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anecdotes

We got bad service at a wine shop in France. Somehow, it’s all our fault…

Today’s post is going to be different than usual. It might even be a bit controversial. I’ve decided to write about it here, instead of on my main blog, because it has to do with travel and international relations. And it also complements a piece I wrote for my main blog this morning. So here goes…

Last month, I wrote about the trip Bill and I took to Ribeauville, France for our 20th wedding anniversary. It was our sixth visit to Ribeauville, a town that has become one of our favorite places to visit when we need a break from Germany. This time, we went there because we wanted to go somewhere dog friendly to celebrate our anniversary. Because Arran has been undergoing chemotherapy, and Noyzi had never been on a trip before, we thought it would be best to go somewhere we knew could accommodate them.

Although we have visited Ribeauville many times, I didn’t realize that a lot of businesses would be closed during our November visit. I would have expected a lot of closures during the winter season. But when we got there, our host, Yannick, explained that a lot of businesses shut down for a rest just before the Christmas season, because of the surge in business when people descend on the village to shop the markets. Consequently, the tourist friendly town was pretty dead during our visit. Only a few restaurants were open, and not all of the retail establishments were doing business.

In my blog series about our most recent trip to Ribeauville, I wrote about an unfortunate experience we had at a wine shop in Ribeauville. I didn’t go into great detail about it in the blog post, because overall, we had a good time. However, Bill and I did submit Google reviews about the place where we got bad service. We would not have bothered to do that if the shopkeeper had given us the right wine, but the unfriendliness coupled with incompetence invited comment. Some people might question our decision to complain about our experience on the Internet. I would invite the naysayers to consider the value of people sharing their opinions about products and services.

The whole reason Google offers people the chance to leave reviews is so that others might be able to choose the most appropriate places to spend their money. I almost always use reviews when I decide to book places to stay overnight. Sometimes I read restaurant reviews before I’ll book a table. I look for reviews of doctors, veterinarians, and lawyers, too, because I don’t want to waste time or money on something that will be inappropriate or disappointing.

Think about shopping at Amazon. Most of us read reviews before we make purchases, right? It helps one decide between two similar products and maybe avoid bad experiences… or increase the odds of having a really good experience. It also gives businesses the chance to do some quality control, if they are so inclined. As much as business people don’t want to hear about something going wrong, they can’t fix problems if they don’t know they exist. And in the case of the wine shop we reviewed, we couldn’t have complained in person, even if we’d wanted to, because the salesperson only spoke French, and Bill and I can’t speak French.

So, Bill wrote about how, after lunch on a cold, rainy afternoon in Ribeauville, we decided we wanted to buy some wine to take home with us. We were actually hoping to get the chance to do a tasting. Ribeauville has a lot of places where it’s possible to taste wines before buying them, and we hoped we’d find such an outlet that offered tastings when we were wine shopping. Unfortunately, on that particular day, most of the winesellers were closed, either because it was too early in the day, or because they had closed before commencing the Christmas markets. We decided we just wanted to buy the wine and hole up in the apartment, since the weather was so yucky and the dogs were waiting for us.

We saw that this one wine shop was open. The lights were on; the door was open; it was a quaint looking place. Bill had successfully shopped there before, so we had no reason to think we’d have a bad experience there. We walked in and saw there was a woman behind the counter. It was apparently her job to sell wine. She was giving off unwelcoming vibes, and looked quite annoyed that we’d come into her shop. In retrospect, we probably should have just walked out. But we wanted to buy Alsatian wine, and were planning to leave the next morning. So we approached her.

Bill asked her if she spoke English or German. Her response was a flat “no.” Okay… well, it’s France, so we don’t necessarily expect that she speaks any language other than French. She had a menu available. We spotted a package we wanted. It consisted of three Pinot Blancs and three Rieslings. We pointed to that, and I said more than once, “No Gewurztraminer.” Granted, I didn’t say it in French, but “no” means “no” in English and French. So, actually, I probably did say it in French.

The woman packed up the wines in a box. We weren’t able to see which bottles she put in the box before she taped it up. Bill paid for the package we indicated, and we quickly got out of there, because we felt unwelcome. The whole interaction lasted maybe five minutes.

When we got home, we found three bottles of Gewurztraminer instead of the Riesling we wanted. I was immediately annoyed, because not only were we treated very rudely, but we also didn’t get what we ordered. So Bill and I wrote reviews of the shop on Google, noticing that we weren’t the only people who got bad service at that particular establishment. However, we appeared to be the only Americans who had reviewed their shop. Everyone else was evidently either from France or Germany.

Last night, Bill saw that he got a response from the wine shop about the review he wrote. The woman responded in French that she was “very sorry” about her “attitude” if she was the one to whom we were referring. And she added that it was “unfortunate” that we got bottles of Gewurztraminer instead of Riesling, since Gewurztraminer is “more expensive”. Her implication seems to be that we should be grateful that we got more expensive wines when we paid for cheaper wines.

I was a bit taken aback by the woman’s response. But here are my four takeaways from this experience.

  1. This woman doesn’t care about giving people what they ordered.
  2. I don’t know if she owns the shop or is just an employee, but apparently she doesn’t care that she cost the business money because she gave us the wrong wines.
  3. She thinks that things that cost more are automatically better.
  4. She doesn’t realize that Riesling and Gewurztraminer are different wines and taste different.

I will admit that I am not an expert on Gewurztraminer, but I have never had one that I’ve enjoyed. Perhaps if the shop had offered tastings, the saleslady could have convinced us that Gewurztraminer was the better choice. She wouldn’t have even needed to speak English or German to do that. Bill and I have done tastings at other vintners in France in which all the proprietor did was pour sips of wine for us and let us decide if we wanted to purchase it. But her shop didn’t offer tastings, which is certainly fair enough.

But, since they didn’t offer tastings, and I know I like Rieslings and haven’t historically liked Gewurztraminers, I ordered Rieslings– not Gewurztraminers. It doesn’t make a happy damn to me that Gewurztraminers cost more than Rieslings do. It’s not worth anything to me if I don’t want to drink it. And while I don’t necessarily assume that the customer is always right, I do think people should get what they ask for, and pay for, or something that comes reasonably close if what they want isn’t available. This morning, when Bill and I were talking about this, he said “I’m sure a pink, diamond encrusted, Mercedes Benz would cost more than our Volvo did. That doesn’t mean I want to drive it.”

