Standing outside the club, I handed the security guard my driver's license. She handed it back to me, saying, "Den kann ich nicht akzeptieren." I asked "Warum nicht? Mein Geburtstagsdatum steht schon d'rauf. Ich bin 21! Lassen Sie mich rein!"
She responded only more cooly, "Ich kann nur deutsche Ausweise akzeptieren."
Suddenly I had everyone's attention. People stopped dancing to crowd around the entrance of the club, trying to look at me, wanting desperately to hear what I had to say. People on the street stook awestruck as I began to shout -
"I know - Ich weiss dass ich keine Deutsche bin! Ich bin nur diese einsame, alleine Amerikanerin, und du - " I began to sob and scream - "DU! Du hast mich nicht angenommen, nicht hereingelassen!"
I took a deep breath. Now I would tell them. And they were all listening. I would make them understand, in a grand soliloquy, the depth of my loneliness. Then, they would fall into madness and exalt me as a goddess.
Opening my mouth to begin, rejection became something from which I did not want to repent. So my soliloquy became a choked cry, as I ran outside and disappeared into the black shadow of the Cathedral in front of me.