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A Refugee's Story: Andrew H. Speaks

German newspapers have graciously conferred refugee status in every foreigner here, so I would like to publish the story of Andrew H., whose story stands for so many.

Andrew H. in his state-subsidized apartment reading one of his favorite books"My name is Andrew H. I'd rather not give you my last name or where I live, except to say it's near the Rhine river. 

I arrived in Germany 10 years ago with nothing but two suitcases and a few college degrees. I was fleeing my home country. Perhaps you've heard of it -- it's called the United States of America. A backward and foolish leader had just taken power. He promptly plunged the country into several different wars at once. He ran a huge budget deficit, and appointed corrupt cronies to important government ministries. He was finally removed from office in 2008, but just as I thought it might be safe to return, a massive financial crisis enveloped the country, so I decided to stay.

The trip over was harrowing. I had to pay a shady outfit called "Air France" a small fortune for a tiny, cramped place among hundreds of other people. To add insult to injury, the in-flight 'entertainment' was Police Academy 3. I kept looking out the window in terror, wondering whether we would end up on the bottom of the Atlantic, like so many other Air France flights.

At first, Germans were welcoming. I found a job at a college, but it was only a temporary position, which needed to be renewed every 6 months. It took a long time getting used to the local customs and conditions. Attractive young female policewomen, seasons, crappy television, front-page tabloid tits, fantastic public transportation, the baffling omnipresence of kale, legal drinking in public, the constant grumbling and bitching -- all these things were new to me.

I found out that Germans had many prejudices about my people. They thought we Americans were loud, fat, arrogant culture-free boors who knew nothing about the rest of the world. They kept asking me why the rulers of my country were so violent and paranoid. People would call out: "Hey Ami, where's your SUV?" or "You can take your Big Mäc and shove it up your big fat white ass, Ami!" That really hurt. They were also concerned about the effect Americans would have on the job market. Time and again, they asked me: "So, you're an American, eh? Did you come here to give us jobs?" 

I soon realized I would need to learn German. I was kind of ambivalent. Not speaking German insulated me from the stupid things people said and wrote in my new homeland, significantly improving my mental health. Yet I knew that I needed to learn the language to advance my career. I won't lie to you -- it was hard learning German. But eventually I managed to scrape together enough German to get by. I found out that the natives here can't even begin to pronounce my first name correctly, and my last name actually means something not very flattering in their language.

I guess you could say I've fit in, sort of. There are still many things I miss about my homeland: Twinkies, twinks, 64-ounce sodas, random gun violence, Hummers, American Gladiators, chocolate-covered bacon, BaconBits, and bacon-flavored mayonnaise, just to name a few. But I've found lots of new things to like about Germany, including Sex-Kino 'Wichskabine', Schlager festivals, Heino, Sido, and Kotzbecken. All in all, it's been a rough transition, but I feel I've learned a lot as a human being."

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