Saturday, June 26, 2010

Frighteningly aggressive Zentraleuropean maids


The Swiss, I've learned, like to distinguish themselves from the Germans, which means downplaying any cultural commonalities and playing up cultural differences (e.g., pronouncing their country as "Schwiiz" rather than "Schweitz", as I learned from a friendly local shopkeep yesterday). But here's one thing I recall from staying at the Hotel Concorde in Germany during WC2006 that is as true in Switzerland four years later at the very lovely Villa Hatt, where I am staying now: these Central European maids, German and Swiss alike, are frighteningly intense when it comes to cleaning up your room.

At the Villa H, on the first morning, the maid knocked at like 10am and would not go away when I politely asked her to (because I was asleep and unclothed and it wasn't exactly a great time--oh, and unrelated my jet-lag seems to now mean I can't get up until after 10am rather than causing me to wake up at like 4am). I told her to come back in a half-hour, and she came back in twenty-five minutes, looking pissed. I was severely under the clock at that point, so I threw on clothes and put things in a bag, and vamoosed as she glared at me.

The next morning it was completely different--because the maid simply unlocked my door and walked in while I was still sleeping (she may have knocked but if so I wouldn't no because I was totally asleep). I woke up when this happened, and said (in English, because I was to say the least a bit groggy) "Whoa! I'm in here!" (Which would have been pretty obvious from sight.) The maid snorted and left. I dressed in a hurry and rushed out, again shamed by her dagger-stares on the way out.

This morning I actually got up at a respectable time, ate the awesome awesome breakfast they serve at the Villa, and went back up to the room to cogitate over my fave topic for a Sat AM: formal statistics applied to law (which actually is really interesting, albeit sort of rough sledding for reading purposes). As I was reading, there came a knock on the door. Twas, obv., the maid. "Ich verlasse in zwanzig minuten!" I told her. She wrinkled her nose--not good enough. "Zehn! Zehn minuten!" She sighed, shrugged, and walked off without saying anything. I am clearly her least favorite customer.

Fear Germanic maids. Fear them.

Image: Breakfast room at the Villa Hatt. You can't quite see it, but that plate-glass window affords a phenomenal view of the entire city, sweeping all the way out to the Zuerichsee.