The Ugly Austrian
Yes, Virginia, there is!
I met one today. Oh, yes, I have seen a handful – in my thirty-five years living and working in Vienna, and have heard stories told, but not this up close and personal that should make me say I hate Austria. I love living here – I even have the passport. And I have Austrian friends who are beautiful in and out – lots and lots of them that the ugly ones don’t matter. I ignore them. Until what happened today!
I was out in the freezing temperature taking shots of the shopping streets of Vienna, which are a sight to behold most during this time of the year when the Christmas lights are out and sparkle, and everybody feels jolly, mainly because ’tis the season to be. I didn’t have hand gloves with me that my hands started to get numb from the cold. I noticed they were frozen when I went to the public toilet and tried to open my ply but could not. Somehow I did but could not “button it up” when done with my biz. Thanks to my long jacket and for what some ignoramus calls “filthy” Freitag messenger bag, that hid what you would not want to see in the first place– not in the cold anyway, an open fly!
Understandably, I was standing in the subway all the way home, and I didn’t mind a bit, but for my jacket on which front side I kept pulling down. I didn’t daydream lest my messenger bag swings in the wrong way.
Home at last! After soaking them in hot water, my hands could feel again. From my living room, I could see billows of smoke coming from another apartment building on the waterfront. There were fire trucks, ambulance, and police patrol cars. I was curious; I went down to see what was going on. There was no blaze, only smoke.
Another person – a mammoth middle-age woman inside an oversized winter jacket – was there watching the firemen at work when I got to the scene. I asked her if there was a fire.
“Endlich weg!” she said! Oh, fire is finally gone, I thought she meant. Then she mumbled something. I said, “Bitte?” (Please?)
“Geh’ nach Hause, Ausländer weg!” (Go home! Aliens out!”), she was screaming at me.
Suddenly I was Mount Pinatubo fuming mad! This proletariat s.o.b telling me to go home! I sized her up, this fat ugly Austrian! How dare you, you filthy bitch! Of course, I didn’t say that but wanted to. Sneering at her, I spoke in German.
“Know what, you are a pig, a fat Nazi pig!” I could see her backing out, not prepared for what she just heard. Then I turned my back towards home. My ears were burning hot from the rage that I went back to her, and in a much louder tone that probably scared the living lights out of her, I said, poking a finger:
“I am sorry, I insulted the pig. You are not a fat pig! You are, in fact, a FAT, UGLY, STINKING NAZI PIG! GO BACK TO THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE!”
Oh, it felt so good having said that! She asked for it! This Ausländer could have done better if I slaughtered this pig and made bursting, fat shiny sausages to roast! Much as our pet dogs love sausages, they won’t eat this one. They can smell ugly Austrians!
December 2013