I stumbled into the void again this afternoon. It wasn’t because of the cobblestones or my shoes, but because of an encounter with an ex-colleague. And on a small computer program in my head, which unfortunately tends to make misjudgements. Like this one: “Holger knows how you drink your coffee and how you look in the morning after a publishing party. You can kiss the man now.” Holger’s program, on the other hand, spat out the following: “Verena, that was the office neighbor who drinks a lot of milk with little coffee and likes to stay late at company parties. You can now raise your hand in greeting.” In any case, where I assumed Holger’s cheek was, there was only air. Don’t get me wrong: Holger is really just a nice ex-colleague. But together we are victims of a rampant insecurity: how, for heaven’s sake,
There are situations where this is very easy. But they are becoming less. It is clear that I should shake hands with my credit advisor or family doctor. Partners, close relatives, good friends are hugged. Also clear. But what about friends of friends, for example? Raise hand, shake hand, kiss? If yes, how often? Once on the cheek like in Hamburg, twice in the air like in Munich, three times freestyle like in Switzerland? What about teenage hip-hop nephews? Puffing, poking, slapping on the shoulder – correct or crass? Only cowards avoid the hello problem by simply crossing the street.
And that only roughly outlines the problem. It also makes a difference where you meet people. Brunch, drugstore, kindergarten. Apropos: A friend who recently moved with her little daughter from alternative Altona to dignified Blankenese had to be reprimanded by the educator. Because of hasty duzing. In the Elbe suburbs, the maid is still addressed: “Yvette, could you please make sure that my child eats enough raw food?” In the relevant districts between Altona and Prenzlauer Berg, on the other hand, a dialogue between the educator and the dad picking up the child sounds more like this : “Hey Mike, should I bring you the new demo tape from my band to the daycare summer party?”
Where does this difficulty in hitting the right note come from? Maybe it’s because the boundaries between indoors and outdoors are becoming increasingly blurred in our lives. When freelancers work from the beach club with their laptops and smartphones, what is work and what is free time? When 30-year-olds entrust their latest love to their internet blog first, what is private then? And then the darn globalization. Everything must have gotten mixed up in the poor computer program in the head: Italian kisses on the cheeks, American chef duzerei, Hanseatic half-distance.
Maybe subtly colored armbands would be a solution. Pink for “I like to kiss!”, Sylt navy blue for “Handshake desired”, Pril flower yellow for “You can call me”, loden green for “For you still Mrs. Carl”. In any case, chance encounters in the pedestrian zone would not stumble so quickly. But don’t spontaneously go for a coffee together! The waitress will be offended. Either way. Either because you use the familiar name. Or because you call them by name.