I decided to write about this incident on Facebook. I posted about it on my page, and in a wine group I run. I kind of knew in the back of my head that posting about it in the wine group would be risky, since a lot of people in the group are affiliated with the U.S. military, and a lot of people in that community seem to think that no one ever has the right to complain about anything. If you complain, you’re automatically labeled a “karen” (a term I usually refuse to use because I think it’s stupid). Below is what I posted:

That last bit was a reference to an experience Bill and I had in Ribeauville back in May 2018, when we visited a restaurant. I had ordered an entrecote steak. Bill ordered smoked salmon pancakes. The waiter came out with the pancakes and choucroute garni (Alsatian dish with sausages and sauerkraut), which was NOT what I ordered. When I politely pointed that out to the guy, he immediately got really pissed and insisted that I had ordered sausages and sauerkraut. Why would I lie about what I ordered? I didn’t want the choucroute garni, because I don’t like sauerkraut. He took the dish away, then came back and tried to get me to accept it, since it would take time to prepare the steak I ordered. Bill, being the prince of a man that he is, offered to take the choucroute garni. I took the salmon pancakes, since they had been my second choice. Unfortunately, the pancakes were badly scorched.

Am I really a “karen” if I complain about this at a restaurant? Not only is it not what I ordered, but it’s burnt.

The Ribeauville wine shop lady reminded me of the waiter at the Ribeauville restaurant who gave us very bad service and expected me to shut up and color. But… in fairness to the town, everyone else there has been fabulous. That’s why we’ve visited there six times so far!

Anyway, I had a feeling that someone would assume that I brought on my own problems at the wine shop. Sure enough, I was right. Someone responded that I shouldn’t have “expected” the wine shop woman to speak English or German at a shop in France. Where in my post does it say that I expected her to speak another language? I wrote in a matter-of-fact way that the woman didn’t speak German or English. We don’t speak French. There’s no judgment about that. Many people in that region speak German, though, because it’s very close to the German border.

Lots of Europeans speak English. In fact, a lot of people from other parts of Europe speak English to each other even if they don’t come from an English speaking country. English is a very commonly studied second language in many parts of Europe. Say you’re a French person visiting Spain, and you don’t speak Spanish, but you can speak English. You visit a Spanish restaurant and the waiter doesn’t speak French, but does speak English. You can both speak English and get what you need. See? I’ve seen this happen on many occasions.

It’s generally not possible for everyone living in Europe to learn every language, although I have met some impressive people who had seemed to try. It’s not uncommon to meet people in Europe who have mastered four or five tongues, especially among the Romance languages, but they’d still be struggling if they were somewhere in rural Croatia, Latvia, or Poland and the person they were trying to talk to didn’t speak one of the languages they happened to know.

The person in my wine group continued that she had studied French in high school and college, so she has never experienced rude behavior in France. The implication, apparently, is that I’m an “ugly American” and ignorant because I don’t speak French and had the nerve to ask the saleslady if she spoke English or German.

I was pretty irritated by that reaction and response, because I felt it was pretty judgmental. I’ve lived in Germany for ten years of my life. I like living here. Otherwise, I would have gone back to America or somewhere else a long time ago. Moreover, I completely understand the importance of being culturally sensitive. Besides Germany, I’ve also lived in England and Armenia. I was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Armenia, where I taught English to little kids. And yes, I do speak some Armenian, a language that I’ll bet relatively few Americans have ever learned a word of.

I also understand that it’s important to study foreign language in school. I studied Spanish for six years, stupidly assuming I’d be living in the United States, where more people speak Spanish than French or German. Believe me, if I had known I’d be living in Germany, I would have studied German and/or French. But I didn’t have a crystal ball back in 1985, when I started taking a foreign language course for the first time. I learned the language I thought was most practical. Based on how my life has turned out, I was wrong.

Someone else wrote that maybe the woman misunderstood me because I don’t speak French. She reasoned that her mother is from Greece and sometimes misunderstands accents. But I don’t think that was what happened, because “No Gewurztraminer” is pretty clear in French and English, especially when we also point to the menu and PAY the price for the box we ordered– which the proprietor says is cheaper than the price is for a box with Gewurztraminer.

Why do people feel like they need to play devil’s advocate, even when the other person isn’t even around to be offended. The wine purveyor isn’t in my wine group, after all. I didn’t even mention which shop she runs. I was just sharing an experience. Why can’t people simply have empathy, rather than try to blame the victim?

The saleslady was not only rude to us, but she also made a mistake; then she shamed us for daring to speak out about it. And instead of apologizing for making the mistake, which everybody does sometimes, she responded in a way that indicated that we were right about her disposition. She’s just plain rude, and probably should find a new line of work that makes her happier. I mean, it’s not like she was slammed with people on the day of our visit. We were the only people in her shop, which was legitimately open for business. We made a very simple request. She botched it, and was very unpleasant to boot. Then, when we legitimately complained, she continued to show everyone her ass.

I think that experience warrants a complaint… or even just a comment, so that other people can avoid that experience themselves. I comment about what happened to Americans, and some of them imply that this was my fault. Isn’t that really nice?

Listen, I’ll be the first to admit that I can be extremely annoying sometimes. This was not one of those times. This was a five minute interaction that went terribly awry for some reason, in spite of our best intentions. I simply wanted to write about it. But some people want to make anyone who sounds off a villain, especially if it involves Americans. Oh well.

We donated two of the offending wines to a Thanksgiving celebration. Hopefully, someone will enjoy the “more expensive” wines that we bought in Alsace. And next time we go to Ribeauville, we’ll try one of the other wine purveyors… providing they’re open for business. I probably should give up wine, anyway… and whine. My liver would surely thank me for it.

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Welcome back to Stuttgart… part 3– clean teeth, The Gardener’s Nosh, and kids who can’t tell time

Friday morning, Bill and I had appointments to see our dentist.  We got up and enjoyed Waldhotel’s buffet breakfast.  It costs extra, but I booked it with the room.  At about 10:00am, we headed for the U-bahn (Waldau stop) and made our way to Stuttgart Mitte. (ETA: My German friend says that Stuttgart has no “U-bahn” as in “underground”.  The U stands for unabhängig– “independent”.  Stuttgart’s trains are all technically “Stadtbahns”.)  I had a big bag of wine corks to be delivered.  It so happened that the lady who was taking them for her crafting projects had an appointment in Stuttgart, too.

I really like Dr. Blair.  We started seeing him in January 2015, after I read many good reviews of his work in local Facebook groups and on Toytown Germany.  When we first started using his services, I had an upper baby tooth that had abscessed, and needed to be pulled and replaced with an implant.  I was very nervous about the whole experience, but he did a tremendous job.  I’ve had my implant for three years and it feels and behaves just like a natural tooth.  I still have another baby tooth that will probably need an implant.  If we’re still in Germany when the work needs to be done, I’ll probably have him do it.  If you’re interested in the whole implant saga, you can read about it in this blog.  I got the tooth pulled in September 2015 and the implant was finished in June 2016.

