I'm a simple emigrant and I get along with technologies

And yet life is hard in Germany for people like me. For those who love optimization, simplification, logic, and convenience. Only now have I finally found the composite image of local digitization. And no, it's not even the Internet. I never had a goal of getting to Germany specifically. After receiving an offer from a German company, I didn’t know anything about where I was going. But in general terms, I wanted either an insanely interesting job near home, or an ordinary one—but far away. This was the second option. Without thinking, I packed one and a half suitcases filled with only the essentials: clothes for the current season, office outfits (ha-ha) and cat fur — they took up about a third of the space, and I flew to conquer the Germans. Well, so what if the job isn’t at the cutting edge of technological progress, at least it’s a new life! The first time I was at Frankfurt Airport. Young, fresh, full of enthusiasm, I approached the border guard, and he says to me: – Where are you flying from? – From Russia. – The purpose of your trip? – I will be working. – Where? – In IT. – So you flew from Russia to work in German IT? — and he laughs so slyly, the main thing. – Heh-heh, — I say, — well, yes, something like that. I didn’t grasp the depth of his laughter then. But by the second week of running around to all the authorities, I understood it, and I still understand it now. And I understand it most in moments when I need to enter my birth date in forms. One would think there couldn’t be a more standard field; just make it user-friendly. No. I've never in my life seen a more inconvenient field in forms. Moreover, everywhere the format is different: somewhere dd/mm/yy, somewhere mm/dd/yy, somewhere the year alone, somewhere with a dot, somewhere with a slash. And there is no automation in them either. They add a pop-up calendar with a grand flourish, yes, but usually in it there’s only one button to press about 30 times. And with each year the clicking takes longer. And when do you actually get to live? Then, one awkward move, and the date slips again. It’s easier to type everything by hand. You type it in — the field goes red. That’s because it can’t separate the date. Your dots and slashes, Lucy, please type them too. We didn’t hire you here as a butler to place the dots! And here I am, changing the keyboard layout 18 times, already discovering symbols unknown to humanity, from the fortieth attempt I fill in my birth date. Angry and sweaty, I look at this field and realize I’ve only reached the third line from the start of the form. And then another 28 pages of fascinating form-filling. And the border guard’s smile flickers again among the lines. #we_dont_like