In my early 20s I moved into a trapezoidal apartment in the Ring-Eck Hausin Gelsenkirchen.
In the photos behind the link you can even see my flags, which I hung in the windows as curtains.I am probably one of the few men in Germany whose pastpeople only have to look into the wikipedia to visually remember the Bukowskiian quarry into which I dragged them.
The apartment was small, almost a (even trapezoidal) room, which was left between two other apartments.It was ridiculous and degenerate, even for Gelsenkirchen conditions. But I just fled from a ruinous shared experience with a (now) best friend and was at the beginning, my precarious phase of life.
The three windows, all located in the trapezoidal tip, offered me a wonderful view over a star-shaped crossroads, with some gastronomic companies at the time.As a student, I often walked past the house and had actually imagined that I would live there daringly.
So you could say I was relatively satisfied.
It all started with loud buzz.
I lay on a mattress with my then girlfriend that night, which I had laid on the floor of the trapezoidal tip…
… that the landlord had “forgotten” to bring in the seal material between the window and the wall, I only learned a few years later…
… and found acoustically that the neighbors above me had apparently positioned themselves in position, dining table and chairs.Good, I had already noted that before, but at night it was especially bad.
My neighborhood was classic Gelsenkirchen Old Town.A Pakistani extended family under me, an incapacitated ex-social worker next to me (oh, how do I miss the punky blues rock and the smell of tea…), a retired couple with severely disabled son on the other side next to me and above me, yes, a single mother in her late 40s, with a son, a few years younger than me and his little sister.
So “Above” had all the ingredients of a family drama, presumably also from one.But I digress…
So, it was buzzing and rumbling, my then girlfriend already started to switch to her Polish-German comprehensive school language for the sake of the gen枚rgel and I, well, I already knew what was coming, to go upstairs and ask for peace, i was lying there just like that. beautiful, on the back, topless, hair still at least shoulder-length, in my purple satin pyjama pants and in the darkness lightly illuminated only by the street lighting, our mica stems, Metro trademark glowed…
So, absolutely no desire to go into the stairwell now, let alone not to dress me and then, with my shyness in front of strangers, to the thin apartment door, painted white, to pat with a large frosted glass pane and to ask that now perhaps some rest with hempels under the Sofa returns…
Rumms, Rumpel from above, from the left comes N枚rgelN枚rgel and I imagine that all this would be over when I smoked.
Well, on the *rsch as they say so beautifully, I’m just expressing, it rumbles upstairs as if who fell through the furniture, I hear a scream and sit straight up, the girlfriend too.
Then everything went quite fast, in the stairwell the girl called and I stood in the apartment door.It was one of those large stairwells, with stairs along the wall and a large abyss in the middle, secured by wooden railings from 1925.
The little one stands on the stairs opposite my apartment door, looks down anxiously to me and up again quite quickly, because the big brother comes to her afterwards, properly drunk and moans at her that she should come back to the apartment – that apartment she, from i.m., apparently out of fear of him.
Later, if I don’t mess with anything, I learned that the guy had beaten his mother through the furniture, and the sister fled.
So I speak to him, in my buddy way, say he should stay loose, still stand there like a pleasure boy in the door frame, with my 65 kilos on 1.83m, hair long, torso free and in this, at this moment very embarrassing, satin pyjama pants.In violet.
Directly behind me my friend, who sprinkles de-escalating swear words into the situation, for which I am also totally grateful to her at the moment.Not.
He probably sees it that way, because immediately the instruction is given to us that we should make the door.The young man, who was just a little shaky, suddenly showed unexpected body control as he came down the stairs to us.
Next to me the door opens, the ex-social worker looks out.The door immediately slams back on. Thank you too!
The Randaleson passes the little one, who then quickly flees back upstairs to the family’s apartment.
Congratulations, now I have his undivided attention.
And no, I don’t close the door. I am a courageous fear bunny, trembling all over my body but not a coward.I still have a stairtime time to calculate my chances. He is younger than me, but much more stable. He’s drunk, but my last beating was in the children’s home, maybe six years earlier. He’s angry. I’m scared.
I think that I had done quite well with the avoidance of violence, because it has only three levels left.
Now he stands in front of me, forehead by mine, I smell his plague of beer breath and he asks me again to go to my apartment (where, strictly speaking, I still stood) and to make the door and I say (or think?), “Not over this threshold!” , and zack, he gives me a headbutt against the forehead.
Now you’ve gone through the whole long history and expect the action scene, with some right!.
Unfortunately, I have to disappoint them.I only come back to senses when then-girlfriend screams and the ex-social worker shouts out of his door frame to stop. Mr. Neighbor is lying backwards on the stairs he had just come down and I’m over him.
His facial expression oscillates between amazement and fear, and then-ex-girlfriend makes a Radau as if I were about to kill him.
Shortly afterwards, the police, which the ex-social worker called, come and take up our statements.I am kindly told that this was just as okay.
And I just wonder about myself.
There I was.For a week tenant and already the “hero” of the stairwell.
The next morning his mother comes down and the whole thing gets the bizarre aftermath that I am invited upstairs and he has to apologize to me.I’m anxious about him while I’m going on the buddy tour again. He should have knocked me out of the slats, I think to myself, while I sat opposite him.
Please don’t tell the landlord anything, the mother asks me.I don’t do either.
Nevertheless, they had to move out soon after.
I never really got into such a situation again.There were certainly more depraved days, i would have liked that. But most of the time I’m on civilization.
To this day, I have no idea how I did it.I have the theory that I must have been so scared that I almost overran him and then hit the steps at the collar.
And even if I still want to avoid such a thing, it is somewhat reassuring that in the event of a case, I probably have something like this in me.
I learned from it, too.When Rabatz is out there, I put on something sensible, all but no satin pyjamas! and I look as if I can iron anyone up the stairs – that has saved me from having to do it again.
I’ve only seen him a few more times.One night, drunk again, he mobbed in front of our house and called for his then girlfriend. But on the open road, he always greeted shameandand and at some point we didn’t recognize each other.
I never saw my mother again.
I saw the sister in the city for a few more years, she always smiled and at some point she was at least 17 and had a thick belly.Not since.
The then girlfriend now makes websites for the IG-Metal and no longer lives in GE.
The ex-social worker has moved to another district and is the sporting director of a district league there.Once he chatted to the AB, but he never called back.
Everything described here is described as truthfully as possible – maybe the thoughts don’t fit the timing or what was thought instead of said – it’s been almost twenty years and memories bear.