Dr. Blair was having a hard time on Friday.  He was working on a little girl who was wearing braces that had been applied with extremely strong cement.  The poor girl was crying as he was trying to remove one of the appliances.  How do I know this?  Well, I could hear it… but he also told me about it.  It’s always interesting to me how the concept of patient privacy differs in Germany than it does in the United States.  Germany is very big on privacy in general, but I guess, not when it comes to healthcare.

I heard Dr. Blair apologize to the girl’s mom as they were leaving.  I also heard him rather sternly tell the little girl that the trauma “wasn’t his fault.”  I guess it technically wasn’t, since he didn’t use that super strong glue on her braces, but she was still pretty upset.  This seemed like another incidence of “blame shifting” and “fault claiming” that appears to be a cultural thing here in Germany.  I notice that as a whole, many Germans seem to be very averse to accepting fault and/or blame when things go wrong.  I’ve written about it before, because as an American, it’s interesting to me to observe the differences.  This isn’t to say that Americans are any more willing to accept fault or blame– just that German culture seems especially against it.  Maybe that’s why lawsuits are so prevalent here.

After our teeth were cleaned and the wine corks were delivered, we decided to have lunch at The Gardener’s Nosh.  This is a restaurant on Calwer Strasse that I heard about in the food and wine Facebook group I run.  I wanted to try it when we were still living near Stuttgart, but never got the opportunity.  I think they recently expanded their hours.  I seem to remember the reason we couldn’t try it was because they closed in the afternoons and we were always in Stuttgart too late.  Now, I see they serve dinner, although the restaurant focuses on healthy breakfast items served all day.

Nice to finally try this place.
 
 

Breakfast all day.

We happened to get there right after a hen party had departed.  I think a couple of the “hens” remained.  I noticed that the noise level in the restaurant was rather energetic.  We might have sat outside, but the weather was kind of iffy– we’d have a few minutes of sun, then the rain would start.  It was also surprisingly chilly outside.

Delicious mint tea!

 

Pretty Eggs Hemingway!  Next time, I might try the French toast.

 

Bill’s turkey bacon and cheese sandwich.  I liked the avocado creme around the plate.

 

A nice spot for lunch downtown!

I decided to have Eggs Hemingway, which consisted of poached eggs, fresh spinach, Hollandaise Sauce, and smoked salmon on bread.  You get your choice of breads– toasted Brioche, “farm” bread, or whole wheat.  I chose the “Bauern” bread.  I wish I had chosen Brioche instead, but other than that, I really liked the dish.  It was almost too pretty to eat!  I also had Moroccan mint tea, which was served in a fancy golden pot.

Bill had a grilled turkey bacon and cheese sandwich.  I think I might have liked his sandwich even more than I did my Eggs Hemingway.  They used a mild cheese, kind of reminiscent of Swiss, on hearty farm bread.  He paired it with iced tea with fruit.

We used public transportation to get to and from the dentist’s office.  Getting back to the hotel was kind of exhausting, since we got turned around in the train station.  I spend a lot of time alone these days, so being around so many people kind of wore me out.  We had plans to visit the Frühlingsfest, but by the time we got back to the hotel, I wasn’t sure I still wanted to go.  It was cold and rainy.

But I gamely got dressed anyway…

And Bill liked it.  I think the dirndl brings out the animal in him.

Since we were going to the concert on Saturday, Bill preferred to go to the Fest on Friday afternoon.  I relented and put on my dirndl.  While I was getting dressed, a Waldhotel staffer dropped by to give us a gift because I left positive feedback on Expedia about our check in.

Should be interesting to try this!  It has Jalapeno Chilis in it.  Seems dangerous for German tastes!

We took public transportation back to Bad Cannstatt, where it promptly started raining.  By the time we got to the tent, I looked like a drowned rat.

Not the best look for me.  Glad I didn’t waste time fixing my hair.

Our one and only Krugs, thanks to the inconsideration of kids who can’t tell time.

We sat at a table that was reserved for 6:00pm.  It was about 3:30 when we arrived, and the table was completely empty.  There was no music, and we were too late for lunch, although we didn’t really want to eat, anyway.  I took some photos and we started enjoying our first Maßkrugs.  At about 4:00pm, a large group of kids showed up and took over the table.  After about thirty minutes, before we were finished with our beers, one of the “kids” asked us to move.  The guy said they had a reservation.

Bill was way too nice to the boy, who was admittedly asking us nicely, but still being a self-centered little shit.  The kid suggested that we sit at one of the other tables, all of which were also reserved, and mostly for times earlier than 6:00pm.  I was really pissed, though.  I looked at the kid and said in a really bitchy tone of voice, “It’s not six o’clock yet.”

The kid looked rather horrified at Bill, who then looked at him sternly.  I probably looked like I wanted to kill him.  I have one of those faces that says a lot more than what comes out verbally.

I probably looked even meaner than this.

In retrospect, maybe I should have said, “Young man, you can wait ten minutes while I finish my beer.  Your reservation starts at 6:00pm.  If you needed the table sooner, you should have reserved it for earlier than 6:00pm.  You don’t get to claim the table for all day.  Didn’t your parents teach you how to tell time?  And didn’t they teach you basic manners?”

But I could tell Bill didn’t want me to make a scene, and I knew that if I did, it would ruin the Fest for all of us.  So we moved to another table.  I finished the beer and we left the tent to frequent some of the outdoor Biergartens we usually miss at the Fests.  I think I’m getting too old for the Fests, anyway, but I wanted to get more use out of my pretty dirndl.  I don’t think they wear them up here in Hesse.  Germany is definitely wearing off on me.  I’m not as laid back as I used to be… not that I’ve ever been laid back, but I’m even more uptight now.  Just wait until I go through “the change”.

I should have tried this.  It might have improved my mood.

 

Germans are serious about their rides.  I probably would have liked to try this twenty years ago.  Bill doesn’t like rides, though, so I was content to watch.  

Interesting sign…  I think I took this after I used the WC, where the Klofrau beamed at me for leaving a euro instead of 50 cents.

We eventually switched to wine.  I think when it comes to the Fests, the wine tents are more my speed.  Unfortunately, they weren’t running one at the Frühlingsfest like they do in the fall.

We should have just gone to this place instead of trying to hit the beer tents.  You can see the ambulance passing… probably to go pick up one of the little Scheissers at the Wasen.

It’s amazing how it wasn’t as crowded on Friday afternoon as it always is during the fall and yet, thanks to some obnoxiously self-centered kids, I had a worse time.  Well, it wasn’t all bad… At least I didn’t end up kissing anyone, like I did a few years ago.  We took a cab back to the hotel, visited Angelo at the bar, and then retired to our fancy suite and tried out the humongous bathtub behind the bed.  That experience saved the evening!

