I'm not finished yet (eBook)

Michael Schletz (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2024 | 1. Auflage
286 Seiten
novum publishing (Verlag)
978-1-64268-303-5 (ISBN)

Infos

The first-person narrator Micha recounts in anecdotes what happened to him in particular during the 80s and 90s. Since he feels part of the punk scene, the experiences associated with it are often in the foreground. It is a world full of excessive alcohol consumption, wild parties and all-nighters, weird and forbidden actions, police interrogations, unemployment and various jobs. Be it a mysterious driving assignment in which he puts himself in danger, or the fact that he wakes up in the park at night during a vacation and sees a gun pointed directly at him - Micha recounts what happened from his perspective, but does not skimp on vulgar expressions and the description of sometimes absurd situations.

Textauszug

Bears and tanks

Banane asked me if I could imagine working in the social sector in the future. I had been unemployed for a long time and had already done the strangest jobs in that time. I thought about it for a moment. "Hmm, what is it and what do I have to do?" I asked. "There's a vacancy for a street worker and you seem predestined for the job," Banana replied. I said: "Okay, that sounds interesting. I'll do it." As I was planning to reorient myself anyway, this offer came in handy. I didn't want to be unemployed forever either. So I became a street worker for a while.

A few years later, we went to Slovakia as part of a youth exchange. As our clientele consisted of rather difficult young people whose families had little money, we could hardly find anyone who wanted to go. Especially not at the beginning of March with the prospect of hiking in meters of snow and freezing cold. Only two young people agreed to come along. Seppel, a young man who was always smartly dressed, but who somehow couldn't really get his act together, but always talked himself up about his situation. In his opinion, his current situation was a chain of unforeseeable obstacles. A kind of force majeure, so to speak. He embellished his failure with so much dry wit that you almost wanted to believe him. Out of compassion alone. No, it really couldn't be down to him. Nevertheless, he was an extremely likeable guy. The second teenager was Assel. A punk of the worst kind. He was actually mutating into a skinhead. But he definitely wasn't smart enough for that. He had already been in prison several times, but had always been given another chance to get his life under control. Assel didn't think about changing anything, however, and indulged in being an Assida as best he could. "Nothing is important, drinking beer is important," he regularly contradicted himself loudly. We had two young people with us whose characters couldn't be more different. That could have been fun.

Due to a lack of participants, we took my girlfriend at the time, Suzy, with us. We hadn't been together for long at that time and so we had the opportunity to spend a kind of vacation together.

Banane, Schorsch and I went along as supervisors. Schorsch was in charge of the streetwork project. He was a gifted guitarist who had dedicated his life to the blues. Not entirely, though. He had a sideline where he performed as a solo entertainer at all kinds of parties. However, he mainly played pop songs there. His repertoire also included English songs, although he didn't speak a word of English. I found that particularly amusing. Schorsch was a real buddy. His real name was Gerald, but not even his wife called him that.

He was easy to get along with. His outward appearance quickly suggested a person who didn't necessarily conform to the usual norm. Long gray-white hair, almost always dressed in black, long coat and an old Mercedes station wagon under his ass. Automatic, of course. His greatest gift, however, was getting people who were in trouble out of prison and accompanying them on their way into everyday life.

Banane was a two-meter guy, sometimes bald, sometimes with long hair that sometimes turned into rasta braids. Just like his role model Bob Marley. A bulky guy with hypothyroidism. I still remember one of his birthday parties. After about 20 minutes, all the guests had their jackets back on. It was 15 degrees in his room, in winter. He was wearing a sleeveless shirt. He never froze either. We went to a few festivals, but he wasn't really interested in the bands that were playing. Among them was Force Attack on the Baltic Sea, a punk festival of the highest order. He was magically attracted to curious types, so that he spent the entire duration of a festival sitting in front of his bus in company. Everyone who passed by was given a line, he had no shortage of sarcasm. He also never seemed to sleep, because no matter when we walked past, he was always sitting in his chair. Early in the morning, when everyone was still asleep and the toilets were being pumped empty, he would shout loudly: "Get up, there's fresh shit coming."

When the opportunity arose, he often acted as a womanizer. But that didn't go down too well with their husbands. He also liked to get into fights with local politicians. In writing, mind you. All it took was a parking ticket or what he thought was an illegal parking ticket and he would start a petty war against everyone involved or not involved. In everyday life, he moved around either on a Schwalbe or in his sky-blue T4 VW bus, which in principle always had something to do. Professionally, he ran a youth club.

So much for our line-up. It promised to be exciting for both the young people and the supervisors.

