In Germany, the phrase “Vom Blitz Getroffen” means to be struck by lightning. Olga DieVolkswagon remembered her elderly uncles using it all the time when they would spot a pretty lady walking up the alleyway. It was an odd way to describe the feeling of being enamored by another human being, but it was strangely applicable. The Germans always did have a way with softening abrasive language. Olga had been living in America now for 16 years, ever since her father moved them here to chase the American dream. Sadly Olga had never felt quite like she fit in, much less like she had been struck by lightning.
At 32 years old, Olga was as beautiful a woman as they come. Long blonde hair, light blue eyes, and legs that seemed a mile long. Brains were the icing on the cake for Olga as she could add two masters degrees to her eligible bachelorette resume. These are the reasons her father remained perpetually frustrated with her. He assumed by now he would have a son in law and at least two or three grandchildren, but Olga seemed to have zero interest in starting a family. It wasn’t that Olga didn’t want a family, or that she was purposely being a recluse, she had just never met that guy, her lighting strike.
For years her father had been bringing “friends” of his over to the house for dinner. They always fit the same mold; young, German, Catholic, handsome, and rich. They were all nice enough guys, but they all seemed so …. Foreign… Where was the tall dark and handsome American man she had been seeing in movies since she was a girl? Where was the lone ranger who would pick her up onto his horse and race into the night? Where was the young American soldier from Kansas who would write her long love letters?
Wednesday morning started exactly as it always did for Olga. She woke up, had her bowl of all American Wheaties and a Pop Tart while catching up on the latest episode of Knight Rider, and got ready for work. Working at the FDA laboratory was fun and all, but lately she had been put on an assignment to research the antibiotic levels in Chick Fil A nuggets and it had been a real bore of a project. After she put on her extremely low cut lab coat, and her American flag lapel, she left for coffee. She had been going to Freedom Fuel coffee shop every morning for ten years and always ordered the same small black coffee. After all, once you go black you don’t go back.
Freedom Fuel was a dimly lit, greasy spoon type place that had a “Seinfeld” feel that attracted Olga to it all those years ago. As she swung open the glass door with the poorly hung Venetian blinds she motioned to Pete to bring her cup of Joe and directed her path to the same red plastic booth seat that she always sat in. As her eyes made their way from her slip resistant lab shoes to her usual booth, it happened …..
CRACK BOOM POW
Vom Blitz Getroffen