John S.
Yelp
I won't even begin to try to write this review in German, but I wish I still could. In any case, there used to be a server named Ann at the restaurant where I worked when I was in high school. (Actually, there was an Ann and an Anne. I'm referring to Ann.) She was a little bit older than me, but when I think back about it, she was probably eighteen while I was sixteen-and-a-half, but you know how big age differences seem when you're young. Or maybe you don't. Anyway, I always had a pseudo-crush on Ann, but that was all right because she had this really mature, cool-seeming boyfriend who was in college, if I remember correctly. When you're sixteen and don't have much experience with girls and are basically the youngest person working in a hyper-drama-filled place of employment, you tend to like and get along with the already-taken girls because they're nice and safe.
To make this story stranger, I'll add that I was part of a German exchange program in high school. First, the Germans came to California in the winter and/or spring of 1994, and then we returned the favor that summer. It was an exhausting, strange, fun, and overwhelming experience. It gave me plenty of material for my writing for years to come, and it taught me a lot about how little I knew about myself. That was all right.
One of the museums we visited in Berlin was the Pergamon Museum, and this is where Ann comes in. Or where she will come in. Or where she would have come in if I had set this story up appropriately. Most of the other Americans were sick of museums at this point, so they just wanted to do the quick walk through. Some of the Germans were more interested (they were from Hamburg, not Berlin), but I wasn't about to tag along with a group of people speaking too fast for me. So I rented one of those audio-tour things in English and began.
The tour itself started well. It went a little bit slowly, but that's all right because I tend to linger a lot in museums. But then one of the Germans asked me a question, and I didn't pause the tape at the right point, and when I started listening again, I had missed a direction. But I didn't know I had missed a direction. I eventually realized a while later that I was in the completely wrong room and hadn't even been looking at what I was supposed to be looking at. I tried rewinding a little bit but then just gave up and found some of my friends at the Pergamon Altar, which is breathtaking.
I thought at the time it was weird that pieces of this thing hadn't been returned to the country of origin. But I also know it was a sort of reconstruction, and then I started to think about how they would possibly be able to disassemble something this large. It's really massive, and the museum gets an entire extra star for the troubling presence of the altar.
What about Ann? Well, while attending an all-staff meeting at work later that summer, I saw her for the first time in maybe five months. She looked more mature for some reason, and I wasn't sure whether she would remember all the joking around we had done the summer before. She came right up to me, gave me a hug, and told me she had missed me. I kind of just stood there, and when she asked me where I'd been all summer, I told her about Germany. I didn't mention the Pergamon Museum or even that we had visited Berlin, but she instantly said that she had been to Germany as well and had seen this amazing museum with a gigantic altar reconstructed right in the building. I told her I had seen it, and then she said she had gotten lost while listening to the audio tour.
If I had been savvier, I would have continued exchanging pleasantries until the meeting began, and then afterward, I would have talked to her more. Then I would have called her the next day and set up some kind of time to meet. But I was still a shy seventeen-year-old, so I just stood there, and she said it was good to see me, gave me another big hug, and sat down with her friends. After the meeting, her boyfriend picked her up in his souped-up Honda Civic, and I was a little bit sad for the rest of the summer. I don't know whether I ever worked a shift with her again.