Work Text:
– But you know what the funniest thing about Europe is?
– What?
– It's the little differences. A lotta the same shit we got here, they got there, but there they're a little different.
Pulp Fiction
Schneider got undressed. He hung his tunic on a hanger, folded his pants over another one. It’s funny how he had enough uniforms to last him a lifetime. When he and Merkatz defected, he was wondering how long they would be able to wear an imperial uniform. First of all, of course, in the sense that they might go down wearing the ones on their backs. Or, as another possible outcome of changing sides, exchange the uniform for prison overalls. And even if they would evade both death and imprisonment, how long can three pairs of pants last a guy? When they were welcomed, it turned out that he wouldn’t have to go threadbare. When the Empire left Iserlohn, they left a lot behind. Uniforms in Schneiders size took up a whole storage room, and he was the only one here to wear them. He could use a fresh one every day if he’d like.
It’s funny how Schneider and Merkatz in a way were inte the same position as the FPA here on Iserlohn, all of them had one foot in the enemy territory. Schneider had to learn new social codes and traditions. Some were large and obvious, like how there were no nobles or commoners, but that there were similar powers in play and you had to tell apart people’s backgrounds and social standing by how they pronounced certain words or whether or not they liked honey mustard. Some were small but they constantly reminded you of how things were different now. Cabbage was served as a cold vinegary salad. One beer was a can and not a mug. Imperial movies translated into English were not dubbed, but subtitled.
It was the same for the FPA guys, and from their remarks about Iserlohn Schneider could figure out what life was like outside of the fortress. The coffee creamer looked like baby puke. The beds were considered huge, there was room for two if you really like each-other. The bread forms at the bakery made smaller loaves, so one sandwich was now too little, and two sandwiches too much. Light switches on nightlamps went left-right and not up-down. Iserlohn towels were soft like a hug from your mother, compared to the regular ones. If someone had a certain kind of tutti frutti flavoured marshmallows, people would beg, cry and fist fight to get one – they were only sold at spaceports, and many had fond memories of fathers coming home with a box.
The soap on Iserlohn came as gel and not as bars. The dispensers on shower walls were practical and hygienic. The smells were the usual – Frisch, Kiefer or Seebrise. The FPA guys complained that shower gel felt slippery and the dispensers made them think of a cheap hotel. For some sentimental reasons the FPA guys wanted their soap to come in a lump that turned into mush when they left them in a wet place. The only positive thing they had to say about the imperial shower gel was that Keifer made you smell like a bottle of gin. Schneider liked to hear those complaints. In a way, they brought him closer to his new company. They despised shower gel for the same kinds of sentimental reasons that he loved the feeling of being surrounded by a comforting fluffy cloud that smelled like showers smell. When he closed his eyes, he could almost hear Hütter and Weiss argue about whose turn it was to clear the drains. He could touch home after crossing the border.