again 

Needless to say, it's time to recount my second date with Marathon Man and true to roots of our dating beginnings, the second leg stayed true to running form. Moving away from the realm of exercise, for our second date Marathon Man suggested going to "Frühlingsfest"– a smaller version of Oktoberfest in springtime, with beer tents and a funfair. I thought this was a great idea (I'm not going to lie, I was conjuring up scenes of the Notebook, imagining Marathon Man hanging from a Ferris wheel like Ryan Gosling), maybe he wasn't boring and soul-less after all. There's also an important point that needs to be mentioned about what is worn to the festival – traditional dress: Dirndls for girls and Lederhosen for boys. Yes, it was only the second date and I was going to be getting my boobs out – no shame.

The date began somewhat well – he looked good in his Lederhosen and commented on how pretty I looked (was this the same arrogant/shy man as date one?) However, like the second leg of a run, this was the euphoric moment and it could only go downhill from here.

It's no secret that I look for a man who is able to take charge of the situation. It's not that I can't – in fact I'm usually a control freak – but when it comes to dating I like a guy to at least take the lead in the beginning (yes I'm old fashioned and non-feminist, but so what?) Despite being able to lead a pack in the race though, Marathon Man wouldn't be capable of leading a passive toy dog on a leash. He couldn't decide which tent to go to, couldn't find the tent he did end up deciding he wanted to go to, couldn't decide where to sit and couldn't get the attention of any waiter to order drinks – to the point where the guys sitting next to us ended up ordering drinks for us. I'm not cold and heartless and ruthless though – despite him being inept at all of these things, I decide not to write him off (particularly not when I probably dented his pride by asking directions to the tent, asking the boys if we could share their table when we couldn't find a seat, and ordering the drinks with the waitress). It must be noted that he didn't pay for the beers, but that's ok, they are expensive there so I didn't think much of that.

So here are the main 4 catastrophes of a terrible second date:

1. Insulting my job. Yes, he went there. Marathon Man –the boring consultant, not even a vaguely exciting one – insulted my job. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not being bigheaded here, but as jobs go, I like to think mine is one of the more interesting ones to talk about. As a magazine editor I get to write about and visit great places all the time! So in response to his question about what I did, I replied "I'm an editor for online luxury lifestyle magazines". His reply: " I don't like online magazines. I don't see the point and so I don't read them. If anything I read print magazines, but even those are dying out." I was shocked. Dumbfounded. I didn't know what to say. Not only did he insult my profession, but also suggested that my industry is dying. DYING?! I expected him to soften the blow of his previous statement, but he didn't. He changed the topic and didn't ask anymore about my job. He instead changed the topic to his current consultancy project: making morphine drips in hospitals drip the drug into patients at a more efficient rate. Now this is, of course, a worthy pursuit that will help the world in someway, but his arrogance, patronising and paint-drying way of explaining it to me made me want to take a quick nap. It also made me want to practice my boxing skills too, as he presented himself as saviour of the world while I was a mere journalist in his eyes – an online journalist at that. Unfortunately at this point I couldn't scream "I'm a celebrity, get me out of here!"

2. Going on a ride without me. As we were wandering around the funfair I could see him eyeing up the big, crazy ride. I used to be a ride junkie, but since getting labyrinthitis at 16 I now suffer from vertigo on funfair rides that swing me here, there and everywhere. After telling him I couldn't go on it but I was happy to go on the dodgems or something, or if he really wanted to he could go on it and I'd wait, he chose the latter. I stood there like a mother holding his coat, glasses and bag that he had dumped on me before leaving to run and join the queue.

3. Being an arrogant g••. After waiting for him to act like the big man on the big ride (wonder what he's making up for there?), I suggested going on the go-karts. Now, maybe it’s just me being naive, but I thought that any man would be over the moon if a girl wanted to go on the go-karts with him. Not Marathon Man. When I suggested that it would be really fun to go on them when passing by, he smirked and said: "You mean those go-karts? Really?’ I said, "Yes, why? It will be fun!” His response? "I don't think so, I went on a real go-karting track the other week and so I would find this really basic and boring – too simple for me." And so we walked on.

