Day 26: The Guests

In one way, the guests are the most important people here, because they financially support everyone else, but that’s hard to comprehend when they have so little social value. They come and they go, and mostly they blend together in a German-speaking, speedo-wearing blur. Still, I serve them and dine with them every evening, so I want to take a moment to reflect on the guests.

The best guests are those who talk and share stories—like the Dutch rheumatologist who wants to volunteer abroad but finds that Africans don’t need rheumatologists, the Swiss woman who says she has a single son my age, the ecologist who invited me to Frankfurt, the German man who felt WWII guilt when visiting Poland, and the gay Frenchman who was an illegal alien in Florida for eight years.

It’s also a plus whenever a guest speaks English, orders only beer and doesn’t need a glass, or collects their neighbors’ plates and makes a stack for me on the table. In general, though, as long as they’re polite and don’t order iced coffee or mixed drinks, everything’s fine.

Then there are guests I don’t like at all.

The worst was the white Namibian woman who made Getrud cry and then tried to comfort her by patting her behind and saying it was firm like her horse. White Namibians are hearty stock, but I prefer a bit of softness.

Another piece of work was the German man with the mullet who went bare ass at the pool while changing into his swimming suit. I don’t care if it’s common in Germany, as Claudia says; there are some things you just don’t do, and taking your thing out at a hotel pool is one of them.

I’m also not a fan of the woman who asked, “Is this white wine?” when I served her red wine by mistake, the guy who joked “Hurry up,” while I was serving the starters, or the British ambassador who told me I should say “pudding” instead of “dessert” because it sounds higher class.

Finally, I was saddened that the only black guest (and black African at that) turned out to be a troublesome alcoholic who didn’t use silverware.

And so the parade of guests continues, undoubtedly full of internal drama but little affecting real life on the farm.