The ride was accordingly both fun and exhausting. After a few driver changes, I agreed to drive the rest of the route. This was also the starting signal for Banane and Schorsch to sweeten the ride a little and open a bottle of wine. Assel and Suzy had been drinking beer for a while. Seppel acted the sensible one, didn't drink anything and was always complaining about something. Sometimes he got a sip of Assel's beer on his brand new trousers or he didn't like the sandwiches. He felt sorry for himself for going on the trip and didn't know what he had let himself in for. When he wasn't grumbling, he really needed to pee. Assel was constantly making fun of him. "What kind of a wimp are you?" he asked Seppel. I watched what was happening on the last row of benches in the rear-view mirror. It was too funny. Schorsch and Banane were sitting one row in front. They had quickly emptied the first bottle of wine and asked for another. But it was in the trunk of the bus. So they told Seppel to hand them the next bottle. However, he first had to unbuckle his seatbelt. Which apparently meant a lot of effort for him, not to mention the safety risk. Assel rolled his eyes. "Don't be like that and get the bottle of wine," he snapped at Seppel. Seppel reluctantly obeyed, leaned over the backrest, grabbed the bottle and passed it on. "Hey, don't you have any punk rock on your fucking radio?" Assel shouted loudly. "No," I replied. "What the fuck is this tour without punk rock," Assel added. "You'll just have to sing it yourself," I replied and laughed, unaware of what I was doing with this statement. Because from then on, Assel sang passages from punk songs from time to time. As he indulged in so-called booze punk, they weren't always entirely, well, let's say, PG. Which in turn made Schorsch and Banane laugh out loud. The rhymes that were peppered at them were new to them. For Suzy and me, they brought a smile at best and Seppel was now really pissed off and asked for a pee break as usual. Surprising, as he drank the least of this crew.

After countless pee breaks, we arrived at the Czech-Slovak border. Schorsch and Banane had drunk all the wine supplies, even a crate of wine that was actually planned as a gift for the guests. Apart from Seppel, all the passengers were now asleep. Now they were waking up one by one. The Czech border guard demanded everyone's papers. A wild bustle began. Seppel complained to me about the lack of organization and that it was taking forever again. I ignored him, collected everyone's IDs and handed them to the soldier. He spoke Czech to me, which I couldn't reply to in any way. He indicated that we should get out. As we got out, the empty wine bottles rolled out and broke with a loud clink. "ACAB, you fuckers," Assel shouted to the border guards, whereupon our trunk was also searched. I grabbed Assel by the arm. "You shut the fuck up now," I said to him in a sharp tone. He continued to rant and wave his arms around. He was babbling something about fucking cops. "Shut up now," I said. Then he kept his mouth shut. Seppel, who overheard this, said: "Come on, let's go back, it's no use, we'll be arrested in no time." I looked at him and said: "The same applies to you, you keep your mouth shut now." I turned back to the border guards, who were still checking our IDs.

I explained our plan to them in a mixture of German and English. It took an hour for them to get the message and let us drive on. A short time later we were at the Slovakian border post. However, they seemed to have little interest in our group. After a brief inspection of our IDs, we were allowed to continue our journey.

After this action, there was a lot of frustration on the bus. Wild discussions ensued. Banana said: "That only happens in the Eastern Bloc. Fucking communist pigs." Assel repeated his ACAB. Schorsch said there were other reasons, but didn't say what they might be, and Suzy just said: "What a fuss, now I need a beer." Seppel said he had to pee urgently. This time he was widely agreed. We all had to.

So I looked for the next opportunity to stop. It was night, but I still realized that we were in very heavy fog. So thick that you could really only see a few meters. We stopped on a dirt track off the main road. Everyone disappeared for a pee. Afterwards, we smoked for all we were worth. The cold and the fog made the smoke from the cigarettes seem even more intense. So at that moment we were in a huge cloud of smoke. After everyone had got back in the car and I had taken a look at the map, we drove on. I could hardly see anything and could only drive very slowly. The roads got narrower and worse. There was a rumble and suddenly I saw a sign. Ceska republika. "Shit," I shouted, "we're back in the Czech Republic." "Great," Seppel clapped his hands over his head. "I told you we should go back home." I didn't need that right now. "Shut up," I admonished. Assel bent over laughing, he didn't seem to care. He sang cheerfully: "My limb is too big from the cashiers." Suzy said: "Why don't you pull over and look at the map?" Banana said: "Better safe than sorry." And...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 27.8.2024
• Verlagsort: Neckenmarkt
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• Schlagworte: Allerlei • Belletristik • Michael Schletz • Sonstiges
• ISBN-10: 1-64268-303-5 / 1642683035
• ISBN-13: 978-1-64268-303-5 / 9781642683035