at the cash register: anecdotes of a ritual

recently it happened again: i put three pennies on the counter at a cash register. quickly, as always, jerone picked them up and handed them to the cashier.

depending on which side of the atlantic ocean you are reading this, you'll either think i am completely normal or jerone rescued me from one the biggest sins in u.s. american politness.

despite having lived in the united states for over three accumulative years of my life, i'm still oblivious of some customs. this includes handing money or credit cars to the person directly instead of laying them on the small plastic table next to the black credit card sliding apparatus. no big deal, my german friends will think. it is though here: every time i do it wrong jerone nimbly collects the coins to very apologetically and elegantly let them slip into the cashier's palm. i'm again and again confused about his hectic gesture accompanied by in some secretive way conveying the message to the cashier: "i'm sorry my fellow u.s. american, this is my completely confused german girlfriend. she's not yet enough civilized to pay in a supermarket but i'm getting there. i'm sorry again, sorry." outside a well-meant often heard diatribe rains on me. it is spoken in a soflty education tone and includes the word "rude" several times. then the diatriber digresses to how germans don't smile on the street, don't greet, and ends into the overall conclusion that the inhabitants of the german lands are stiff apathic robotlike organisms and it is uniamginable how they get along with each other.

that's when my defense is due: in germany it is simply for the most part not the usual way to touch hands when handing money. we have funny little bowls to act as neutral playground for these transactions or smoothly shaped recesses in the plastic tray for the cashier to conveniently fish out the coins. no touching, no awkwardness, no offense: we managed to pass inanimate objects to each other and kept our private bubbles intact. no need for further contact.

especially one childhood episode made me extra allergic to any other form than money-on-the-counter for this delicate social ritual. i went to buy a gyros and the gyro man actually softly took my hand with the four deutsche mark. he then held it somewhat firmly with his hand to pick up the coins slowly with the fingers of his other hand while i was captive. it was creepy.

since then i keep my distance; the plastic tray is my friend and will remain so.

ps: ironically, despite the germ paranoia of many u.s. americans it seems to be okay to touch hands when they belong to a stranger cloaked in the authority of a walmart or kroger uniform. now i know why there are all these signs in the restrooms: employees must wash hands.