Mark Twain took great issue with the German language; I, on the other hand, have my major beefs with two things: German supermarkets, and the atrocious German pillow. I’ve ranted before about German supermarkets, so let’s get to the pillows.
For those of you unfamiliar with German pillows, they’re rather large and square in comparison to good English or American ones. People favouring firm pillows best avoid German hotels, hostels, and even guest bedrooms, as you’re likely to find an oversized sack of cotton filled more with the idea of down than any actual material.
“That can’t be all that bad!” It wouldn’t be if only it stopped there. No, they have no filling whatsoever, and are quickly compressed with no support. Half the night you toss and turn, slamming the thing into different positions in a futile drawn out attempt at salvaging some meagre amount of sleep. Soon enough you find yourself in a war of attrition, your bed a Western Front of misery and discomfort.
After living in Germany for so long, you expect better of them (the Germans, that is, not their pillows). Indeed, much consideration of the matter forces me to conclude that the Germans must have missed the memo that pillows ought to be comfortable, or at the very least supportive. The pillow must have been seen as an insignificant task: they’d already designed a very competent rail network, a functioning social security system, and some of the best engineered cars on the planet. It’s as if all the intelligent designers were off on an extended lunch break, or a company retreat at a company funded spa. I’m certainly not contesting their achievements; in fact, they deserved a little break. A shame though that the task of designing pillows, arguably a far more mundane and ubiquitous part of life than rail networks or over-engineered cars, had to be left to the incompetent intern.
And the worst part of it all? They seem to like their pillows just as they are, thank you very much.