“Waitress! Waitress! We gotta get ANOTHER ROUND OF STEINS OVER HERE!!!!” yelled Brad Wanamaker exuberantly as he slammed his empty mug of beer on the table. “Germany rules!!!!” As if to emphasize his love of Germany, he ripped a German flag from the wall and wrapped it around him like a cloak.
“I’m glad you are fond of my homeland, Brad,” Daniel Theis began, trying to maintain a positive attitude after having been dragged to a Minneapolis-area establishment, called “Das Bier Zone”, that seemed to have nothing to do with German culture at all. “But I see nothing German about this place besides the flag you are currently defiling. They do not even have German beers on tap here, even though many of our finest brews are commonly exported to American soil.”
“What are you talking about? This is an AUTHENTIC GERMAN PILSNER!” Brad yelled. He slammed his mug again, causing the full mugs of others to spill over onto the table.
“Nah, he’s right bro, you’re drinking a Budweiser,” Jalen Brown said. “We all are.”
“Budweiser’s not German? Next you’re going to tell me that these authentic German sausages are just hot dogs with brown mustard on them.”
Daniel looked down at his unappetizing hot dog, which had one sad bite taken out of it before being set aside, and then back up at Brad. “You’re right. It’s just a hot dog. We don’t even eat hot dogs in Germany.”
“Dude, consider yourself lucky,” Semi Ojeleye said from Daniel’s side. “Last time I had a good game, they took me out for ‘authentic’ Chinese food. They thought I was Chinese, can you believe that? So we ate Panda Express while everybody asked me why I wasn’t eating with chopsticks like I did back home.”
“I don’t know why you’re so ashamed of your Chinese heritage,” Brad slurred, having been supplied additional drinks by a busty waitress wearing a skimpy Oktoberfest-style frock. “Daniel here is a proud German, not afraid to partake in the traditions of his ancestors while he celebrates his new career high.”
“Our traditions are much richer and more varied than just getting drunk,” Daniel said coldly, but Brad’s attention had been diverted elsewhere.
“CAN WE GET SOME GERMAN DRINKING SONGS ON THE SPEAKERS?” Brad yelled towards the bar, where the bartenders were suddenly very keen to look as busy and distracted as possible. Not having been provided any German songs to sing along to, Brad decided to sing one of his own. “JA JA JA, WIR HABEN DAS BIER, JA JA JA, WIR DRINKEN DAS BIER, JA JA JA, WE WILL FIND DEUTSCHE FRAU FOR DANIEL TO HAVE SECKSEN WITH, JA JA JA, SHE WILL HAVE GROSSE GEBOOBEN!!!!”
Daniel had had enough of Brad’s embarrassing antics. He threw down some money on the table. “Thanks for inviting me out, guys. I’m gonna Uber back to the hotel.”
Just then, Enes Kanter came bursting in through the front doors of the bar, running towards where the Boston Celtics teammates were all seated. He was carrying some kind of box in his hands and was evidently being very careful to hold it level. “You can’t leave, man. Not until you open this box.”
Daniel took the box and warily began opening it, thinking that it would be a trick, a practical joke played by juvenile teammates. But it wasn’t a joke at all. It was a delicious-looking, heavily-frosted German chocolate cake. He looked back up at Enes. “You baked me…a cake?”
“Yeah, my hotel room had a kitchenette, so I figured, why not make an authentic German treat for my favorite German teammate in the whole world?”
A fork was produced from somewhere and handed to Daniel. He cut off a large chunk of the cake and brought it to his mouth. When the rich, nutty chocolate flavor hit his tongue, he was transported back to his childhood in Germany. His oma had always had a chocolate cake ready for them when he visited their house out in the country.
Daniel sat back down at the table as more of the Celtics eagerly took pieces of the decadent dessert. For the first time that night, he didn’t regret being forced to go out with his teammates to Das Bier Zone.