originalmaja.de

Task: Use direct speech!

“Everybody is stuck with the things they’re not proud of.” That's what a character in one of my favorite TV shows once said. And that is true, no doubt.

I sometimes argue with myself. I should have done this, I should have done that... What's the use? The benefit, of course, is: I now know what went wrong, I analyzed, I will do better next time. There is no shame in being unexperienced and stupid. Being experienced and stupid, now, that would be a bad combination. That I can prevent from happening. However, I can't influence the past. So I should look back calmly.

It's not easy, though.

I took me a long time to develop that big mouth of mine. “You banked on having a big keyboard,” my neighbor once said. I cherish that guy. He always names the good points.

Anyway.

When I was 15 I took a summer job at a local newspaper. My editor would send me to interview people in the streets. “Bring me back something I can quote, my dear”, she would demand every morning.

So, after a week of polling, when I finally was allowed to do something else, I ended up in the town hall accompanying some students from abroad that had won a trip to Germany. They had participated in a world wide essay contest, which I thought was both impressive and cool. All of them were younger than me. If I recall it correctly: The girl from India was 14 and the oldest.

Their schedule dictated they would have tea now with our mayor's assistant. No one knew what to expect. As it turned out later: That assistant didn't know either.

He was about 30, I guess, well dressed – business style. He showed up late, apologized and asked a few questions: “Where are you from?” And: “What kind of contest did you compete in?” I thought that to be embarrassing: He should have known that in the first place. He quickly ran out of topics to talk about and it soon became obvious that there would be no tea. No anything. Just a table and an unprepared assistant. “So what are the oil numbers in your country right now?” The 13 year old girl he had addressed with that weird inquiry turned red. “I don't know, Sir”, she replied. The assistant waged his head. “Oh, you don't have to call me 'Sir'. We don't do that here.”

The following silence was enormously awkward. Of course, it was! What an idiot! The girls face spoke volumes. I'm convinced she believed she was supposed to know those 'oil numbers'! It was horrible!

And I said nothing. There was a storm going on in my mind. But I didn't say anything.

I wrote it. Yes, I did. One hour later. With my big keyboard. In the editor's office. Not leaving out names. I even called the mayor's office to get that assistants' name spelled correctly.

My editor like it, so it was printed. It felt like a victory, like payback of some sort.

The week after, when he passed me by, we recognized each other. He knew who I was, I knew who he was. And again, I kept my mouth shut. Also did he.

Now, ten years later, it would be different. I would have stopped, would have approached him. “What was that, man? You shouldn't have done that.” Not to embarrass him. That was already done. But maybe to suggest something. “Why don't you save your face? Those kids are still in town. Do something! You're representing us!”

But I wasn't me then. I was her. And I'm stuck with these things I'm not proud of.

But I'll do better. I promise.

Text: Marianne Jaffke, www.originalmaja.de