Bulls knockin’ on my door

They found me. I don’t know how, but they found me. This is a geeky, slightly embarrassing reference to Back to the Future, but it also kind of applies to the policeman who paid me a visit last night. Luckily, it was our landlord who he wanted, who owed some money for some highway incident (speeding?) or something, but anyway the words “Good evening, police, open the door please” in Germany is something I always dread. Not because I’ve really done anything wrong – the odd mild drug, sinful thought or a bit of downloading are what I’d confess to if I was a Catholic – but it’s just that paranoid, made-for-TV-inspired fear that makes me quake a bit whenever one of those gun-toting men in green gets too close.

I’ve already briefly mentioned in a previous post how an army of them marched towards me at the Love Parade, and I may have also said how a friend of mine was arrested at a May Day protest and went through hell in the German courts to finally be found not guilty of throwing stones at a cop. Known as “Die Bullen” (the bulls, as opposed to the pigs), German police are not friendly or helpful. In fact, it’s best to keep out of their way. Even if you haven’t done anything wrong.

The one who knocked on the door last night was a typical model – brown moustache, slightly plump. He looked like the plastic policeman I had as a kid that squeaked when I squeezed its tummy. I wasn’t about to squeeze this guy. I hastily dialled my landlord and let him do the talking as I silently prayed we wouldn’t be evicted or lightly thrashed. We weren’t, so perhaps I should relax. But as a foreigner it’s easy to overreact sometimes when you’re not sure what’s going to happen.