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I stood under the awning of a second-hand store somewhere in the Berlin neighborhood of Neukölln, caught between a summer breeze and the musty, cool air of the shop. While I hung back, my partner was chatting with the gruff shopkeeper. “I’ve lived here for two years,” he said. I knew he’d meant “I lived here two years ago,” but the old man didn’t. Funny what a difference an umlaut can make.

Without missing a beat, the shopkeeper responded, “Dein Deutsch ist aber schlecht.”  But your German’s bad.

This was typical berliner Schnauze, and it became a running joke.

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