Britta's Letters from (and sometimes about) Berlin

Wednesday, 27 November 2013

A.J.Raffles, Arsène Lupin and the Whole Caboodle...

Britta Huegel

Dear You,

well: I'm glad they left me the key to our flat (Hans is in Hildesheim, teaching at university) - and also, quite astonishingly: my expensive smartphone (must have got to the ground of my handbag).
So I could use the phone to ring the bank to ban two cheque cards of mine. I could use the phone to ban the season ticket of the underground. I could use my phone to speak to the local administration to get an appointment for December 4th, to make an application for a new ID card AND a new driver's licence - and hurray: in about six weeks after that maybe I'll get a new ID card/ driver license.
To stress the silver lining: by now I am an expert in popular music - dideldidum, dideldidum - which I was forced to listen to while waiting to get my calls through (and to add insult to injury: they take money for those minutes and minutes you wait! "Sorry, all our employees are busy at the moment" - I bet: the one poor guy who is the whole staff needs the soothing tones while looking in horror at sixty-two telephones ringing at once...)
Can you imagine that under the emergency number of the bank they first play a few advertisements??
Maybe we should suggest that to the police too: "Oh, they threaten your life? May we offer you a course in self-defense for the next time (if there is a next time, hahaha - if not: do you want the number of a flourishing undertaker?" Dideldidum, dideldidum - or even better: "Plum, plum trallala" as Jean-Paul Belmondo so stubbornly sang when put under water in "Breathless" by Jean-Luc Godard) If you only rapport petty theft, the living person at the end of the phone - yes, there was one - suggests the Internet to you.
You see: I'm angry. Of course a bit at myself: I was sitting in a coffee shop in Berlin, which was quite crowded, and talked with a friend. Saw, that two men (oh, in Germany we have to be so overly political correct - Where Angels Fear to Tread - who didn't look quite like the typical blond-curled Bavarian German) sat first there - without coffee - than there - without coffee - and I know that I thought: "Strange - maybe they are just looking for a better place?"
They found it - one of them, the other stood in the middle of the room - just beside Silly Me. When in the fitness center, which is only three houses further up the road, a little bit later I wanted to present my member card, it wasn't there. Nor my purse.
It took a few seconds to sink in. I went back. Nobody had noticed anything - how could they, when even I hadn't noticed anything? (Though it is absolutely clear what and when it happened and by whom - no mistake in that. Had the purse to buy the coffe, and only one other person than my friend came near me). There are a lot of errands I have to do now (wish they had kept the money, Merry Christmas, but returned the cards).
What interests me: what will the thieves do with my little notebook, clad in lime-green silk, which they nicked too? Learn the elaborate quotes by heart, and the lines I've written in it??
Or maybe write their first "Gentleman Thief novel"?
I always preferred detective novels. Always.
Give me one Inspector Morse for three Raffles.

Yours 
Britta (starring in 'Purseless in Berlin')

 

2 comments:

  1. Oh dear Britta... Watch for your little green notebook of thoughts to become a best seller. A quote or two within will touch the heart of the hardened thief and bring him to write and right! Well... Maybe! I am so sorry for your trouble and aggravation. I hope all is sorted out. Warm thoughts to you...Susan

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  2. Dear Susan,
    thank you for consolation! I used it in my new post, because I liked it so much, thank you.

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