Germans vs. Jews – round II

This is a report from the field.
Let’s start with a reminder. I live in Union College, a shared accommodation residence inside the university’s territory. Since I’m completing first year courses, I’m on a floor with a whole lot of other first year students, 18-20 years old. Now it’s not that I care. These guys have a great vibe and I get to feel a lot younger because of it – definitely not like I’m 24. Sometimes, however, the age gap is just obvious. There are some stuff I’m just too old for. I have somehow managed to avoid most silly things – i.e. fart competitions, water balloon throwing and the classic “making owl noises in the dining hall” (Chris, you know who you are).

Introducing Remy. Remy lives on my floor, studies for a degree in history, and he’s an Aussie with German roots, who could easily apply for the position of Aryan nation poster-boy. Makes old Fatherland proud. He’s a cool guy, and I’ve learnt to love the pizzas he brings to college twice a week from his job at an Italian restaurant.

I was away from my room one day, and left the door open for some time. It was only the late AM’s that I got back, with one burning desire, to sleep. Reaching under my pillow for my masculine sleeping mask I felt something fuzzy. A crop of black smooth hair. Hair does not feel nice when it’s not on a head, mind you. Now, whoever met me, knows I don’t have a lot of hair on my head – in fact, I clip my hair once a week. However, Jez, another guy from our floor, has shaggy black hair. And that same day, Jez had a massive hair cut. The puzzle was coming together. Someone from my floor saw the hair lying miserably on the floor and thought of poor old Almog, “He doesn’t have any hair, we should give him some”. By putting all that load of hair under my pillow, he just wanted to call the hair-fairy on my behalf.

At first, the only thing I could think of was “Shit, that’s funny”, and laughed my head off. Then, I was a bit upset about having to change the sheets. However, soon reality hit me in the face. I realized that more than one person must have seen this. Public Humiliation. This means war. I kept the hair in a plastic bag, stashed somewhere in my room. It would be used as ammo later on, I thought. It would also come in handy instead of rose petals in case I ever have to make way for a big-time VIP. To be honest, rose petals don’t scare anyone, and if I saw someone throwing them, I would try to get in their trajectory.

But I digress. I decided that I’m going to play this strategic and not tactic. Whoever it was, I wanted them to live in fear. The next day I waited it out, and surely enough, Jez came by and spilled the beans. It was Kurz. Remy Kurz. As if the Germans and the Jews didn’t have enough bad blood running between them. Some pun intended.

I had to instill fear in his Teutonic heart. I put this note on his door, just so he knows I hadn’t forgotten. His life was made inconvenient by the incessant need to lock his door, even when going to the bathroom. “Almog’s on a Jihad”, he said.

Just yesterday, we hung together for a couple of hours, not mentioning the hair, which was a week old story by now. His fears dimmed, he left his door open. This was my chance. I came in with the hair, and started spreading it around. A big hair smily face on his pillow was funny, but giving his Mandy Moore poster a mustache was the icing on the cake.

And it’s not over till the fat lady sings ! I expect some retaliation or a negotiation for a peace treaty any time soon. Will keep you updated…

Almog on a vendetta