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Welcome back to Stuttgart… part 4– “Eine wirklich schwäbisch Küche”, Elton John, and STAUgart HELL!!!

Saturday was the day we’d been waiting for.  Ever since I bought the tickets to see Elton John in February 2018, I anticipated finally getting to see him for the first… and likely the last… time ever.  We spent Saturday morning relaxing and recovering from the Fest.  Then we had lunch at the nearby Vereinsgaststätte TSV 07 Stuttgart, which I had wanted to try because I noticed on other visits that it always smelled good near the restaurant.  The signage around the club also indicated that it was “eine wirklich schwäbisch Küche” (a really Schwabish kitchen).  Although I can’t say I’m a devout fan of Schwabish cuisine, I wanted to see if there was truth in advertising.

See?  It even says on the sign that it’s a really Schwabish kitchen.

Corona?  Really?

The Gasthaus was fairly busy when we got there, which I always take as a good sign.  Curiously, I noticed a large beer fridge full of Coronas– Mexican beer that goes well with lime slices.  Although Corona is prevalent enough in the United States, it’s not that often that I see it in German Gasthauses. We took a seat in the dining room and the English speaking waitress brought us a Weizen for me, and an Apple Schorle for Bill.  For lunch, Bill had a small turkey schnitzel with pommes.  I decided to have asparagus with Hollandaise Sauce.

I don’t know why this trip was so heavy on asparagus.  I do like it, but I prefer the green asparagus to the white.  To me, it’s got more flavor.  I don’t usually want to center a whole meal around asparagus, either, although once May is over, so is asparagus season.  Nevertheless, here’s the photographic evidence of the source of my stinky pee.

Gosh, he’s cute.

Bill’s salad was the traditional kind, with potato salad on the bottom.  I’m sure they serve it like that up here in Hesse, although to be honest, we haven’t been frequenting Gasthauses lately.

A little turkey schnitzel with fries.  I liked that it came with ketchup or mayo and that you could choose pork, veal, or turkey.  I also liked that you could order a small.  I can never finish schnitzels, which is why I rarely order them.  Bill liked his.  I probably should have gotten one, too.

My asparagus with Hollandaise and a “Fladl” (crepe).  It’s a very “beige” dish.  I couldn’t eat all of the asparagus, but I gave it a good try.

When we got back to the hotel, there was a saxophone player named Sebastian Lilienthal playing.  Waldhotel was having an open house and I guess his music was part of the festivities.  I thought his playing was technically good, although it lacked a certain sense of soul.  He seemed to prefer hits of the 1980s.  Having looked him up, I can see why.  He’s just a few years older than I am, so that music was no doubt part of his personal soundtrack.  I did get a kick out of his rendition of “Boogie Wonderland” by The Emotions and Earth, Wind, & Fire.  It’s not a song I would have expected to hear played solo on the saxophone.

Sebastian was playing to no one at this point, since no one was sitting outside.  It was chilly and rainy outside.  He was later driven inside by a sudden hailstorm.  At one point, he reminded me a little of Squidward.  

Sorry… but he really did.

The hotel staff set out some very tempting looking treats.  

I’m really glad we had a piece of Black Forest Cake, especially given what happened on our way to the concert.  This is one of my favorite German desserts!

 

The concert tickets I bought came with a parking pass and vouchers for a buffet with an open bar for two hours before the show started.  Although we don’t usually drive to concerts due to the hell of getting in and out of the parking lots, we decided to drive this time, since we had the parking pass.  It’s a mistake I won’t be repeating.

We left the hotel at about 4:45pm, figuring that would give us plenty of time to get to the venue and get something to eat.  One thing that usually happens to us at concerts is that we miss dinner.  It’s not that I can’t afford to miss a meal… it’s just that I get really “hangry” when I’m hungry.  So we thought we’d be safe.  We were about 900 meters from the concert venue when the Stuttgart police suddenly decided to close the road leading to the Hans Schleyer Arena.  I mean, it happened literally a car ahead of us.  He put traffic cones up and people were having to make U turns into oncoming traffic, which seemed really dangerous to me.  And the cop was very rude when Bill asked how he was supposed to get to the parking area.  I was tempted to use bad language, but remembered that insulting the cops can lead to huge fines.  So I zipped it… and so did Bill, who also felt like cussing.

This was just the beginning.  If we had left about five minutes earlier, we would have avoided this mess.  At one point, I was wondering if we were going to make it, since traffic was at a standstill.  We were about 600 meters from the parking lot, but it still took an hour.

Traffic was a nightmare, of course, as we and everyone behind us was forced to change directions.  The GPS rerouted us to the road that ran past the Wasen grounds.  It took about an hour to work our way down the street congested with festgoers.  It was absolutely infuriating, although even if we’d taken a cab or the U-bahn, it would have been an ordeal to get to the venue.  By the time we parked the car, it was already 6:30pm and the concert was due to start at 7:00.  So we decided to just find our seats.

The view from where I was sitting.

The concert was, of course, completely sold out.  I didn’t see a single open seat in the arena.  Elton put on a great show and played for about two and a half hours, straight.  I really enjoyed the concert, especially since John Jorgenson was in the band.  About ten years ago, I used to review albums for a public relations firm out of Nashville.  They sent me a couple of Jorgenson’s albums to review.  He was filling in for Elton John’s regular guitar player, Davey Johnstone, who is taking a break due to back problems.

The band was stellar and we had pretty good seats in Block Twelve.  The songs were each paired with an audio/visual presentation, which I guess is the trend with some artists.  I remember Diana Krall did something similar with her concert in Stuttgart a few years ago.  The videos were kind of interesting, but they were also a bit distracting.  I found myself watching the videos instead of Elton, whose piano was on some kind of track that moved him around the stage.  I remember being surprised when I turned my attention back to him on the stage and seeing him in a different place than where he was at the beginning of the song.

After a particularly exciting song, the house lights would go up so we could all see each other.  There were several exciting songs, so we got to see each other a lot.  It was a huge, appreciative crowd.  I was sitting next to a German guy who was really into the show.  He was dancing in his seat.

Toward the end of the show, Elton said that in 1990, he decided that he didn’t like how he was living his life and decided to make a change.  He got off drugs and alcohol and, two years later, decided to start a foundation to fight AIDS.  Maybe a lot of younger people don’t realize what a scourge AIDS was for people in the 80s and 90s, but I plainly remember how many people– truly amazing, gifted people like Ryan White, Freddie Mercury, and Rock Hudson– died of the disease when I was coming of age.  I appreciated Elton’s comments about how now, no one has to die of AIDS.

