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