At this point in my life I have to introduce Fredrick Fuffelfinger, my alter ego that does not give a hoot about politically correct language or being polite at all times. Frederick can be a very unsocial misfit that at the most unwanted times makes me look like a you-know-what-hole.
Frederick got a hold of me at a young age. As an example in Holland it was compulsory to learn three languages besides Dutch. They were French, English and German.
In the German textbook was a chapter about Hans, who said to his mother “mommy, mommy the church tower has fallen down.”
The mommy answered “oh, no Hans that is the fog.”
To Frederick, who was at that time not interested in the German language it was a plain stupid observation by Hans. So when the teacher asked “ why do you think Hans thought the church tower has fallen over?”
Frederick jumped in and said “because Hans is stupid and lives in a fog.”
As a result I was kicked out of the class. Frederick has made life difficult for me many a time. I was at a party and a man approached me and said are you Bert de Vink?
I could not deny that, so I said yes. The next thing he said was “you are Dutch aren’t you?”
I told him no I am Canadian. He ignored that and asked me if I was the little Dutch boy with his finger in the dike. It must have been the two thousand and fiftieth time that I was asked that same question.
At that point Frederick jumped in and said “I am sorry to tell you sir, but it was not my finger in the dike.”
The man looked at me with a weird smile and left. It was not nice of Fredrick to say that and put me in a bad light at the same time, but like I said Frederick can be a miserable oaf.
Frederick also gets peeved of with the so-called political correct language. To Frederick, somebody is dead, six feet under or a person who kicked the bucket, but a horizontally not moving cold body is somebody who desperately needs an electric blanket.
If somebody says so and so passed away Frederick would ask “which way?”
I am ashamed of Fredrick, he can be such a crude and rude piece of you know what.
The other day the phone rang and a voice said, is mister de Vink there and, against my will, I said “where is there?”
It was silent for a moment and then the voice said, can I
speak to mister de Vink. My not intended answer was, “he has spoken.”
Then the irritated voice said “what are you on mister de Vink?”
All I could say was “I’m on the chesterfield and you?”
At that point, the phone went silent and I realized I could have won the lottery or somebody wanted to buy something.
I got so mad at Frederick I mentally choked him to death. I was still hot under the collar, but in all respect I lit a candle for that stupid misfit and then I noticed that I was getting very hot under the collar again.
This time the reason was that I held the candle too close to my shirt so it went on fire. My language at that time is not fit to repeat so I leave it at that, but I hate Fredrick very deeply.
Bert de Vink is a long-time Observer contributor.