Speaking as someone who remembers thinking of HIV infection as an automatic death sentence, I was really impressed by Elton’s speech, as well as his explanation as to why he’s retiring from the road.  He got everyone excited when he said we all need to come together– especially England and the rest of Europe.  He said, and I quote, “We don’t need fucking BREXIT!”  The Germans all roared their approval.  I was kind of relieved that he didn’t bring up Donald Trump, although that was probably another thought people were having.  Personally, I don’t think we need fucking Donald Trump, either.

Ray Cooper… he’s a madman on the drums!  I also enjoyed watching Nigel Olsson, another one of Elton’s longtime band members.  He kept mugging for the camera.  It was adorable!

Goodbye, Elton…

It looked almost like he was ascending into Heaven.  I hope that’s not on the horizon…

Taking a bow.

Before we knew it, the show was over.  But, because we were tightly packed into our seats, neither Bill nor I had the chance to pee before the end.  Of course, because the arena was packed with people, most of whom also needed to pee, we didn’t get a chance to go before we exited the building.  We were kind of swept out of the venue into the rain.  Then, once we got in the car, stomachs rumbling because we didn’t have time to eat, the real fun started.  It legitimately took over an hour just to get out of the parking lot.  There was no sense of queueing and plenty of people were acting like totally inconsiderate assholes behind the wheel.  I did a lot of swearing… I won’t lie.

This was hell.  However, I did see a few amusing scenes of young people staggering after spending too much time at the Fest.  One person even left a full cup of beer tucked into someone’s windshield wiper.  

The hotel’s parking lot was full when we arrived at about 11:00pm.  The show had let out at about 9:30pm, but it took us 90 minutes to get back.  The kitchen was closed, of course.  We hadn’t expected it to be open, although we could see others who had gone to the show and got back before us were eating.  I guess they had the same problem we did.  The bartender was sympathetic, though, and loaded us up on red wine and peanuts.

When we got back to the room, we found it completely set up for bedtime.  The housekeeper left us more tea and cookies, closed all the blinds, and turned down the bed.  That was very nice and left us with a good impression.

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Looky Lous… our adventures at Lustnauer Mühle in Tübingen

The weather this weekend has so far been cold and cloudy.  This is in stark contrast to last weekend’s glorious sunshine and warm temperatures.  Consequently, I wasn’t really feeling like doing much exploring today.  Nevertheless, by the time 3:00pm rolled around, I realized that I wanted to go out to eat.  I asked Bill if he’d like me to find a restaurant on our favorite restaurant app, OpenTable.  I’m always curious to see what’s on OpenTable in these parts.  When we lived here the first time, there was one restaurant in the entire Stuttgart area in the system.  Now there are several hundred.

I saw a place in Tübingen that looked interesting.  Lustnauer Mühle got good reviews on OpenTable, TripAdvisor, and Google.  I figured it was worth a try.  Off we went for a 6:30pm reservation.

The restaurant is in a part of town that, prior to this evening, we had not been to before.  We ended up parking in a university lot.  It was good that we did that, because once we found the restaurant in its very picturesque neighborhood, we noticed there wasn’t a whole lot of street parking.  It appears that the buildings next to the restaurant were recently torn down.  I’m not sure what will be built in the newly vacated space.

The outside of the restaurant.  You can’t tell, but there’s quite a construction site next to it.

We were warmly greeted by the very Italian proprietor, who invited us to sit at one of the two tops near the door.  I initially chose a small table by the wall, since I don’t like to look at other people when I’m eating.  Likewise, I don’t like it when people stare at me.  Unfortunately, the first table we chose was quite small.  We ordered wine, water, and antipasti to share, along with entrees.  There wasn’t enough room to accommodate all of the plates on the table without risking a disaster.  The friendly proprietor then invited us to move to a slightly larger table in the corner, which situated me with my back against the wall overlooking the dining area.  Bill sat perpendicular to me.

At our original table, Bill checks out the menu.

Bill decided to get a bottle of primitivo.  It was expertly presented by the friendly proprietor, who did something I have never seen before.  He pulled out a thermometer and put it in the bottle, in a show of making sure it was served at the right temperature.  I’m not sure if this was just a means of impressing us or he was actually concerned with the temperature.  Bill was intrigued, though.  I bet he gets himself one of those thermometers.

 

Whether or not the wine was at the optimal temperature, it was good.

 

The proprietor did not speak English, so our communication was in a smattering of Italian, German, and a few words of English here and there.  He had several nice looking people working with him, all of whom appeared to be Italians.  The ladies who were helping him serve were pleasant and attentive.

A little bruschetta to start things off.  It was at this point that we changed tables.

We split the antipasti, which included prosciutto, melon, mozzarella, tomatoes, tuna with cream and capers, and a mushroom garnish, which Bill removed before I took this photo.  This got dinner off to a good start.  I especially loved the tuna.  We also enjoyed the bread, which appeared to be pizza crust from the wood oven.

Things started to get weird as we were finishing our starter.  Another couple sat down at the table next to ours.  Due to the way our chairs were arranged, I was sitting perpendicular to their table.  If I looked ahead, they were directly in my line of vision, although I tried hard to avoid gazing at them.

The couple appeared to be an older German man and, perhaps, his somewhat younger wife… and if she was his wife, I felt kind of sorry for him.  She did not seem to be a very pleasant person.  In fact, because of the way my chair was arranged, I was in a position to watch his body language throughout the meal.  I’ve heard it said that about 80% of communication is non-verbal.  His non-verbal communication was screaming for help as she ran her mouth.

As we were waiting for our main courses, I noticed the woman sitting at the table near ours kept glancing over at us.  She’d say something to her companion, then crane her eyes my way.  She was not being discreet about it.  Her eyes would swivel to the left as she stared at me with what appeared to be a harsh scowl.

I ignored it the first couple of times it happened, but it became more and more obvious and distinctly rude.  I was reminded of another memorable and unpleasant experience Bill and I had at a restaurant the first time we lived here.  Fortunately, that time, the rude people were outed by the restaurant proprietor, who later explained to us the very embarrassing reason why they were in town.  We shared a laugh and I got a good story out of it.

Just as I started to realize the woman’s very overt staring, sneering, and glaring were not going to stop, our entrees arrived and we were mercifully, yet temporarily, distracted by food.

Bill had an Angus steak with white asparagus.  This was a rather tender filet cooked in red wine, but it was served well done.  The proprietor had not asked Bill what temperature he wanted the beef.  Nevertheless, Bill enjoyed the beef, even if it was more done than he would have cooked it.

