My work as department head HAG (main client) for building repairs slowly but surely began to wear me down, and my employees did not fare any better.
There was no question of continuous repair of a building complex or at least individual apartment buildings. It was all patchwork, because there was a lack of everything on a scale that is necessary for the thorough renovation of buildings.
The housing administration choked on petitions from citizens who had it raining into their living rooms and sent people to us. Finally, those affected stood in front of my desk, whining, begging, and threatening to complain to the party leadership or the mayor of our borough.
No one understood the citizens better than I did, but my people could rarely help. Constantly pointless consultations with the party or the mayor, because again an entire residential community had collectively complained about the untenable conditions in their house.
The result of the discussion was empty promises and often unjustified criticism of my department. When, after a particularly nerve-racking week, I was also jolted out of sleep on Friday night by an unexpected alarm and had to report for a combat exercise, it became clear to me that I wouldn’t be able to stand it until retirement.
Sometimes I imagined that we would have plenty of scaffolding, materials, and many good craftsmen at our disposal, so that my civil engineers could show what they could do. After a year, the citizens would drive us through the streets in a parade float, applauding us.
But my wishful thinking remained unfulfilled, and I was once again ripe for a time-out. To finally breathe clean air and forget all the frustration for a while, I planned a vacation trip to the Black Sea with Chris. Andreas and Kerstin also wanted to come along.
So I got the good old Lada ready to go. The preparation of the trip was very time-consuming. The car had to be in tip-top condition. We would not have been able to afford a repair in a garage.
Therefore, the extensive on-board tools included at least a set of spark plugs, a fan belt, a bottle of engine oil, insulating tape, a handful of different screws and nuts, and a coil of binding wire just in case.
In addition to the ten-liter reserve canister allowed, fuel was stashed in all sorts of plastic containers under the seats and in the back seat.
A worn but still intact tire as an additional โbring homeโ was an absolute must, and last but not least, plenty of canned goods and durable goods. The critical stretch was the 800-kilometer drive through Romania.
As a matter of principle, one should refrain from driving there at night, because the farmers from the mountain villages were already jerking their horse-drawn carts towards the weekly market from midnight.
The teamsters usually dozed on the coach box because the horses knew the way. Sometimes a sooty stable lantern hung from the back of the carriage, but only sometimes.
Also be careful when stopping at red lights: the gypsy children hide nearby, suddenly appear and beg for chewing gum and cigarettes. Woe betides if all doors are not locked from the inside!
I had a secret tip for several years: A 20 DM bill folded to the size of a postage stamp was well hidden under the cover plate of the horn in the steering column of the car. According to GDR law, this would have been punished as currency shifting if customs had found the bill.
The hard mark was supposed to serve as a door opener in an emergency, which fortunately never happened. But there is no need to be alarmed. ๐ฃ๐ธ ๐๐ฎ ๐๐ธ๐ท๐ฝ๐ฒ๐ท๐พ๐ฎ๐ญ…
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