Well, dear worst-reader. I got five years. It’s been a long time since my expat host country offered me five. For the past ten or twelve years (about half my total stay so far), it’s always been a two year visa. “Two years and let’s see how things go,” some automaton sitting behind an ugly office government desk would say. Indeed. Of course there was a time when I was offered a ten year visa. And then there was the time I was offered citizenship. But I laughed when they offered citizenship. Reason? Because of the unrein (impure) nature of my existence, i.e. born of a half-breed American male serving in the US Navy and a German fräulein, I don’t have the right Blood and Soil (Blut und Boden) combination and therefore am punished (for something I never had control over) by not being allowed to have duel citizenship. Hence I can have citizenship but only if I give up my American citizenship. “Is you stupid,” I said to the automaton working behind the ugly government desk that made the ridiculous offer. “Why the fcuk-you would I want to give up citizenship from the greatest country in the world to have citizenship from some two-bit #Eurowasteland country that is still stuck in the 18th century–even though you guys make great cars?”
Fcuk you, Germany!
Anywho. As far as the ten year visa offer went, they saw that my home country passport was expiring and told me that I’d have to get a new visa anyway if/when my passport expired within their ten year visa period. So whenever they ask I usually just say: make it for two years you cock $ucking mutterficker–and while you’re at it don’t forget how I assimilated in this $hithole country long before #Trump & Co called out all $hithole countries. You’re fcuking welcome, biatch. And then I added a final remark about how they don’t deserve me anyway. If the automaton had a bit of pre-school English then we both giggled and continued looking away from each other. If he (or she) understood me fully, then he (or she) closed up, we remained silent for the rest of the process until he (or she) dished out… my fcuking papers.
But hey! Have no fear, dear worst-reader. The other morning, the stars were aligned. The moon is in the eye of Jupiter and my passport has another ten years till expiration. And so. I have been granted a five year visa.
Fcuk you, Germany!
Pause. Breath.
“Would you like a permanent residence visa,” I was asked.
“Why,” I retorted.
“No. That won’t work either,” the automaton said, correcting himself. Then he added after looking in my passport and pointing it out to me, “But I see you’re passport expires in 2025. There is no time for ten year visa. Basta, ja.”
“Dude, just make it two years. I really don’t give a flying rats-a$$ fcuk.”
“Yes. Ok, then. We’ll make it five,” he said. And we didn’t giggle.
Whoppp-dee-fcuking-do!
And so was my Monday morning this week. I had pranced up to the hideous bureaucrat facilities behind the train station and waddled my way through a crowd of refugees galore. Although I thought I had prepared myself with all the required paperwork–which amounts to nothing more than proving I have the financial means to not be dependent on The State–along with my US passport, of course, I did forget one thing. A new biometric photo.
So I trekked across the campus behind the D’dorf train station to a pastry shop nearby where I bought a cup of black coffee. I only did this because no one would/could provide me the proper change for a 50,-€ bill. Usually I never carry bills under €100. The biometric photo machine only takes exact change, or 7,-€, and the nearby change-machine doesn’t take bills higher than 20,-€. The line to use one of the two photo machines was long but it looked like it was moving.
Yeah. Bureaucracy and the poor, baby.
Once I got the proper change–and the coffee–I headed back to the refugee facility to see what bureaucracy awaited me next. Of course, I realised I don’t drink cheap coffee so when I passed a security guard in a bright yellow jacket–of which there were many–I asked him if he’d like a cup of coffee and handed him the fresh cup. I told him it was untouched and I only got it to get change. He spoke a broken form of Bulgarian German (or something like that) and thanked me, accepting the coffee as though someone was doing something nice for him. I assure you, dear worst-reader, that someone wasn’t/isn’t me.
Since I usually don’t pay much attention to German bureaucracy, I missed the part in the instructions I was sent that required me to bring a new photo. Hell, check out that list of krapp they want me to bring along. Look at all that stuff! Are the refugees Germany is taking in from #Americant middle-eastern war zones required to bring that much stuff, too? Oh wait. I wonder where all those people struggling on boats in the middle of the Mediterranean are able to get a “Schulbescheinigung” (proof of education) or “Mietvertrag” (rental contract). Oh wait (again). Most of the stuff I’m required to show has to do with money–not with wars of choice that Germany and, of course, #Eurowasteland has profited from over the past twenty (or so) years.
Ok. Based on that last worst-remark about Germany profiting from mid-east wars, let me say this: I stand by it. In fact, the whole of #Eurowasteland has had numerous chances to stand up for the weak and oppressed of this world–that’s right, even by calling-out the US for it’s wars of choice–but it has done NOTHING accept promote a world of consuming to survive hidden behind the hideous filter of its past. The Continent is once again preoccupied with the greed $hitshow of nativism, tribalism and its reawakening of old-time aristocracies reminiscent of pre-WWI. That’s why I have no issue–like so many Germans do–with all the refugees being taken in. In a way, I’m one of them. And please don’t mistake that last sentence for me equating my situation whole heartily with theirs. And so goes the $hitshow of first, second and third world refugees all coming together in a country of automatons and corporatists that, in the event it’s required, couldn’t find their way out of a wet paper bag.
On the other hand, taking in millions of refugees is the only thing Euro greed-mongers can do in answer to #Americant’s wars-of-choice. This is of course how Europe supports those wars! And no matter how you view it, it is a sad state of affairs, especially in Germany right now. I really feel awful for all those naive refugees that the pseudo-rich Germans are taking in. The facility that processed me as a foreigner the other day was packed to the hilt with people who are clueless to what awaits them–and their children. And let me tell you, it ain’t pretty. Even though they have made it out of extreme poverty, war-zones-galore or the humiliation of dictators, by coming to Europe they will be regulated to a state of 2nd or 3rd class citizenry that they will NEVER be able to overcome. The Germans, and other Europeans, will never accept the influx of these people who, sad to say, look quite different than the average (especially northern) European. For if I’ve learned anything after twenty-plus years of living in a part of the world where collective greed was invented, it’s this: Blut und Boden is all that’s left. Unless, of course, you can get a bank to finance a fancy car or afford regular trips to Mallorca for a get-away. Yeah, that’s what refugees are after. (Sarcasm off.)
As usual, I’m off subject. This was supposed to be a post about worst-writer, aka Tom Stough, acquiring permission to live legally five more years in the old country–that he can’t get out of. And although I should be happy about it (I guess), I am instead furious. And the only thing that comes to my worst-mind right now is… Blut und Boden and how Germans, French, and yes, even the British, are obsessed with it. Btw, anyone out there in worst-writer land remember Blut und Boden? It was used vividly (in English) during the Charlottsville, VA, antics where #Americants tried to promote their greed mongering ignorance only, in the end, to slip and slide down that fun-game of racism #Trump & Co. have made dinner table talk once again. Welcome back to 1968, my beloved #Americant.
I wish all those refugees that I was in the middle of the other day a better life than what they left to get to $hithole Germany. Heck, I even wish them better and more luck than I had. They’re gonna need it.
-Rant on
-T
PS The second part of the title of this worst-post kinda reflects that only thing the Germans really have to offer. But I digress.
worstwriter 