Today Adam and I went to the Labor Day Oktoberfest. It really wasn’t all that Oktoberfest like honestly. Adam says I probably would enjoy the Busch Gardens Oktoberfest since I was expecting legions of lederhosen wearing Germans flinging Bratwurst around while clogging to German polka music.
Needless to say, that really wasn’t what was going on there. Other than a few random people wearing the traditional German garb, it was a rather disappointing Oktoberfest. Maybe it would have been more worthwhile if we would have arrived in time to see the weiner dog races.
At the first school I taught at in Texas, we got invited to an Octoberfest potluck thrown by the old people of the church, and we were strongly encouraged to attend. I wasn’t that thrilled about lots and lots of crockpots full of sauerkraut, but I thought it might be fun. We got there and sat down, but everyone was sitting at those skinny tables that only have enough room for people to sit on one side, so we didn’t get to talk to many people. We soon found out that the reasoning for the all-facing-forward seating was for the dinner entertainment — a long video from the 80s featuring the Singing Albino, an old guy in a polyester suit who crooned German folk music as people with lederhosen and teased hair walked behind him, swinging giant mugs and singing backup. When I thought it couldn’t get weirder, they pulled out the German songbooks for a good sing-along. The crowning event was the Schnitzelbank song — one of those house-that-Jack-built songs that builds on itself with every verse. The pastor explained that the lyrics we were singing could be translated as “Is that not a workbench? Yes that is a workbench! Ohhhh you beautiful, beautiful, beautiful workbench.” This was without alcohol, btw.
Octoberfests are overrated.