A detail can describe more what a general opinion often fails to capture.
Now, let me tell you what the essence of being German is like. Here, I will use an example depicted by one scene, taken from life.
Wulf, a German friend of mine once paid me a visit, together with his girl-friend. They spent two days visiting the town. In the evening, before the day of their departure, Wulf started preparing some sandwiches for the journey. We sat beside the kitchen table: Wulf, his girl-friend, me and my friend. Wulf took a fresh roll, cut it in half and began what could be called 'a celebration of sandwich making'. He took a knife and carefully scrubbed butter from the plastic package. He smeared it on the roll, being very accurate to put enough butter on the edges. Once the layer was done, he reached for cheese and measured the exact proportion of it to fit the size of the roll. Again, once the ideal portion of cheese was laid on the roll, Wulf added a piece of ham, packing and resizing it to fit the small roll. He asked me, that is his assistant, for his recently favourite erős pista flavouring, which was basically a hot paprika spice. Wulf took a sound chunk of spicy erős, gracefully he smeared the flavouring with a knife and finally put the upper side of the roll on it. The perfect sandwich was done!
We all watched it silently, mesmerized by accurateness and precision of our sandwich maker. We sat in awe and admiration of Wulf's endeavours to strive for an ideal object to eat in the form of a small sandwich. His girl-friend watched him squeezing that poor sandwich which cried to be released from the grasp of German executioner. She watched him torturing the roll but I guess in the end she felt very obedient to her boy-friend, being her master and ultimate Übermensch. A German girl watched and admired his German boy who was executing his thought of perfection on an ordinary piece of bread which took the shape of supersandwich. And why actually she looked up to him? Because the perfection is something which German girls admire in German boys and need nothing else but the feeling of overpowering sensation of boy's dominance. Especially when giving vent to their sexual drive once they find themselves in bed with them.
But it wasn't over. Once the sandwich was ready Wulf asked me for the cellophane paper. I passed it to him and now the best part was to come. Wulf unrolled the cello paper, measured the length of it with his precise eye, put the paper on the edge of the table and tore it. He placed the roll on the measured paper and wrapped it as if it were a present for Christmas. The finished roll in the cello paper looked nothing but marvellous. It was a specimen of utmost perfection of what one could call an ideal of a sandwich. If Plato had been still alive, visited us on that day, sat beside the kitchen table like us, and finally saw Wulf turning that piece of roll from an ordinary bread to a perfect sandwich, the great philosopher would have definitely cried in admiration and disbelief, seeing one of the ideals he used to talk about, the ideal of sandwich in reality.
Wulf, the expert in computer sciences employed in one of German's companies proved that being excellent as an employee and explaining computer algorithms is no other different to making a perfect sandwich.
However, as much as being very perfect and very precise Wulf showed us other side of being German, as well very important and not to be easily disregarded. All the time he was making the sandwich, all his endeavours and the struggle for the perfect form was nothing but fucking boring.
Now, let me tell you what the essence of being German is like. Here, I will use an example depicted by one scene, taken from life.
Wulf, a German friend of mine once paid me a visit, together with his girl-friend. They spent two days visiting the town. In the evening, before the day of their departure, Wulf started preparing some sandwiches for the journey. We sat beside the kitchen table: Wulf, his girl-friend, me and my friend. Wulf took a fresh roll, cut it in half and began what could be called 'a celebration of sandwich making'. He took a knife and carefully scrubbed butter from the plastic package. He smeared it on the roll, being very accurate to put enough butter on the edges. Once the layer was done, he reached for cheese and measured the exact proportion of it to fit the size of the roll. Again, once the ideal portion of cheese was laid on the roll, Wulf added a piece of ham, packing and resizing it to fit the small roll. He asked me, that is his assistant, for his recently favourite erős pista flavouring, which was basically a hot paprika spice. Wulf took a sound chunk of spicy erős, gracefully he smeared the flavouring with a knife and finally put the upper side of the roll on it. The perfect sandwich was done!
We all watched it silently, mesmerized by accurateness and precision of our sandwich maker. We sat in awe and admiration of Wulf's endeavours to strive for an ideal object to eat in the form of a small sandwich. His girl-friend watched him squeezing that poor sandwich which cried to be released from the grasp of German executioner. She watched him torturing the roll but I guess in the end she felt very obedient to her boy-friend, being her master and ultimate Übermensch. A German girl watched and admired his German boy who was executing his thought of perfection on an ordinary piece of bread which took the shape of supersandwich. And why actually she looked up to him? Because the perfection is something which German girls admire in German boys and need nothing else but the feeling of overpowering sensation of boy's dominance. Especially when giving vent to their sexual drive once they find themselves in bed with them.
But it wasn't over. Once the sandwich was ready Wulf asked me for the cellophane paper. I passed it to him and now the best part was to come. Wulf unrolled the cello paper, measured the length of it with his precise eye, put the paper on the edge of the table and tore it. He placed the roll on the measured paper and wrapped it as if it were a present for Christmas. The finished roll in the cello paper looked nothing but marvellous. It was a specimen of utmost perfection of what one could call an ideal of a sandwich. If Plato had been still alive, visited us on that day, sat beside the kitchen table like us, and finally saw Wulf turning that piece of roll from an ordinary bread to a perfect sandwich, the great philosopher would have definitely cried in admiration and disbelief, seeing one of the ideals he used to talk about, the ideal of sandwich in reality.
Wulf, the expert in computer sciences employed in one of German's companies proved that being excellent as an employee and explaining computer algorithms is no other different to making a perfect sandwich.
However, as much as being very perfect and very precise Wulf showed us other side of being German, as well very important and not to be easily disregarded. All the time he was making the sandwich, all his endeavours and the struggle for the perfect form was nothing but fucking boring.