 

I had a dorade filet.  I could have had a whole fish, but I find eating a whole dorade overwhelming and kind of weird (those eyes staring).  If I had known I was going to be stared at by another guest, maybe I would have gotten the whole fish so I could stare in its eyes.  The dorade was cooked in lemon juice and served with a medley of vegetables.  Thankfully, there were no mushrooms.  The filet was pretty good, although I did find some bones and scales.

 

As we ate dinner, the woman at the table near us kept looking at us, then speaking very animatedly to her companion, who sat mostly silently with his arms crossed and eyes cast downward.  Watching them, I was reminded of when I was in high school and took a speech class.  Every Friday, we had an exercise called “observations”.  We had to observe two people speaking and take note of their facial expressions, tone of voice, hand and body gestures, and other cues.  We were not allowed to “interpret” what we observed.  For instance, we weren’t supposed to say “I observed an angry man talking to his wife at the supermarket.”  Instead, we would say, “I observed a man at the supermarket talking to a woman.  He spoke loudly, used profanity, and made violent gestures with his hands.”

Just as I did for the “observations” activity in high school, I found myself covertly observing these two, even as I tried to avert my eyes and not stare.  It would have been easy not to stare if the woman at the table hadn’t been so obviously gawking at us and appearing to be unfriendly.  Had her companion not looked so uncomfortable and embarrassed, maybe I would not have made any assumptions.  In fact, maybe I wouldn’t have even noticed the woman at all, although she really gave off hostile vibes.

After our plates were cleared, the proprietor came over to chat with us some more.  He talked us into dessert, then asked us where we were from.  Bill explained that he’s from Texas and I am from Virginia, but we live here in Germany (for now, anyway).  He told us he lives in Entringen, which also happens to be the town where the restaurant our first “ugly German” dining experience occurred about eight years ago.  We used to live about two kilometers from Entringen.  Anyway, although the lady might have heard us speaking English, when we told the proprietor where we came from, the guy repeated it loudly enough for her to hear.  I could be wrong, but that’s when her glances seemed even more obvious and malicious.  I got the sense that she was pissed off that we were there.  In fact, I also wondered if maybe they were regulars and we were sitting at the table where she likes to sit.  I really have no idea.

I ordered a chocolate souffle, which turned out to be pretty much a glorified lava cake with Hershey’s syrup drizzled on it.

Bill had better luck with the tiramisu.

When the desserts arrived, the woman at the table next to ours took conspicuous note of our selections, then turned to her companion and started speaking animatedly again.  His arms remained folded and he was quiet and stern looking as she jabbered on, using her hands for emphasis and stealing more glances at me.  I found myself glaring back at her more than once.

After dessert, I told Bill that I needed to use the ladies room.  I said, “I bet that woman will watch me the whole time.”  Sure enough, she did.  And she watched Bill when he got up to pee, too, very obviously staring at him as he walked to the bathroom and came back to sit down.

The funny thing is, as we were driving to the restaurant, I was talking to Bill about why I like living in Germany and I mentioned that most Germans tend to be polite, reserved, and reasonable about a lot of things.  With very rare exceptions, I have found this to be true many times over the four and a half total years I’ve spent here.  And then tonight, we ran into someone who behaved… well… a bit like a lunatic.  While I don’t know why this woman was so fascinated by and inquisitive about our dining habits, her behavior struck me as extremely and egregiously rude– like maybe there was something wrong with her psychologically.  I am at a loss as to what her issue was and why she seemed to seethe with hostility toward us.

The bill for tonight’s adventure came to 94 euros before the tip.  As we were leaving, the friendly and charming proprietor said goodbye, shook our hands, and said he hoped we’d be back.  I probably would go back to the restaurant because it looked like their pasta and pizza dishes had promise.  We also liked the ambiance of the place, even though another guest acted boorishly.  Most of the other diners seemed to be enjoying themselves as the food came and the wine flowed.  But… before we go back there, I think we’d like to try the equally intriguing German restaurant directly across the street, which has what appears to be a very nice biergarten.  Maybe if we visit there, we will be able to dine in peace without being gawked at by Looky Lous.

The sun was setting as we walked back to the car, which was not bothered during our dinner.

A sticker on a pole.  I like to read these sometimes because they can offer insight into a place.

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rants

Blog X?

More than once, I’ve mentioned on this blog that I like to keep things light when I post about my travels and food adventures.  I have a pretty good sense of humor about a lot of things and I have another blog where I tend to vent my spleen when I get upset about something.  Most people who read this blog are looking for restaurant and travel tips or simply want to look at pictures.  That’s what I try to provide here.

Today I feel the need to address an issue that’s come up repeatedly since I started sharing this blog with people in the military community.  I know a lot of people don’t like that I call myself the “traveling overeducated housewife”.  Some people seem downright offended by the name of this blog.  And there have been many times in the few years since I created this blog that I’ve sincerely wished I had come up with a different name for it.

Yesterday, I shared my post about date night restaurants and it was mostly well-received in the community.  I got a lot of likes, mostly from women, whom I hope will have a chance to try some of the places Bill and I have enjoyed since we moved back to Germany in 2014.  I was feeling pretty good about the positive feedback until I got this comment from someone.

“Traveling Over-educated House Wife.” Ugh…I hope she at least has children.

You know, I have gotten my share of crappy comments from people about the name of my blog, but this one really struck me as a low blow.  So now I’m going to set the record straight, for those who are interested.

First off, this travel blog is a spin-off of my main blog, The Overeducated Housewife.  I started that first blog in March 2010 on a whim.  We were living in Fayetteville, Georgia, having moved there in September 2009 from the Stuttgart area.  My husband was working at Fort McPherson, which was due to close the following year.  We knew we’d be moving again in early 2011.  Since that would be the middle of Bill’s assignment at FORSCOM, we knew that our time at Fort Bragg in North Carolina would also be short.  The chances of my being able to find the kind of work I went to school to do were slim to none.

It struck me that I’d gone to college for seven years and, thanks to all the moving we were doing, would probably not have the chance to use my education the way I thought I would.  I have always liked to write and never thought I’d end up being a housewife with three college degrees.  That’s why I decided to call my first blog The Overeducated Housewife.  At the time, I saw it as sort of a facetious comment on my situation.  I never dreamed people would pay attention to it or that, one day, I’d move back to the Stuttgart area and have many readers in the military community.

When I started writing my first blog, I didn’t share it with anyone.  I kept it a secret because, at the time, I wanted to stay somewhat anonymous.  I wasn’t even the first Overeducated Housewife blogger.  I’ve seen several other blogs with that name, though those bloggers apparently lost interest, had children that took up all their time, or found jobs.

