They should have a German word that describes the feeling you get when you’re speaking English, and you experience something that you’re sure Germans have a very specific word for but for which there is no direct English translation.

Germans, I’m sure, could create a word that roughly translates to that feeling when you drop your phone, and it feels like your life has ended, but then you pick it up, and it’s fine.

It would be great if there was a single German word for that wave of emotion that comes from seeing a person you know you’ve met before but whose name you’ve forgotten walking right toward you. But before your ignorance is revealed, they say, “I’m sorry. I know we’ve met before, but I have forgotten your name,” and you’re off the hook for having forgotten Jeffrey Larson’s name. They should have a word for that.

They should make a word, probably with a lot of consonants, for the feeling you get when Jeffrey Larson starts talking to you about English Premier League soccer because one time, like four years ago, you mentioned that you knew who a player from Manchester City was. Now he assumes you follow the Premier League, and it’s too late to correct him because he’s been talking to you about Watford and Everton for several years at this point.

Make a word for when two words are interchangeable, but an annoying coworker corrects you every time you say “soccer” instead of “football,” even though they mean the same thing. The word doesn’t have to use Jeffrey Larson’s name directly, but it could if the Germans wanted.

They should have a word for when you’re at your desk, and you look up because you swear you just saw Jeffrey Larson walking down the hallway past your desk. But that’s impossible. Two weeks ago, you and Jeffrey went out to a bar. He’d invited you to watch a “football” match, and you were in too deep to tell him, “I don’t watch Premier League, man. I just happened to know who Sergio Aguero is because of Ted Lasso.” When Watford scored, Jeffrey got up and started taunting a bunch of tough-looking Liverpool supporters. As you went to close out the tab, Jeffrey stepped outside with the Liverpool-supporting ruffians. Things must’ve escalated quickly because when you got outside moments later, you found Jeffrey lying lifeless on the pavement. The paramedics had pronounced him dead on the scene. But now, Jeffrey is alive and walking down the hallway like nothing happened?

A German word for when you can’t find your phone, but it’s just in your other pocket.

Maybe some kind of really long German word that expresses the sensation that runs up your spine when you follow Jeffrey Larson down the hallway and approach him in the breakroom. “Jeffrey?” you muster in a timid, confused voice.

Jeffrey turns to you and says, “Jeffrey, that’s me. Jeffrey La… La…”

“Larson?” you offer.

“Larson, that’s it!” He says, seeming to have forgotten his own name, before his face lights up, “Hey, check this out.”

He pulls out his phone and shows you a nude picture of Jeffrey’s wife—something he has never done before and never would do. As he pulls the phone out, you notice his lock screen is the Liverpool FC crest. There’s no way that one of the Liverpool ruffians who killed Jeffrey just… became him? There’s no way someone could, like, take over someone else’s body, right? Now that you think about it, there was never a memorial service or anything. When you saw Jeffrey’s wife at the grocery store she acted fine, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Someone can’t just take over another man’s body and assume his identity. You’re sure of that. Yet here stands your friend who was confirmed dead less than a fortnight ago, trying desperately to remember his own name.

Maybe a German word for fermented cabbage, wait, never mind. They have that.

They need a difficult-to-pronounce German word for when you’re having an extreme existential crisis because you can no longer decipher what is real and what isn’t. A word for when you walk along the street and every face looks like your friend Jeffrey, but also, none of them do. For when you can’t even really remember what Jeffrey looked like, if he was actually your friend, or if he even really existed at all. Your ears are ringing, you can’t focus on anything, you feel dizzy. Everyone who passes seems like they could be a figment of your imagination, or real, or perhaps they were also killed and their body assumed by a Liverpool supporter.

They should have a German word for when, despite this intense crisis of consciousness and existence, you really want to see that picture of your (possibly) dead friend’s wife again.