4. Being too tight to buy me a sausage. After being in his company for nearly 3 hours (sadly I had to be as I was meeting a friend at the festival afterwards, so he knew I had nowhere else I needed to be but there at the festival), we were both hungry. Now, I didn't expect him to get me a beer at 8 euros, but a sausage for 2 euros? Surely he could stretch to that being that I had endured his presence for such a long time? Surely a sausage? No. In fact, he even went to a different stand to me to buy exactly the same kind of sausage, probably just to avoid having to pay.

So, by now I had definitely been through all of the stages of the second leg of a race. No. Wait. Not all of them … denial was still left. 

So my friend arrived to meet us and Marathon Man chatted with us a little before finally leaving. Then, the fatal moment happened. My friend really liked him. She thought he was great! Instead of sticking to my guns I let her positivity infiltrate the last 3 hours I had endured and that, combined with the knowledge I acquired on that day about him only coming out of a 7 year relationship a year ago, made my anger turn to pity. Maybe he was just struggling to date? Maybe...maybe...maybe. Note to self: however lovely your friends are, they may not always know what is best.

Needless to say I ended up going on a third – and thankfully final – date with MM. It was in a beer garden, where he again didn't buy me as much as a sausage while recounting his 'holiday' to me and boring me with the 114 photos taken on his phone. His 'holiday' was a TransAlp mountain biking trip from Salzburg to Lake Garda. This guy was sport crazy with the personality of a stone. 

I left as quickly as I could, to never see him again and thanking the German Lord that I was single. Things I have learnt? Avoid adrenaline junkie, consultant Austrians from Salzburg – unless you are happy to fork out 2 euros for a Bratwurst and enjoy the pleasure of bad company.

"He's behind you!" – Oh no, wait, no he's not.

That's right, German pantomimes would be very different to English ones (if they even had Pantomimes that is). The Germans are definitely never behind you, they are alway one (or perhaps five) steps ahead of you. The Germans may be efficient, but the Germans don't queue. No ifs or buts – they don't queue, end of. What they are absolute masters of however, is the evasion of the dreaded English-style queuing system (which I long and crave for, I have to admit). Don't let your guard down for even a second; otherwise they will slip straight ahead of you – taking the last butter breze that you had been craving in the office for the last 3 hours (true story). The sneaky Germans can begin their queue-jumping approach in several ways, all beginning with a seemingly innocent tap on the shoulder followed by:

"Can I...?"

"I don't want to buy anything, I just have a quick question."

"I was here earlier, I just nipped to the toilet"

I have now learned the responses to all of these potentially duping techniques: GET.TO.THE.BACK.OF.THE.QUEUE

I'm ashamed to say I fell for all of these at first though, being the nice, trusting English person that I am who has faith in those around me not trying to outwit me to the best baked-goods. A fifty year old little...well..you know what...decided to cross me when I was hungry and queuing to buy cream cakes (always a bad idea). I had already waited over 15 minutes in the non-existent queue (it involves hovering around the counter and hoping you catch the eye of the baker first!) and was getting impatient. She leans across me (she knew what she was doing the devious woman – a blatant body block if ever I saw one) and says, "I just have a quick question!". Turns out, unsurprisingly, that the quick question was about which cake she wanted to buy, which she then spends 15 minutes choosing while I was standing behind, money in hand. The most shocking part is that nobody around me was outraged by this. In England there would have definitely been some tutting, or curt comments. Or, better yet, the baker would have said, "I think this other lady was here first". Not in Germany. It's Darwinian – you snooze you lose – and in this case I lost the strawberry custard tart that I had greedily had my eye on for a full quarter of an hour. 

What is amusing though, is when a German tries a similar technique when surrounded by a group of British people, like at the airport. I was waiting to board when a German guy comes over and self-righteously pushes in front of me. I was not amused. Before I had chance to breathe and open my mouth though, the British cavalry were already there: "Oi mate, the back of the queue is behind you!". To which the German replies *in a very German, comedy-style British accent*: "I vos on thee toiLET, I vos ere before." Naturally though, the Brit didn't back down: "Well I didn't see you mate and it sounds like a classic queue-jumper thing to say. I'm afraid if you go for a p*** , you lose your place." Safe to say, this brazen British attitude actually worked. I smiled inwardly – God Save the Queen and her queue-obsessed citizens.

