Arrested in Germany - Thrice!

When I was a software diva, I traveled to Germany. A lot. Germany has a lot of things going for it: efficiency, schnitzel, beer (if you are into that, which, sadly, I am not), Berlin, a gorgeous landscape, Mercedes, Oktoberfest... However, their police force is a bit too, well, German.

{There is a hideously old joke that says "In heaven, the police are British, the cooks are French, the mechanics are German, the lovers are Italian, and it is all organized and run by the Swiss. Whereas in Hell, the cooks are British, the mechanics are French, the lovers Swiss, it is all organized and run by the Italians and the police are German}.

When a joke sticks around for that long, there is generally some truth behind it. The German police and I don't get along. And, trust me; I am a law-abiding kind of girl. I don't even litter.


For one of my clients, I would fly into Düsseldorf and drive the last two hours to Paderborn. Since I was consulting for Siemens, I got their discount on car rentals so I could rent a gorgeous BMW, Audi or Mercedes for $10 a day. Suh-weet. Driving cross country is SO MUCH better in a luxury car on the Autobahn. Trust me on this one; I hate driving.

So, off I toodle to Paderborn. The police pull me over. Hummm, no speed limit so what can they possibly want? In a bad-movie voice the guy demands "Your papers please." Seriously. I thought it was a joke. And what kind of papers do they want? I am an American, we don't really have a lot of documentation. I ask him what is wrong and he simply repeats "Your papers please." I ask him what kind of papers he is looking for and he sincerely responds "Documents." Duh, like it was an error in translation.


Fine, whatever, I give him my driver's license and call it a day. Clearly, that is not what he was after. He wanted much more and now all I had managed to do was irritate him. Which was fine since I was not a happy bunny my own self.


He goes back and calls whatnot in to "Headquarters" {I am NOT making this up}. Twenty minutes later, he reappears to tell me my offense: my headlamps were on. AND it was not sufficiently dark in his opinion to warrant this. He is trying to give me a ticket for wasting gas. I, for a brief moment, think he is joking. Then I realize "Hell, he is German police, they are not known for being humorists." I explain that 1) I had just left the airport parking lot where it was sufficiently dark and simply did not turn them off 2) it is snowing and that, to my American mind, justifies the precautionary light and 3) lights run off the alternator not the motor, hence I am, technically, not wasting fuel.


He is now the unhappy bunny and storms back to his car to do whatever. He comes back twenty minutes later, tosses my "papers" at me and goes back to his car. I assume all is forgiven, call my client and tell them I will be an hour late and off I go.


Back on the road, THE SAME COP PULLS ME OVER AGAIN FIVE MILES LATER. Fortheloveofgawd, now what? Once again, RoboCop simply demands my papers. Yes, the same papers he just checked 5 minutes ago. Totally a you-gotta-be-shittin'-me-moment. When I say "Uh, you know it is me, right? My lamps are off. And I have seen you following me so, seriously, what could I have possibly done in such a short period of time?"

"Your papers please."

At least time two it was easy since I had never bothered to put them away from my first offense. Back he goes to contact HQ again. Meanwhile, my client calls to ask me something and I tell him "I am with the police, can I call you back?" Sweet Gunther (coolest name ever!) says "Didn't this just happen to you a few minutes ago?" "Yep, it is clearly my lucky day. There were Jews in WWII who were not as beleaguered as me right now."


Robo returns saying that my papers appear to be in order (shock-a-rooni!) and that my offense this time is that I have snow on the roof of my car. This is where Germans always nod and say "of course, that is an offense, what if it blows off and gets on someone else's windscreen." This is where Americans swear I am lying.

He decides to let me off with a warning since I simply stared at him incredulously for so long that he must have thought I had slipped into a catatonic trance. I did not even bother to mention that the only reason snow had accumulated on the roof of my car was that I had spent the last hour parked on the side of the road defending my knowledge of mechanical engineering.


Important bit of minutia, I stop at a gas station for a Coke.

Not three minutes later, Robo PULLS ME OVER AGAIN. Honestly, crack whores do not get this kind of harassment in the US. For those of you who are counting, this is three stops in less than 10 miles. What am I driving, a portable meth lab?


And, naturally, he demands my papers and offers no explanation. Oh honest to God, dude, are you paid extra for being an ass?

