An Interview

(Variations on a Theme by G.G.)

a.n.: This is quite a surprise.
A.N.: Indeed?
a.n.: The irony of our both being Americans, English-speakers, yet my first interview with such a personage--such an American, English-speaking personage, that is--takes place in Berlin.
A.N.: If you were hoping for an interview in German, I'm afraid the result would be very short.
a.n.: And we mustn't disappoint the public.
A.N.: You flatter me.
a.n.: Is there anything you'd like to begin with, general impressions of Berlin, life abroad, adjusting to a new culture, new language, new climate?
A.N.: No.
a.n.: No? Shall I begin my questions instead?
A.N.: It rains a lot here.
a.n.: The excitement of a waterlogged existence! Now, tell me--
A.N.: I would like to discuss something, actually, that has been bothering me for quite some time--the abundance of empty holes lying about the sidewalks and streets.
a.n.: Would you care to describe the nature of these...holes?
A.N.: I would. Every 10 feet, especially in East Berlin, is a little dirt hole on the side of the sidewalk, unattended, unused. A person may meet several of them on the way to a cafe--I daresay they are most agreeable despite their plight. Twice a block, another phenomenon appears--mounds of dirt and rock. Somebody, perhaps from that very meticulous German government we keep hearing about, dug holes in the ground, poured the dirt and rocks into a pile a few yards down the road, got bored, and decided to quite half-way through.
a.n.: Have you any possible explanation for such behavior?
A.N.: It is a mystery. I have heard no plausible answers. Perhaps the Communists dug the holes, but the Soviet Union collapsed before they could fill them back up.
a.n.: How do you find that meticulous German government, Ms. N?
A.N.: Surprisingly lax.
a.n.: Any other adjectives to give our readers a clearer picture? You have a reputation, you know, for adjectives.
A.N.: Weedy.
a.n.: The government?
A.N.: No, the streets. Sometimes I suspect they end up in my salad.
a.n.: The streets?
A.N.: No, the weeds.
a.n.: Ms. N, I've been waiting for many months to ask you this next question, and I beg that you carefully consider your answer, for what I'd like to say is of a matter so delicate, so multifaceted and complex, that--
A.N.: That reminds me! Today I was mulling--mulling, mulled, mulled wine, that sounds nice in the winter--today I was mulling the idea of American feminism. American feminism is a beast that since let loose, has consumed all the hapless females of the stars and stripes and has made them forbidding, and hostile to the uglier sex. It's a ghastly turn of events. Even the anti-feminist female approaches anti-feminism in a feminist way. There are no prisoners, none; every woman, weak and mild, strong and independent, has tattooed on her forehead, albeit invisibly, "Don't date me. I'm an American woman."
a.n.: You are much too hard on your own sex, and, if I dare say so, quite mistaken.
A.N.: Perhaps you are correct in generalizing my generalization, so know that I mainly draw on my own observations and experiences.
a.n.: How do you mean?
A.N.: For example, going on dates gives me the creeps.
a.n.: That's not very promising, is it?
A.N.: Telling this to an American male--really, any male--is a wonderful satisfaction. They deserve it. Long live estrogen!
a.n.: Do you mean to tell me that a life devoid of these beings would be a triumph of will? Perhaps somewhere, deep in your murky, stone-cold heart, you see the human race, males and females alike, in a fairer, more hopeful light?
A.N.: Well, I admit...there's a certain elevator scene in Grey's Anatomy that....
a.n.: All right, I've had quite enough of this.
A.N.: If you don't care to discuss the merits of prime-time television, I perfectly understand--
a.n.: I've spent days--DAYS--preparing notes for this interview, probing questions, shocking counter-answers, witty starters, poignant closers, and all we've talked about is soil and elevators!
A.N.: As the French say...(pause)...I've quite forgotten what the French say.
a.n.: You may have forgotten the French, but I remember my German quite well: Verpiss dich!