As for the reason I don’t have children, not that it’s anyone’s business, but I did want and plan to have them.  Just as I had expected to have a career in public health and social work when I went to graduate school, I also fully expected that one day I’d have kids.  Unfortunately, having children was not in the cards for me.  I got married when I was thirty years old.  I am Bill’s second wife.  He had a stepson and two daughters with his ex wife.  They had some serious financial problems and she claimed pregnancy was very hard on her.  She talked Bill into getting a vasectomy when he was 29 years old.  At the time, it seemed like the most responsible thing to do, so Bill agreed.  A few years later, they divorced.  She remarried and had two more children with her third husband.  Meanwhile, Bill was left unable to father children without medical intervention, which after his divorce, he could not afford.  Sadly, Bill’s daughters are estranged and haven’t seen or spoken to him since 2004.

During that same year, Bill managed to have his vasectomy reversed, courtesy of the Army.  I remember how excited I was because it looked like we might get to have kids after all.  Although the reversal happened eleven years after the vasectomy, it looked like it was successful.  For a couple of years, we tried to start our family.  However, during those years, we were pretty poor because Bill was paying child support and still recovering from the financial difficulties he’d had in his first marriage.  I was trying and failing to find steady work, although I did make money as a freelance writer.  At that time, we couldn’t afford to seek more help conceiving.

Then Bill got deployed, which further put our ability to try to conceive on hold… and we started the series of moves that has led us to where we are now.  Since 2007, we have moved six times.  It’s hard to build a career in the field I studied when you have to move all the time.  And, to be honest, we are now in a financial situation where I don’t really have to work.  We have plenty and, frankly, there are many people out there who need steady work more than I do.  Moreover, since I haven’t worked in my field since 2002, I doubt anyone would want to give me a job anyway.  Certainly not in Germany.

I don’t necessarily enjoy housework, but I like writing and I’m good at it.  I also like making music and I do that, too.  I don’t have the conventional career I thought I was going to have.  But, you know what?  Life is good.  And no, I don’t have kids, but I do have dogs.  I don’t have a steady paycheck, but I do have the time and ability to see places I never expected to see.  I have my health and a good relationship with my husband.  I don’t have to spend all day in a cubicle.  Certainly, if I had known this was what my life was going to be like, I would not have gone to graduate school.  Who wants to pay off student loans for degrees they can’t use?  I don’t need graduate school for what I do every day.  So I see myself as “overeducated” in that sense.  But if I’m basically worthless because I’m “just a blogger”, why would anyone want me to breed anyway?

I don’t begrudge military, government, or contractor spouses who have home based businesses because I see them as being productive.  Blogging is one thing I do to be productive.  I share the blog to share information, but I try not to be a pest about it.  Not everyone enjoys my writing, but at least it’s something to do.  It beats going out and slashing people’s tires, right?  Or hanging out in bars looking to hook up?

I have mostly gotten over the fact that I won’t ever be a mother.  I can even laugh when someone makes a thoughtless comment wondering why I don’t have children– as if having children would make my life more worthwhile or justify my existence.  I have somewhat come to terms with the fact that I won’t have the career I thought I was going to have.  It’s taken me a long time to get to this point.  I won’t lie, either.  Dozens of likes on my blog post about date night restaurants kind of pale in comparison to one person’s thoughtless and rude remark about my lifestyle.

Anyway… that’s why I call myself The Overeducated Housewife.  When I came up with the name, I never expected that would be such an issue for some people, but I guess it is.  Had I known the name of my blogs would cause angst for others, I would have come up with a different name.  On the other hand, I have a feeling that people would complain regardless, even if I had just named my blog “Blog X”.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to pass the wine and bon bons while I shop for Coach bags and watch reality TV…

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A whirlwind trip to Austria, Italy, and probably Switzerland, part 1…

Some weeks ago, Bill told me that he had to go on a business trip to Vicenza, Italy.  Neither of us had ever been there before, but there is a chance that we could one day end up living there.  Bill’s company has a lot of jobs in Vicenza for which he is very qualified.  Because of that and because it had been awhile since our last trip, he asked me if I wanted to go with him.  I agreed.

Then, a couple of weeks ago, we heard some disturbing stories about the place where we regularly boarded our dogs.  I was no longer feeling so confident about leaving Zane and Arran in their care, though we never personally had any problems with them.  I thought I was going to have to stay home. because it’s so close to Christmas and I figured we wouldn’t be able to find a place for the boys to stay.  But then, Bill and I managed to get a spot for them at Dog Holiday.  Last week was rather stressful for me, mainly because of what we had to do to get the dogs ready.  They had to have a tour and a test day with Max, owner of the facility.  I had to update their shots, which was stressful because both of my dogs tend to react to vaccines.  And then, Zane was supposed to have his allergy shot, but that had to be postponed because of the vaccine.

Anyway, we were able to put the dogs up for our nine night trip down here.  I am now sitting in Vicenza with a lot of time on my hands and plenty to write about.  It’s already been an eventful trip.

On Saturday morning, we dropped off the dogs.  Bill was irritated because one of the headlights on our SUV burned out.  We went to the Obi to buy new bulbs, not realizing that they wouldn’t work because our car is American and what they sell in German auto parts stores are for cars with European specs.  We went to Kelley, where Bill gassed up the car and unsuccessfully tried to change the bulbs.

We finally ended up having to go to Panzer, where we were annoyed by someone in a car asking for directions from someone going the opposite way.  Instead of parking and handling their business that way, they opted to hold up traffic.  Then they had the nerve to get pissy when the people being held up by them got annoyed about it.  That’s not the first time I’ve seen something like that happen on a military installation.  Folks, allow me to be the asshole who says that if you need to chat with someone while you’re both in different cars, please go park somewhere.  Parking spots are free of charge and plentiful, and the rest of us have shit to do.

Bill successfully changed out the headlight bulbs.  Then we went to Brauhaus Schoenbuch for lunch. We were waiting for our food when over my shoulder, Bill caught sight of a woman who inspired a most unpleasant memory from the summer.  She didn’t seem to recognize Bill as easily as he did her.  We were grateful when she sat on the other side of the dining room and did not come over and put her hands on either of us.  What a coincidence that we would be at the Brauhaus at the same time once again.  At least this time, my mom wasn’t with us.

Finally, after lunch, it was time to get on the road.  We headed down 8, grateful that we didn’t have to stop for lunch at the place we did on our last trip.  It was good to be fueled up and ready to go, not feeling cranky, hangry, or hearing the gaseous emissions of octogenarians.  The drive was mostly beautiful and uneventful as we headed for Seefeld in Tirol.

