Dear Maintenance Man,
There you are – I see you! Like a scene out of Where’s Waldo, you go about your business in the corner of a replica WWII-era home, hoping to avoid detection. You sort of blended in with the scenery until it was abundantly clear that you were Mexican. Sorry, but there were no Lopez’ or Gutierrez’ in Dusseldorf circa 1942. Will 1, Authenticity 0.

Seeing you in such an environment has me thinking, though. World War II must have required a massive clean-up, and since the United States was spic-and-GD-span afterwards, we as a nation have little knowledge of this.

Did Europe just sweep the blown-up buildings into the gutter or some crazy landfill? Did they burn it, thereby irreparably harming the environment? Or were they just like, “Dah, zis will do,” as they snagged stone and wood off the streets and rebuilt their familial homes?

Also, when rebuilding a home destroyed by way, do you just go all-out and build a super-sick mansion? I would, and if people balked I’d be like, “Ummm, mine home vas destroyed!”

And if that didn’t work I’d be like, “And mine fazer was gutted by ze Allies!” Then I’d throw pig intestines on the floor and pretend they were my father’s.

Love,
Will