Why Europe Must Fail

My Beautiful German Frolein dragged me down to the Brandenburg Gate Sunday for the big celebration of the 50th anniversary of the beginning to the European Union. All along the Strasse der 17. Juni there were tents set up in which al the European countries – probably represented by their local embassies – showed enlarged photos of tourist attractions, handed out brochures praising their landscapes and scientific achievements and offered "specialties." Now, I don’t think I'm the only one who, when he hears "specialties," understands "wurst." I know for a fact that all these European countries know how to fry up a good wurst – if I'm not mistaken it's a prerequisite to joining the Union, in fact – and on top of that I was hungry.

So I politely shoved all the tourist brochures aside and went looking for wurst.

I could find it nowhere. Everyone had brochures, no on had wurst. What kind of a European party was this? Then I began to notice how very… European everything was. But in the wrong way. The tents all looked the same. Since when were European countries in a position to agree on a uniform single one-tent-for-all program? Clearly, these tents were chosen, designed and peopled not by real Europeans, but by bureaucrats in Brussels. Who had also decided that what people need a a party is information, a opposed to wurst. They had even invited lobbyists to join them in handing out leaflets: the Farmer's Union and the woman's Council. I looked everywhere, but could find no wurst. Lots of donuts, but no wurst. What kind of a EuroFest was this?

I was about to either go simply set myself afire on the fairway in protest, when I saw the Polish tent. The Poles know how to make wurst. So I as overjoyed to discover that they indeed did have wurst, even though it was cold, which seems like a half-hearted way to offer wurst. But the good part was, they also offered piroggis.

So I stood in line. And realized what the only thing worse than being at a European party was: Being at a European party and standing in line behind a group of Americans.
These kids would not budge. Clearly they had no experience in European lines. Americans are polite. They are friendly. They are nice. They don’t elbow. They let you go first. They don’t make sure they are not cutting. The result was that I stood behind these kids for about half an hour while everyone else in Europe elbowed merrily past us and scooped up the hot piroggis. After a while I couldn't stand it anymore. So I elbowed by way past them, too, and when I got to the front I literally turned around, grabbed the America girl nearest me by the shoulder, shoved here up to the counter and said "Just order your food." When she was done I grabbed her boyfriend and shoved him up front too and told him, "Don’t look at me, look at the woman, talk to her. Give her your order. Just do it."

Then, finally, I could get my piroggis.

I'm not saying that Europe will fail. It's too big to fail. But it won’t succeed either – not until every clerk in Brussels leans to fry a wurst.


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