The shoeholic strikes again

Shoe shopping has never been more pleasurable. I hate shopping for shoes in Singapore. I'm the sort who needs to try on at least ten different pairs to decide which ones I really want. When the displayed shoe is not of your size, you have to call upon Miss I-hate-selling-shoes. I think I've never asked for more than three pairs of shoes during one entire duration in a shoe shop. I always feel obliged to buy a pair. Of course I can ignore the sulk lingering till I turn my back, but the shopping experience leaves a bitter aftertaste. 

Singapore has long been regarded by locals to be a country of poor customer service where people don't smile or say thank you. Likewise, Germany has been termed a 'service desert'. This stems from the fact that self-service is the most common form of customer service. You have to clear your own dishes at any fast food restaurants. Everything a store has in stock is displayed. So when it comes to shoes, all possible sizes of all possible designs are put out. At the 'Große 36' section, I can try on as many pairs as my kiasuness to find the best pair allows. 

Finally, I've walked out of the shoe shop empty handed for once because I didn't find a pair I really like. 

Did you know that ... ?

A personal list of "Oh, I didn't know that!" has been increasing exponentially since I got here. It is definitely due to subjective ignorance. Nonetheless, I wouldn't have known better unless I check the Internet compulsively for every doubt I have. 

I didn't know that ...

Persil is a German brand. It's a brand I skip in the laundry detergent section because I always thought it's Malaysian. Oops...

Sinalco is German as well. When I was in my teens, my mother mentioned once the popularity of Sinalco in the 70s and wondered where it has but gone today. Sinalco has been back on the Cold Storage shelves for a couple of years now. Its popularity is however dubious.

titles on german book spines are printed the other way round. So now, if I lay my books horizontally on the shelves, the back covers are on the top instead. Hmmm...

Germans can be more tardy than Singaporeans. I assumed previously that Europeans are very particular about appearing groomed. Interestingly, a German phrase - "Niveau haben" can be literally translated as "got standard". Oh man, I feel quite at home. Anyhow, presumptions are always proven wrong somehow. When I visited the town council, I was surprised to see the counter aunties wearing T-shirts and jeans. Most of the Mister's colleagues wear jeans to work on a daily basis even though they work at the desk. Some have been spotted wearing bermudas on warm weekdays. 

people here wear suits only on Sundays. This is something that puzzles not only me, but the Mister as well. We've spotted many men wearing suits in the town on Sundays, looking like they had just attended a major conference. 95% of the people here don't work on Sundays. 

grey is more common here than black and white. 

Getting away with it all

I am beginning to like this place more even though it shuns me with such rain and coldness. During my years of reading Sociology, I've read studies of immigrants who feel that they will always be second class citizens in their adopted countries. Despite the lecturer's attempt to Dynamo-wash my brains to believe in the concept of ethnicity being one created solely by humans and not predetermined by the colour of one's skin, I've slided backwards. The hair that grows from my head and the colour of my eyes will always be black. When I stand out as I do in the tram, not many bonafide Germans would concede that I'm Deutsch, even if I've stayed here for 55 years. They may justify my right to vote but my parents were born to enjoy rice more than bread. So what of colour can we ignore? I may speak perfect Deutsch but a German's first impression of me in a shopping centre would be that I'm a tourist. But you know what? When the philosophical side of me is dormant, I really enjoy this place. After all, I've voted in Singapore, only rightfully. 

Germany is the perfect place for a fickle-minded and careless person like me. Two months' worth of experience tells me now that it is okay not to ponder over a decision in a shop for 10 hours. Bring whatever pleases you at the moment home and bring it back the next day or even next week if you don't like it! If you were not in a hurry but made a bloody mistake anyway, don' fret because the wrong can be corrected without cost. 

My first experience with such luxury occurred two weeks ago. I was inspired to purchase the second course book for my language class way before it was needed. After a couple of days, I realised that perhaps my back and bag wouldn't be broken if I'd bought two separate thinner books instead of one thick one. So I bugged the Mister to accompany me to the bookstore. There and then, the books were exchanged without reason. But as it seems, this book buying episode was cursed. When I checked the book the weekend before use, I discovered a number of torn pages. The Mister rolled his eyes and gave me his usual 'C'est la vie" reply. I tried my luck anyway. And yes, I got it swapped! 

Another time I had bought a book for toilet pleasure - 1000 places to see before you die. The sample copy was in English and naturally, I grabbed a wrapped copy and paid. Only when I was undoing the plastic wrap did I see the words, "Deutsch Aufgabe". The Mister was not impressed this time. Once again, I got it changed without a problem. The best part was that I was supposed to pay more. Only the German version was for 10 Euros. The English one cost 14.90. But of course, I didn't. 

A fussy married person would understand my concerns about buying homeware. You like it so much, but you wonder what your other half thinks. You would love to be covered in white bedlinen but perhaps the bed partner prefers deep sexy red. After walking round the entire bedlinen section for two hours, I finally made my choice. White seersucker. Though it's white and the Mister hates sterile colours, I took a chance with the texture. I thought to myself then, finally! Fine looking white quilt cover! What I always wanted all my life (the phrase is by now a favourite dig at me by the Mister)! The ending was sadly so predictable. It was too plain. I had to admit that it was truly the Mister's hospital white feel. 

The next logical step was to think of a perfect excuse to exchange it for something else! Sorry mamo but I've mastered this in German before I stepped out of the apartment this morning - "I've bought this bedlinen for my mother-in-law. Too bad she didn't like it. Can I please exchange it?" Even so, I thought about the impending frown on the Mister's forehead. 

At the cashier, I finally said only that I'd bought it yesterday and can I please exchange it. The auntie took a look at the pack, didn't ask more, scanned my receipt barcode, reissued me another refund receipt and voila, I'd 45 Euros back in cash. It wasn't just an exchange. It was a cash refund! And it wasn't even broken! I believe such consumer rights should exist everywhere in the world for sincere buyers. After half hour, I was anyway back at her counter to return her the 45 Euros for another set. 

I understand today as I stood smiling at a different pastel yellow bedlinen, what it means to trust any queasiness you experience while withdrawing money from your purse at the cashier. 

Finally, a valid excuse

MIA Cause - DIY Reno

We've inherited a set of dining table and chairs from the previous tenant. 

After spotting a photo in a design book of two glossy red and white chairs in a kitchen, I decided that I too would like to disguise the Ikea-ness of the inheritance. So I've started two weeks ago and ... I'm not done. Two chairs need another coat paint. The other two should probably be redone. Noooo... As with every DIY project, you are so heated up at the beginning, the flame is burning at the end of the wick by the first half. I think sanding off the previous lacquer was the joy killer. Perfectionists should never attempt DIY projects unless they can afford the time to do everything at such a pace that it's impossible not to be impressed at the end, or simply money to buy a new set if a dent wouldn't allow the paint to sit smooth and it bugs them. I'm so glad I'm no longer a perfectionist. I've lost it since the day I stopped writing with a ruler above the line. I was 16 and my Math teacher spotted me doing it once. She'd asked me why. I told her I like it that the top of all the words is a straight line. It makes it look 'printed' neat. She was polite enough not to roll her eyes but probably thinking, "Freak!". Even though bubbles remain, I think I rather like my coloured chairs.