At this point, I lose it. I normally am very polite and Catholic school taught me the importance of deference to authority figures but this is complete-am-I-on-one-of-those-not-funny-hidden-camera-shows kind of insanity.

I demand to know why I am being pulled over. I get out of the car; show him that my headlamps are off and that there is no snow on the roof of the car. How else can I possibly have sinned in the last couple of minutes? He then says "There was an incident at the petrol station."

Oh god, oh god, oh god. I stole my Coke. I can't imagine that I would have done that but maybe I was distracted and on the phone with Gunther who was having a software meltdown (and, trust me on this one, our software could cause meltdowns unlike no other). Lovely. I am so going to a German prison for this since this guy hates me and my mere existence. Shit, shit, shit. {Yes, I do realize that I over-react on occasion but it is my drama so butt out, oh judgmental ones}.

Then I realize: I am on an expense account; I pay for nothing. Surely, I stuffed the receipt (if I have one and did not, indeed, pinch this delightful carbonated beverage as feared) in my purse. I frantically dig it out {this process is made much easier by the fact that half of the contents of my purse are scattered on the front seat since Robo needed to see everything except my lip gloss to prove that I was, well, me}. AH HA, take that Robo! I do have a receipt and, hence, I did NOT steal and, ergo, I am not going to the German big house.

He insists that I go back to the gas station with him. Ohfortheloveofgawd, why not? I am already so incredibly late for work, what's another interrogation going to do?


We go back (after sarcastically and dramatically scraping off the snow) sans head lamps to said gas station. Lo and behold, there is an entire cop caravan there. I start panicking that, somehow, somewhere, this is not going to end well for me and that I will be forced to end it all a la Thelma and Louise. However, there is nary a cliff in sight and I am driving a top-of-the-line Mercedes so I assume I will be saved by multiple, German-engineered airbags. Damn Germans have even foiled my attempted, albeit imaginary, suicide.

Turns out that I am not at fault; instead, I am, somehow, a victim. While I was there, two African men came up, chatted in a language I did not understand and petted my hair (and, yes, I do mean "pet." "Stroke" seems way too sexual and personal for this). I was not offended so I ignored it and went on my merry way. {Side note, I lived in Greece and traveled in Turkey a lot... OF COURSE I was not offended by someone petting my hair. I am blond and this often gets me discounts on jewelry. Call me cheap, call me Ishmael, call me when my ring is sized}.


Someone else saw this and was offended so they called the police on my behalf. Well, thank heavens that Robo was right there to pull me over again and return me to the scene of the "crime" {and if there was ever a case of blatant racism, this was it}. Then they learn that I don't speak German so they have to call an "official translator" even thought they all speak perfect English. Fine, whatever. An hour later, he appears and asks me what evils transpired (for the record, his English is not as good as Robo's or the store clerk's but, whatever).

I say "I was getting a Coke that I later paid for (just in case this is some elaborate ploy to railroad me into a confession). Those two guys came up, said something I did not understand (could be Swahili, could be Swedish, I dunno), touched my hair and I left."


All hell breaks loose. The clerk did not see them touch me so he did not report that part of it. Now, I have been sexually assaulted. The Germans all go secure and even I can see that things are not looking good for the African guys. Rorry Rorge. But, no worries, I will fix this. I am a consultant; I fix all kinds of stuff. Trust me, I am practically a professional.


The Germans insist that they now have to call in a female, official translator to talk to me about my perceived assault. I can bear no more of this. Hubby was assigned to NATO and no one loves ID cards like NATO. I demand a representative from NATO and the US Embassy. I whip out all of my ID cards to NATO, the US Embassy, my work permit, my proxy cards, my US military ID card and, hell, even my base library card.


I start demanding representation from the nearest base as well as the consulate. Now it is time for them to panic. Profuse apologies to me since they do not want the full force of my wrath. Nor do they want to deal with the American forces whom are known to enjoy paperwork their own selves. I insist that not only am I to leave but the Africans are to be released also. Yep, I am all about defending the unjustly accused (though I could not even make it through all of Erin Brockovich).

I finally get to work six hours late. For the record, I turned on my headlamps and did not brush the snow off my windshield just to flaunt my newfound power.