I came over here from Rostock, Germany, in May of 2002 to learn English. I didn't know anybody in the city, but after four days I found this bar and they hired me as a bartender. I started that night and quickly learned that all men in this country are desperate for a date. Next to every tip was a business card with a phone number. The only one who didn't try to pick me up was a regular named Mickey. Naturally, he became my husband four months later. This place is a little bit of a home away from home, and it's full of a lot of German characters. That includes an elderly guy I'll call Fritz, who hits on everything that moves and sings whether you want to hear him or not--especially "Ave Maria." For a little variation I taught him "Ein Prosit," a German drinking song, and we would practice it until we got on everybody's nerves. When Fritz found out that Mickey and I were getting married he said, "You can't marry him--I proposed to you first." Right then he got down on his knees and proposed again. "Stop it!" I said. What is it with American men? I've told all my German girlfriends, "Come over here immediately--you won't be single long."
--Anke Grellman, medical secretary