Just over the Austrian border…

 

Since we were just in the Tirol area in September, I had a bit of deja vu as we made our way toward the resort town near Innsbruck.  I had originally planned a stay in the city, but cancelled when I thought I was going to have to stay home.  When it became clear that I was going to get to take the trip, I went looking for another place to stay.  The rates at the hotel where I had originally booked had gone up a lot.  Suddenly, I remembered a video I saw on YouTube a few months ago.

A video about a beer spa at Hotel Diana in Seefeld.  Bill and I used an unseen third tub on the other side of the guy in this video.  

 

Having done a similar treatment at the Landhotel Moorhof in Franking, Austria, I knew we would enjoy the treatment in Seefeld.  Aside from that, it looked like a nice town and it was roughly halfway to Vicenza.  So I booked us a room at Hotel Diana, realizing that not only could we have a beer bath, but we would also be saving money.  The rates were significantly less expensive and more inclusive than they were in Innsbruck.  Our rate included breakfast and dinner, as well as parking and Internet.

We arrived at Hotel Diana at about 6:00pm.  We were warmly greeted by a bearded man who spoke excellent English.  He assigned us room 103.  It turned out to be a very impressive room, with a bedroom, sitting room, and hall, along with a large bathroom with a tub, towel rack, and shower.  There was a minibar stocked with affordable drinks, a bottle of free mineral water, two TVs, and two apples.  We also had access to a balcony.

Nice digs!

 

After checking out the room, we headed down to the dining room for dinner.  Two dirndl clad women were waiting for us and had a table set in a corner at the end of the room.  Neither spoke English and I had more difficulty than usual understanding them because I think the accent in Austria is different than it is near Stuttgart.  Nevertheless, they did present us with the set menu, which was in English.  Reading, I can generally do with not too much trouble.  It’s speaking and understanding spoken German that trips me up.  I had the opposite problem when I lived in Armenia.  There, I could speak and understand spoken Armenian, but reading and writing was a nightmare.

We both enjoyed a Gosser, which I used to drink all the time in Armenia.  It was probably my first exposure to European beer that isn’t mass distributed like Heineken.

We started with a little salad…

Then cream of rucola soup…

A Balkan pork appetizer that I can’t remember the name of offhand…  It was good.

And finally, I had the chicken leg with potatoes and vegetables…

Bill had pork medallions with hunter sauce (mushrooms, blecch!)

For dessert, there was apple strudel and vanilla sauce.

 

As we were about to enjoy the main course, two women showed up and were seated across from us.  They seemed to immediately tag us as Americans.  They whispered and giggled, while sneaking looks at us.  I was annoyed, mainly because I’d been in a car all day and just wanted to relax.  The fact that I took photos of the food seemed especially hilarious to these two as they tittered and snickered away.  I cast a dirty look at them, then we made a hasty retreat to our room.  We were both tired and ready for bed.  Bill scheduled a beer bath for five o’clock on Sunday.

Looks like the very same company that provided our beer bath in Franking.

Shots outside the hotel advertising the beer bath.  Oddly, they don’t really advertise it on their Web site.  There’s just a picture.  If you book on Booking.com, like I did, you’ll see it advertised there.

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Rudeness in the friendly skies…

This morning, my husband Bill sent me a hilarious article about rude people on a Thanksgiving flight.  Basically, what went down is that Elan Gale, of The Year of Elan, was on a flight that got delayed.  A self-centered woman on the flight was very upset that she had a connecting flight to Sacramento that she would miss.  She was loudly protesting, being very rude to the flight attendant, and basically causing a big scene.

Elan Gale witnessed the embarrassing spectacle and decided to send the woman a glass of red wine, along with a note strongly hinting that she should shut her pie hole.  Naturally, the lady, whose name is Diane, didn’t appreciate the gesture.

Elan responded by giving Diane a couple of mini bottles of vodka.  Diane wrote back that Elan is an “awful person” and she feels sorry for his family for having to deal with him.  So much for goodwill toward men during the holiday season.

Elan and Diane continued to go at it for the duration of their flight to Phoenix.  Elan eventually invited Diane to “eat his dick”.  When they disembarked, Diane slapped Elan across the face.  Elan declined to press charges, though he would have been within his rights.

I’m sure there’s an unknown reason why Diane was being so difficult during that flight.  Perhaps someone in her family is sick.  Maybe there’s some other big problem in her life that made this flight’s delay so catastrophic.  Maybe she has a psychiatric problem that causes her to freak out when she travels.  But there was not a damn thing anyone could do to help her and her endless bitching wasn’t making the situation better.

Of course, Elan and the flight attendant kind of egged her on… though the rest of us are probably somewhat entertained by his antics.  But what if Diane had gone ballistic on the plane and started a brawl?  That whole comedy could have easily turned into a tragedy.

Something remotely similar happened to me once.  I have probably already related this story, but it bears repeating.  Back in April 2010, Bill and I took our very first trip to the Caribbean to sail SeaDream I for the first time.  We had to fly out of St. Thomas in the US Virgin Islands.  Our flight got delayed by a couple of hours.  The later scheduled flight actually left on time, while we were stranded all afternoon.  People were highly pissed off.

When we finally left the very crowded and expensive airport in St. Thomas that was selling beer for $6 a bottle and water for $5.50, many passengers were decidedly irritable.  I witnessed one guy inviting another guy to kiss his ass when the guy tried to butt in front of him as he demanded a seat in first class.  Then we had rough air for most of the flight, which made people even edgier.  For most of the flight, we weren’t supposed to stand up.  I noticed one unfortunate elderly gentleman had apparently wet his pants.

People had very tight connections because we were so late getting in.  The lady who was sharing our row with us was among those who needed to bail quickly.  Bill and I stepped out of the row so she could get out.

Suddenly, I heard a woman behind me say, “Excuse me, Ma’am.  I need to get past you.”

Before I had a chance to move out of the way, she and her two very large sons pushed past me, practically knocking me down.  I was stopped by the row of seats.  After a day of being stuck in the airport and listening to people bitch and moan, I had had enough.  I fixed a murderous glare at the woman, who had managed to get close to the door, and said very loudly, “What the hell is wrong with you?  Do you think you’re the only one on this flight that has a tight connection?”

She lowered her head, obviously embarrassed.  I was positively seething and probably still muttering expletives as we waited to escape the aircraft.  I draw the line at patience when people get physical with me.  But karma was obviously in motion, since it took about ten minutes to get the door open.  I think that woman and her sons missed their flight, despite their dramatic sprint up the jetway.

Far be it for me to encourage rudeness on airplanes or in airports.  I do think the flight attendant kind of made this situation worse.  On the other hand, I have to admit that it gave me a good chuckle this morning.

I wonder if Nancy could have smoothed things over with Diane…

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