German Efficiency

I landed in Frankfurt, Germany half an hour early on Tuesday. As much as that airport scares me with its wee men and their machine guns, as well as the workers on their collapsible bikes, there is a serene feeling of home that overcomes me when I set foot in the Frankfurt airport. I have flown in and out of this airport at least 60 times and each time the smells, the sounds, and the sites manage to take hold of me as I walk through the illuminated halls.

When I checked my luggage in Portland I conveniently had to pay for the extra suitcase that was used to house my overweight luggage. The United woman, who kept reminding me of the woman on "Meet the Fockers," spent an excessive amount of time filling out unnecessary paperwork. I was glad I came early. Needless to say, her languid approach to her job prevented me from having the beer that I routinely have before any international flight. Regardless, I made it on the plane and so did my luggage this time. Or so I convinced myself. When I arrived in Frankfurt, I quickly proceeded to the baggage claim, only to be greeted by an empty belt that did not hold either one of my three bags. Fortunately, this has happened to me before, thus, I quickly sprung into action and proceeded to the usual counter. When I explained to the woman that my bags were not there, she kindly reminded me that I had been scheduled to take the train to Koln. Since Claud, my favorite sister that she is, had volunteered to pick me up at the airport, I was able to bypass having to deal with the train and my cumbersome luggage. The woman then proceeded to say, "Well your bags are waiting for you at the train station, of course." Well of course, why didn't I think of that? I should have remembered what country I was in. Germany's constitution preaches efficiency and bans those individuals who practice any alternative. Why wouldn't my bags be waiting for me in front of my train? Why wouldn't they have anticipated that I was going to be exhausted from my flight and not interested in schlepping my 3 bags across the street, around bystanders, and up an escalator? Fabulous! After I received my bags, we were informed that we were going to have to proceed through customs in case I needed to declare any goods. When she pointed us in the direction of customs, Claud and I just started laughing hysterically. In the most inoffensive and discrete manner of course. See the picture and you can decide for yourself.

What if we had to declare something? Who would we declare it to?