National Social-life

Four weeks ago, Brijhette and I were sitting in the student bar that is (noisily) thirty feet from my window, drinking a beer and talking animatedly about our futures.

"I mean, I just don't know if I want to go to grad school right away," I said, swigging the last of my two buttery-tasting Weissbiers out of its massive, rather phallic glass. "I LOVE the English language, really I do, but --"

"Mmhm, yeah, girl," Brijhette said. For her, the debate about grad-school no-grad-school was over; she'd been accepted to two equally awesome architecture programs, had selected one, was going there in the fall, and was now concentrating on other things. "Only a couple fries left, you want one?"

"I just, I love writing, and I love talking, and I love writing things and talking about them to people, but maybe I can do that not in grad school, like somewhere else, or something..." I was gesturing with the glass, my hair flying.

"Yeah, yeah," Brijhette said, nodding as she soaked the last fry in ketchup. "You're a good talker. Me, I'm just wondering how I'm gonna pay for all this, you know? I mean, wie kann man fuer alle diese noetige Sache zahlen?"

"What, the fries? They were like three euro."

"No... for school."

"Oh." I looked at her. She was equally finished with her fries and beers. "Should we go?"

I vaguely registered that there were two guys sitting at a table directly behind Brijhette, in my line of vision. My glasses weren't on, so I really didn't have a good idea of what they looked like -- I had a vague impression of dark hair, black clothes, stillness. I was unsure whether or not they were checking us out or just watching the football game behind us. I decided it was inconsequential, as we were leaving.

"Inconsequential!" I pronounced.

"Wha?" Brijhette said, holding her glass.

We turned around, sauntered up to the counter, returned our food and beverage containers, received two euro each in recompense for said containers, pocketed the money, and walked out past the crowds of football-watchers into the dark humid night.

We stood by the doors for a second, not wanting to just part rudely. I noticed that the two guys from the table behind us were standing ten feet away -- I assumed that they were doing the same thing. I jangled my two euro in my pockets.

"Thanks for coming out with me. It was good to finally get that beer," Brijhette said. "Mmm, lecker."

"Yeah, totally necessary," I said. "You know when we have to meet tomorrow?"

"Entschuldigung," said a voice by my left shoulder.

I turned. It was one of the guys.

He was tall, dark in the night. From far away he'd looked menacing. From up close, he just looked earnest. What on earth was happening?

"Hi, how's it going," he said sort of cockily in German.

We both affirmed our good-ness, and sort of hit on him a little bit.

"I'm wondering," he said. "My friend over there is here for the week from Sweden, and I've only been here five months. Tomorrow I want to go show him around Munich, but I'm not sure what to see... can you recommend us anything?"

"Oh, the English Gardens," I said at once. "They would be sehr nett."

"The Chinese Tower," said Brijhette, "the Frauenkirche, the Glockenspiel..."

"A beer garden," I said.

"Uh huh, uh huh," he said.

"Sorry," I said, "we only got here two weeks ago. You probably know better than we do."

"Oh!..." he said. "From America, right? Hey, Mazdak. Come over here!"

His friend, who'd been standing over there finishing up a phone call, came over. Introductions were made. Mazdak apparently spoke only English, which was a relief to me. We switched languages, and the tall guy turned out to also speak English. Then he nailed it.

"Should we meet up and go to a beer garden tomorrow, then?" he said casually. "What's your number?"

....

The next day, Brijhette and I, after much debate and wondering and mentioning of that damn movie that made everyone's parents worry about them going to Europe and being kidnapped and sold into sex slavery, wound up going to the beer garden. I guess I was favorably impressed-- long story short, Nader and I have been dating for roughly four weeks now, and he hasn't kidnapped me. Yet.

He was born in Germany, but his parents are from Iran, and he lived there for several years in high school and college -- he's currently in school studying "Electrotechnik", which I think translates fairly well into English. He is, in a word, smooth. He enjoys Santana, dancing, taking drunken photos in U-Bahn stations with friends, and Shrek. He regularly threatens to beat up the ducks that poop on me as I ride my bike and the geese that hit me in the face, which is a quality I appreciate in a man.

I'm writing about him mainly because tonight we are going to a "Cultural Stereotypes" party in one of the dorms here. Since he's Iranian and I'm American, the night will either end in a nuclear explosion or a blissful revolution and reconciliation. Stay tuned!