Ernst is my landlord. Well, technically he is the ‘hauswart’ (which does not mean he is covered in warts). He’s the guy who I met during a snowstorm in the dark in an eerily quiet street I had never been down before, in a city I barely new, back in December 2008. He is the guy who unblocked my shower, who raved about the birds you can watch from my balcony, the guy who laughed when I first spoke to him and asked ‘sprechen Sie Englisch?’ because he does not speak even High German and is oblivious to his strong dialectal Swiss-ness.
I need Ernst to recharge the key I need to operate the washing machine. (Don’t ask…it is a weird system…) I have a shared account with Ernst where the deposit for flat remains… so not only do I have one Swiss bank account; I have a second one in my name, one that I share with the most Swiss man on the planet.
I said that he had unlocked my shower. Here is what happened; it was barely a week after I had moved in; I was still working in Lucerne, so I was commuting for a couple of weeks; and had probably only taken 5 showers in my new abode, and yet it was filling up every time I showered; taking about two hours to drain afterwards. This happened in my flat in Valenciennes; but with dodgy plumbing and the poor general quality of rented accommodation in France, it was unsurprising. However, the quality of flats in Switzerland is much higher, and I had only just moved in, so I thought I would chat to Ernst about it. Bearing in mind my Swiss German is limited to certain words and phrases, and even my High German is not so advanced as plumbing issues, ‘chatting’ with Ernst would be quite difficult.
I went and knocked on his door, and he greeted me in the usual way ‘ahhh Frau Kachett, wie gaht es Ihne?’ (or whatever they say in Swiss…) and he shook my hand. We did the normal chit chat; weather, job, flat…then he asked how he could help me. I then tried to explain the issue…using a lot of hand gestures and making quite a few water noises as is required in these situations… he suggested calling a plumber, then I remembered that actually a plunger might be worth trying before a plumber. I am not even confident this is called a plunger in English, so obviously I didn’t know the German word…I made hand gestures and finally Ernst understood (you can imagine the type of hand gestures necessary to communicate the idea of a plunger!)…by this point he had gathered his brother to assist. Ach ja, he said, and disappeared into a room in his flat. He came out seconds later, clutching the biggest plunger I have ever seen in my life.
The brothers then followed me up the stairs to my little flat, and I let them into the bathroom. There who two aged Swiss men in my tiny bathroom, both wearing flip flops and socks, both gibbering on in some bloody incomprehensive tongue that I am straining to master. One holding a huge red plunger as if it were a weapon. Ernst gets in the shower (without removing his socks and sandals). His brother, who I think is called Hans Peter or something equally unimaginative, positions himself over the sink and covers the plug hole with his two hands. Ernst starts to pump the plunger. Hans Peter starts telling Ernst that he is not doing it correctly (well at least that is what I believe he said; to be honest I was trying so hard not to wet myself laughing at the comedy of the situation that he could have been saying ‘let’s chop up this weird English girl while we are here and put her body into plastic bags’). Ernst starts shouting at his brother. And continues pumping the giant red plunger with gusto. This comedy continues for at least ten minutes; while I look on, peering around the door frame from the hall. There was quite a lot of gunk in the whole and Ernst and his brother were vocally satisfied that team Meier successfully blocked Frau Kachkett’s blocked sink.
I really wish I had secretly filmed them, and I think I could have got away with it since they were so into the task that I doubt they would have noticed! Ernst is amazing; I feel like if I had a problem he would give me a cup of tea and talk Swiss German at me until it was all better. Except he wouldn’t give me tea because he is not English. I feel like I have found a Swiss Grandfather and he is a bloody hilarious one at that. Result!
