Forty-seven of my closest friends who I'd never before met went up to Helen for Oktoberfest. Which of course means that there were only 13 people and I knew roughly half of them. The others were a combination of friends of friends and friends of some guy my friends met a couple of months ago. Many of the people are some how connected to a Russian congregation in some city or other.
The weekend began with a surprisingly short drive to Helen. A friend had rented a cabin and we were all converging on the city for nasty warm beer and whatever other festivities accompany Oktoberfest. I met my friends at the cabin just before we all went to the Fest Halle.
Did you notice the airquotes around the word cabin? Yeah, I hadn't noticed them either. I got a quick email message from Jules inviting me to join the group at this cabin (with my share of the rental fee) and didn't spare another thought for the kind of accommodations we would have. We had a gorgeous 4 bedroom house with an outdoor jacuzzi, sauna and fireplace. Inside, we had a game room with an air hockey table that flipped over to become a badly warped pool table. That sat next to a fuse ball table. (I just realized that I've never before had occasion to write the phrase "fuse ball table" - I hope I spelled it correctly.)
Well, on to the main event at the Fest Halle. I literally had no expectations. I was simply there with my friends and was going to go with the flow. We entered a giant hall with tables, a dance floor and a German band. There were a ton of people inside. It was difficult to find a table with enough empty seats for our party. We finally plopped down at a table that was evidently "too far" from the action. I didn't know that we were there for any action.
Eight of us had come from the "cabin" (you see the quotes this time, don't you?). We met up with three others at the Fest Halle. However, until those other three showed up, we were just hanging out, eating schnitzels and drinking warm beer. (Y'all know me well enough to realize that when I say "we" were eating and drinking that nasty stuff, I mean "they" were.) I was too busy soaking up the atmosphere.
I was amazed by how genuinely white some people can be. I don't think there was a single black person in the whole place. Lots of people were wearing liederhosen and funny green felt hats. One man was wearing all that and a pair of Spock ears. All this was going on while the band played German music. A couple of tables near us were full of people in their late 20's/early 30's. They seemed to at least really enjoy the drinking aspect of Oktoberfest. In fact, they enjoyed it so much that one of them stood up, threw his arms into the air and screamed, "I AM OKTOBERFEST!" Nice to meet you, I'm Horse N. Buggy.
But that wasn't weird. It didn't get weird until the other three people showed up and my friends joined in on the "fun." The other three were a married couple and his friend. They literally got to the table and grabbed a couple of people and went to the dance floor to join in a polka. I was left thinking to myself, "What just happened? Are we really here to polka? No, surely we're here to make fun of the people doing the polka."
Eventually, the polka ended and my friends came back to the table to drink another pitcher of dark warm beer. Just when I thought normalcy had returned, the band launched into a song and my friends all stood up, raised there glasses and started singing at the top of their lungs...in German. The only words I could make out were, "Oy! Oy! Oy!"
I felt like an alien in a foreign land who sees the secret rituals of the natives for the first time. I was lost and confused trying to figure it all out. While I was still in a state of trance-like confusion, the husband from the "other group of three" asked me to do the chicken dance with him. I didn't have the strength to resist the invitation while in that mystical Fest Halle. My only consolation is that they began with Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall" before transitioning into the proper chicken dance song.
Well, after I participated in one chicken dance, I could no longer pretend to be cool - all my street cred dissipated along with my self-respect. I gave myself up to the joy of dancing like a goofy white person. I even sunk low enough to do the Electric Slide. I have NEVER felt so...white. (Not even while country line dancing.)
Well, it looks like I am Oktoberfest.
