“Just Take the Speed and Walk Faster”: A Love Letter to Being Briefly Rude to Tourists
In Wedding, politeness is a finite resource, like elevator space and the last seat on the M13. Stop donating it to people who arrived yesterday with a rolling suitcase and a spiritual itinerary.
Street Etiquette Columnist (Public Impatience Desk)
I think we should be ruder to tourists. Not cartoon-villain rude. Not “go home” rude. Just the crisp, efficient kind of rudeness that communicates: you are in a dense city, stop moving like you’re the first person to discover sidewalks.
Wedding is not a theme park; it’s a neighborhood where people attempt the radical act of getting through their day without becoming unpaid extras in someone else’s “authentic Berlin” documentary.
Here’s what tourists don’t understand: locals aren’t mean—we’re conserving energy. The city has already taken our sleep, our patience, and our ability to stand in a line without imagining our own funeral. Every day is a group project, and tourists show up without reading the syllabus.
Rudeness Is Infrastructure
A well-timed blunt “No” is basically urban planning. It prevents the classic tourist maneuvers:
- Stopping dead at the top of a U-Bahn escalator like they’ve just seen God, or worse, a menu in English.
- Holding their phone up like a divining rod, summoning directions from satellites instead of using the ancient technology of looking where they’re going.
- Asking three strangers the same question because they didn’t like the first answer, which is a weird way to flirt with disappointment.
Rudeness keeps the arteries clear. It’s the traffic light of social interaction: short cycle, firm signal, everyone gets to cross.
The Görlitzer Park Fantasy
Tourists arrive with this Rousseau-style idea of Berlin: noble savages in black clothing, living freely among abandoned factories, exchanging knowing nods and possibly mushrooms. Then they treat every local like a concierge with a trauma backstory.
Listen: if you want “the real experience,” try being ignored near a corner bakery while Turkish uncles conduct five simultaneous conversations at once. That’s the authenticity you can’t buy, and it won’t even pretend to like you.
Why It’s Actually Kind
Politeness is the lie that drags on. Berlin rudeness is honesty with a firm grip. It’s ripping off the Band-Aid, not softly massaging your delusion. A brisk “move” is a faster education than any walking tour, and it gets you out of tight situations—crowds, doors, life.
So yes, I’m rude to tourists. Because I respect them enough not to coddle them. Welcome to Wedding: keep it moving, keep it short, and please don’t climax emotionally in the doorway.