Coaching for Expats: How to Be Rude

Ah, the subject of rudeness in Germany. Where to begin?

Let's begin this way: My British friend John noted, after my recent return from a week in Wales, that I always seem to come back from a trip to the UK sighing about how nice people are to each other there – and feeling even more frustrated than usual by how rude people are to each other here in Berlin.

To be fair, this is not exactly a German phenomenon, or at least not only that. There are even parts of Germany known for being more friendly (like the Rhineland – a German friend once complained that she doesn't like Rhinelanders because they're "superficial," which is the same complaint Germans often level at Americans for our baffling habit of always being friendly to each other in public).

My personal theory is that Berlin's rudeness stems from some combination of these three factors:

1) Germans' natural bluntness – saying exactly what you mean is just what you do here.

2) Big-city brusqueness – people in big cities everywhere get used to brushing past and ignoring each other, it's an inevitable part of living where you rub shoulders with so many people all the time.

       2a) This is possibly exacerbated by the weather – people pushing past each other in the subway during the long, dark, drab winters here always seem so angry.

3) Berliner Schnauze.

"Berliner Schnauze" (literally "Berlin snout") is the nickname for Berliners' well-known regional dialect, which comes together with a certain sharp, tough sense of humor. The typical Berliner can seem almost shockingly rude on first contact, but over time, even over the course of a single conversation, often turns out to be quite helpful and kind – but all delivered up in this very brusque, direct manner.

The problem with the Berliner Schnauze, to me, is that requires a very specific kind of quick-wittedness. The idea seems to be that when someone – the person behind the counter at the bakery, say – snaps something impatient and brusque at you, you fire back just as fast with a witty rebuttal – transforming the exchange from being rude at each other to being smart and funny at each other. (Not that it always happens that way – sometimes people really are just rude and impatient, always trying to save a few seconds by cutting in front of someone else – but if it's two Berliners interacting, there's at least the potential that they'll find a way to get an odd sort of fun out of it.)

But some of us, who are not native Berliners, aren't naturally fast and funny, at least not in that way. I don't have that knack for a snappy comeback. So when people are rude to me, I do experience it as rudeness, not as an opportunity to see how witty I can be. And if you're from a culture where people approach each with at least a modicum of politeness, people being rude at you all the time gets really old fast!

Thus did I find myself a conversation around a friend's breakfast table a few weeks back, with two Americans, a Canadian, two Brits and a lone German discussing the matter of German (Berlin) rudeness.

All of us Anglophones agreed we just can't understand why on Earth anyone would want to go through life interacting angrily with people. It's a matter of only a few seconds to smile and say something pleasant instead of glaring or snapping, and it makes all the difference between, say, leaving the bakery with a smile on my face and leaving the bakery feeling angry at the world.

Why, we Anglophones lamented, would anyone deliberately choose the latter?

And the one German at the table kept saying, Oh, but it's not a big deal! And it's funny when they snap at you!

Thus was born the tongue-in-cheek suggestion that, in this world where there are "coaches" and "trainers" and "consultants" for everything, Germany ought to offer coaching sessions for expats – coaching on how to be rude.