My first day, after finally arriving in the hotel, awake for 26 some hours and in a bit of a stupor, I took a shower. It was a nice shower too. The water pressure was strong, the temperature was hot and easy to adjust, but best of all, the shower head was mounted high enough that I didn't have to stoop.
Shortly after my shower there was a quick knock at the door and it opened before I could say, "Hallo." A very German looking man in coveralls was holding a shower head and looked as surprised to see me as I was to see him. After a couple failed attempts to exchange greetings he held up the shower head and said, "To fix."
"It's not broken," I said. "I just took a shower and it was fine."
The German furrowed his brow, "No?"
"No," I said, "It's fine."
"It's okay," he said raising his lower lip, eye brows, and shoulders and backed out the door.
The next morning as I showered I did notice the water was trickling out around the nozzle. That must have been what needed repair. I stepped out to get the shampoo I'd brought with me. With my head fully lathered and suds running toward my eyes, I squinted and groped for a ledge to set the shampoo bottle, to no avail. When I stood up after squatting to set the shampoo on the floor the water stopped flowing.
"Oh great," I thought, "it really is broken." I twisted and fumbled with the nozzle for a good thirty seconds, which is longer than it sounds when you're naked, wet, and squinting to keep soap out of your eyes. I gave the faucet handle a tug and the water came streaming back on. I must have inadvertently bumped the faucet when I set down the shampoo. I never reached panic mode but my tired little brain struggled to work through possible solutions in that very long thirty seconds. Fortunately it sort of worked itself out.
The other story I remembered was from my last day in Frankfurt. The man who sold me the slippers for the girls gaved me a little shopping bag to carry them. There was some nondescript logo on the bag and I really didn't think much of it. I carried the bag with me on the train, through the shopping district, into the market. I noticed more than once that people's eyes lingered on my shopping bag longer than usual. I felt pretty conspicuous the entire trip anyway--the obvious American tourist, but when the fifth or sixth person's eyes fixed on my shopping bag at the bus stop on my final leg back to the hotel, I finally gave the bag a second look myself, and there, running down the side of the black bag was printed in red letters: http://www.feelmax.com/. I looked up the site and (to my relief) feelmax is some kind of shoe.
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