A note on culture shock

I know I just posted something yesterday, but my day today required a new post.

I got a notification in my mailbox at the center on Friday letting me know I had gotten a package, but that due to regulations, it couldn't be delivered, and I would need to pick it up myself. The assistant director of our program, Frau Schoeberl, printed out a googlemaps map of it and wrote down which train/bus I could take and where the place was, but of course due to the hours on Friday there was only a half hour window where I would be able to go. No big deal, I thought, I'll get it on Monday. I was so busy yesterday that I forgot about getting it, and decided I would make it happen today, so after lunch I headed to Bismarkplatz to catch a train or bus to one of the stations nearest the office.

The bus was fine, I got on the right one (shockingly), got to where I needed to be, knew where I was, saw where I needed to go on the map, and started walking. As I walked, I looked around, expecting it to be fairly obvious where I needed to go, but that was an unfounded expectation, as it turned out. After wandering up and down the street for a while, I came to the conclusion that I must be confused, or reading the map wrong, or overlooking something, so I decided to call someone nearby and ask if I could come over and borrow their computer to double check. Luckily, I know three people who live in a building in the area, so I called Annika. Of course, she said, come on over.

So I walked back, all the way back past where my bus had dropped me off, to her building. I told her what I had done, and how I couldn't find anything, and we double checked the instructions I had been sent by the post office and saw there was another address on the paper, plugged that into googlemaps, and saw I had been near it while wandering around.

I left her, went back to where I had been, and eventually saw the bright golden yellow of the Deutsche Post. Thank goodness, I thought, I've made it. I walked in, gathered my copy of the customs paper, my passport and wallet, and stood in line...only to be told by a man, in German, that "green paper collections are across the street" where? I asked "across the street." No way. I thought. I thanked him, sighing as I put my papers back in my bag, and started back up the hill to get across the street, and that's where it hit me.

All of a sudden my frustration and confusion and tiredness got to me and then I was crying on the side of the road that people use to get to this out-of-the-way post office, gasping and sobbing, hoping no one would come by as I let it out. A couple times I thought I had it together, and would get ready to keep moving, but each time another wave would come over me and I would find myself crying again, wishing I could just do something right for once, like something as simple as picking up a package from the post office. I hate you, Germany, I thought bitterly.

Eventually I did get it together enough to cross the street, and look around a little more for the other post office, but decided that I was being culture shocked, and that getting my package could wait. I walked back to the station, caught a bus back to Bismarkplatz, and walked home.

Now, 4 hours past this event, I have calmed down, and looked at googlemaps again, this time just looking for the street I need to be on. I have found that it was a mere block past the street I was originally on. I have time, I could go back, but I'm tired, mentally and physically. I have homework to do, dinner to eat, choir practice to attend, and a volunteering to learn about. I'll deal with this tomorrow.

We're good, Germany. No worries.