German queue behaviour is pretty strange too. I feel like as British person it is innate to queue in a straight line, one behind the other and, naturally, make sure you don't skip ahead of someone who was there 2 hours before you. The Germans? They do the drip effect. This can be best seen at airports (regardless of whether you are flying EasyJet or Lufthansa). As soon as that boarding announcement echoes over the airwaves, the Germans jump up from their seats and swarm towards the desk, in drip-like fashion.

One of the most frustrating habits though, involves the U Bahn. I can be standing waiting for the U Bahn to arrive for 10 minutes, with my prime spot where I know the doors will open (yes...I'm sad...I actually now know this...) and then, low and behold, a German comes and stands directly in front of me. DIRECTLY! It doesn't matter that the rest of the platform is entirely free, oh no, they just HAVE to stand there. Maybe it's the competitive side coming out again; in the same way it surfaces in sports shops. Perhaps there is something in that though, I definitely feel like it's always girls that do it – usually really pretty ones too. They are usually tall, blonde, tanned and flick their hair in my face as they do so. Lovely. I think this is definitely an underlying queue right too – your points on the hotness scale. These pretty girls seem to feel like it is their birthright to be first in the queue, no matter what the queue is for. A generalisation? Perhaps. Then again, if you had had blonde locks thrown into your face as much as I have, then you would understand where I am coming from.

Queuing at the supermarket checkout is also another stumbling block to master. The conveyor belts are a lot shorter in our supermarkets here – meaning a lot less time to load your things on and off, and you can be sure you have a pushy German huffing and puffing behind you. Yesterday I even had a woman stepping on my shoes in a stress to put her cat food tins on the conveyor – calm down love! Parents with no control over their children are also mildly enraging, even more so when they ask you for a favour. The other day I was in the supermarket queue and a woman asked me to get some stickers and give them to her, as my shopping would be expensive enough to get them free. Sure, why not help a lovely mother? She wasn't that lovely though. She let her irritating kids pull, push and shove around me (and actually me too), and then patronisingly interrupted my conversation with the cashier to tell me that she didn't want THOSE stickers, she wanted the OTHER stickers, followed by a massive sigh of frustration and a look which said *stupid British woman*. Meanwhile her children were mishandling my oranges – little buggers. I felt like telling her to stick her stickers where the sun didn't shine, but instead...I kept my cool.

Speaking of children, I had a very irritating toilet-queuing situation recently (don’t get me started on there only being 2 toilets for a place filled with hundreds of women). Everyone was dying for the bathroom, that much was obvious, (blame it on beer), and then a woman waltzes in with her son and pushes to the front. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not a child-hater...quite the opposite in fact. However, if he had been under five it would have been fine...under 6...acceptable. But seven or eight?! That's just wrong to me on too many levels. What's going to happen to him if she sends him to the boy’s bathroom? He's not going to get lost in the lavatory bowl. Even if he did, at least he would learn something. I'm almost 100% sure that he was a decoy because she was dying to go, and knew that would help her get to the front. Never underestimate the power of a desperate, queue-jumping German Frau.

Oktoberfest queuing is another thing entirely. Luckily the bouncers are well trained for the regular lines though, such as: "My friend is in there and has a table". Luckily for me too, they weren't trained in regard to boobs, exceedingly good dirndl bras and bunches of single women – I can unashamedly say that I got into tents every time this year with little trouble (am I turning into a queue-jumping German?!).

It's not all rudeness and pushing and shoving through. Oh no. The German's can be extremely polite – just in the most awkward of places: the sauna, and the changing rooms. You can be standing starkers in the changing room and the Germans will always greet the room with great gumption when they enter and leave it and if they think you may not have heard their hearty hello, they will probably come closer and say it again (regardless of your naked state), so make sure to respond straight away to avoid having a close-up and personal version. In the sauna too, it's the same: "Grüß Gott" (Greet God. Welcome to the catholic state of Bavaria – this is how we say hello here) is said to the whole room upon entering. For the first time in their day too, the Germans actually shift over and look almost eager for you to sit beside them. Hmmm.

On second thoughts, maybe I'm not so unhappy with the impolite attitude. Actually, I would definitely welcome it in the wellness area if it means no more awkward sauna situations– go ahead Germans, spread meanness across the spa world, you have my blessing!