A bit lost in thought, as many people are at the moment, I turn a corner. Behind them, two men are shuffling across the sidewalk, and I almost run into their backs because they suddenly stop. As they continue on their way, unnoticed by my approach, I try to get past them. Normally, in such situations, I draw attention to myself in a friendly manner or ask if I may drop by. But that seems unnecessary here at first, because the space between the curb and the right of the two men is completely sufficient to pass.
But suddenly the two swerve synchronously to the right, as impressively as if they were connected by a rope. Each one is holding a beer bottle, and while it would be an exaggeration to call them staggers, they do list quite a bit. So when we almost collide, the one on the left catches me out of the corner of his eye and immediately asks if I want to pass. The other immediately takes a step to the side, so everything is nice, until the first feels disturbed by something and mumbles an insult that is not recognizable as such from the wording, but is undoubtedly recognizable as such from the tone of voice.
Because kindness is even more important in such dark times, I try to lighten the mood in return and admire the musical instrument he has tucked under his arm, a small bongo drum. “Your MOTHER has a bongo!” he calls out, and because as a Berliner it’s not appropriate to leave such a statement unanswered, I say: “YOUR mother has a bongo.” now that I’m in the lead, he advises me to try to gain some ground.
I call back why he is actually in such a bad mood as a Paulian. “UNION!” he corrects, to which I say that he obviously put on the wrong cap, namely one from St. Pauli. The other has now realized that his upset buddy is overreacting and tries to calm him down. Just as I think the interaction is over, he calls out in a far less hostile tone, asking me to play the bongo. No thanks, it’s too late for that now.