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, but not this up close and personal, which should make me say I hate Austria. I love living here, and I even have a passport. And I have Austrian friends who are beautiful in and out, lots and lots of them, so 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, especially 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 had some punch, raising my mug to Austrians who were cheerful, their spirits high, presumably because of the spirit in the glass. We exchanged pleasantries, and they asked me how we celebrate Christmas at home. I said we have hot herbal tea to wash down rice cakes, which you usually get only during the Christmas season. They were especially intrigued by how we prepare puto bumbong and bibingkang galapong. That’s when they noticed my mug was empty. So someone from the group got me another one. Such friendly, beautiful Austrians. I was having fun despite the freezing temperature.
We parted with good vibes and wished each other a happy holiday.
I had to pee, so I went to the public toilet. My hands were frozen from the cold, so I couldn’t open my ply. Somehow I did, but couldn’t button it up. Thanks to my long jacket and to that filthy Freitag messenger bag, which I used as a cover to hide what you would not want to see in the first place, not in the cold, anyway — an open fly!
Home at last! After soaking them in hot water, my hands felt like they could feel again. My thoughts were still with the lovely encounter I had with the Austrians I met at the Christmas market when, from my living room window, I saw billows of smoke rising from another apartment building on the waterfront. There were fire trucks, an ambulance, and police patrol cars. I was curious; I went down to see what the commotion was all about. There was no blaze, only smoke.
No other onlookers, but for a mammoth of a middle-aged woman in an oversized winter jacket, were watching the firemen at work when I got to the scene. I asked her if there was a fire.
When she said, ‘Endlich weg!’, I initially thought she meant the fire was over, but then I realized she was telling me to leave the scene at the fire site.
“Geh’ nach Hause, Ausländer weg!” (Go home! Foreigners out!”), she was yelling at me.
My anger surged when she told me to go home, making me realize how deeply I was affected by her words and attitude.
“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:
That moment of shouting felt incredibly freeing, a release from the frustration that had built up inside me.
Oh, it felt so good to have said that! She asked for it! This Ausländer could have done better if I had 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
My ears were burning hot from the rage, and I felt a surge of anger. I turned back toward this ugly Austrian, voice louder and more intense, to express my feelings.
It felt so good to say those words, as the release of my anger gave me a sense of relief and standing up for myself in that moment.
Oh, it felt so good to have said that! She asked for it! This Ausländer could have done better if I had 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