Die Schuldenhure

My first birthday in freedom was a literal splash in the water. Already early in the morning it had started to pour like from buckets, and I sat alone in my first own tiny hut on the edge of Bremen. On the cardboard box in front of me, which I used as a table, there was a small cake from the supermarket. To celebrate the day and my 19th birthday, I had bought it. For coffee, my money wasn't enough, and I drank warm tap water from my mug that I had taken with me from the clinic. Completely alone, I celebrated wildly with a lot of tears from my eyes on my birthday.

Not even a week ago I had been dragged into this hole. My first own apartment, if you could even call it that. A whole 26 square meters I was allowed to call mine. As proud as Oscar I moved in with a shopping bag and my stolen mug. My life up until then had been an endless chain of disappointments. Born as the daughter of an alcoholic who had committed suicide just before my 13th birthday, I ended up in the Children's Home of the Sisters of Mercy. But mercy was only their Catholic facade because behind the walls a dragon ruled the whole place. Mother Superior had the warm nature of a pitbull about to attack, and the Sisters of Mercy knew only the Bible verse, "Who laughs gets it on the face."

As a nine-year-old girl I preferred to stay outside the walls with my only friend Lili, and we ended up with the Junkies at the train station. What started as fun became serious, and we needed lots of money every day for the next shot, which we earned together through many spontaneous property transfers in the park. That meant pulling out a knife from your pocket and then please the bill. Unfortunately, the police found out quite quickly and we had to organize our money elsewhere. Over time this turned into less and less money and we had to take on smaller deals. We divided the loot among ourselves to buy drugs.

One night Lili and I decided to rob a gas station alone so that finally some money would come in. Unfortunately, the guy behind the counter wasn't exactly cooperative and wanted to keep the money. This called Lili into action who jumped over the counter, threatened the man with her knife, and he had no other option than to hit my friend across the head with a vodka bottle. Unfortunately, he hit my only friend so badly that she broke her neck. She died right at the counter, and my hasty escape ended just two hundred meters away on a park bench. My public defender suggested I exchange the juvenile detention for a voluntary detoxification.

Until a week ago I was still in the clinic and then, as destitute as I was, moved into this hut. I could sleep on an old sagging foam mattress that also served as my seat. My table was an empty milk carton from the supermarket, which I used as a bag for my first shopping. A washing machine was sponsored by the job center as my first installation. Since all my clothes fit in a plastic bag, I naturally needed it desperately. The bathroom without a window was as big as a telephone booth and my kitchen consisted of a small microwave, two cooking plates, and a greasy sink.

I was given nothing else and had to buy cooking utensils and so on from the generously measured regulation set. The rent was paid by the job center, but I naturally had to pay for the electricity I needed myself. In addition, they demanded at least ten applications per month for an apprenticeship that as a former penalized drug addict I could get from anyone. Naturally, I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to do, but getting a job with my resume was obviously no problem. I had neither a school diploma nor any other qualification. The only thing I had accomplished in my life until the end was the detoxification.

Now at the end of the month there were only a few euros left in my wallet, the tobacco was almost empty and in my fridge, a slightly larger cooler bag still held food for about two or three days. So you could celebrate your first birthday in freedom without the supervision of the agents of the devil or the nice nurses from the clinic. Next to me in the large rental building was high life from the surrounding apartments. I could perfectly hear the arguments or participate in a computer game without images next door, which he broadcast his gameplay like a radio operator through the building.

Only late at night did I find some peace and fell asleep crying. Early in the morning I woke up again from a dreamless sleep. The rain from the day before had given way to heavy thunderstorms, and the sun illuminated the dark clouds in the sky. At least there was finally silence throughout the house. However, this silence only lasted a few minutes and the young kid from the neighboring apartment screamed at his screen again. I had had enough, threw myself into my jogging suit, and angrily left my dirty hut. With my fists I pounded on the door of the apartment. After what seemed like endless minutes I heard a key and the door opened. Before me stood a woman in her early forties with greasy reddish-brown hair, a cigarette between her lips, and she asked, "What's going on?"

"If the brat doesn't shut up soon, Schulz will be happy," I shouted at her. "Look at your damn little pig, it's half past five in the morning. I'll throw his damned console out of the window and he'll fly after it! Is that clear?" As a response I only got a tired, "I'll take care of it," and with a bang the door slammed shut in front of me again. With angry steps I went back to my apartment and slammed the door behind me. At least it was quiet for a while. I could still hear the kid complaining, but he was clearly quieter than before. By seven o'clock he was completely silent because he had to go to school with his sister. He came back in the afternoon and only a few minutes later started screaming again. This whole action I had to repeat several times until he finally got it.

Weeks later I met them in the staircase when I wanted to go shopping in the supermarket in the afternoon, and they were coming home from school. Since I always dealt only with his mother, who was more than wordy, I took the opportunity and confronted the boy personally. His older sister stood helplessly next to him as I grabbed Jonas. At least I now knew the names of both. Her name was Nina and she was fifteen years old, and her brother Jonas had just turned fourteen. I blocked the kid's way and said to him, "Listen, Jonas, I don't want to participate in your damned games or know which crazy person you've just shot into your head. If you have to comment, it can be done quietly. Especially at night when you should actually be in your ass hole, I don't want to hear that. You don't even hear me when I'm under the shower torturing a cat that's not there with my voice."

His answer was, "Calm down, you skeleton! The slut behind me also constantly tells the same nonsense and the old one still complains about me as well."

Both pushed past me and disappeared up the stairs. Obviously, the whole family were the last scum and apparently didn't want to be any better. At least I was lucky and they only lived next to me for about two weeks. On a Friday afternoon the hell in the staircase was unleashed again, and the three flatheads dragged the entire furnishings onto the street. They had no helpers because nobody from the building wanted anything to do with them. Fortunately, after that I had a week of peace next door and nobody commented on any more war games.

At the beginning of the next month the whole commotion started again. A mother and her son moved into the apartment next door who didn't have a console and weren't loud either. I even helped them a bit to carry some things into their apartment, although I couldn't really exert much strength. But there wasn't much on me that could generate strength. Due to drugs my body was exhausted and I also didn't really get much to eat. Most of the time I was completely broke by mid-month and couldn't afford much food anymore. For this reason, I got along much better with my new neighbor. The two were quiet and also slept in the night.

Only Sandra's expression disturbed me. Sometimes she sat completely still with un-moving brown eyes in front of me on her sofa and looked at me strangely. I didn't know why, but it didn't really play a big role between us. I got along well with her and because she lived with her son, she also received child support. They had a bit more money per month than me and sometimes we all sat together at her table and had wonderful conversations. Her son Mario was an active young man and we laughed a lot during our shared meals.

Aged-wise we didn't really differ much either. Sandra was only 37 and Mario was born when she was just eighteen. I, now 19, was still significantly younger, but that didn't bother us much. I had already experienced too much in my life and Sandra thought it was a good idea to let me tell her about my time as a drug addict. As a warning example for her son who went to school in a social hotspot in the city and had to resist temptation almost every day not to touch the stuff. At 15 years old, he was just two years older than I was when I got on this crooked track.

Unfortunately, after sunshine came rain again. In my case in the form of an empty bank account that always showed red numbers exactly at mid-month. I had never really learned to handle money. If I had any, it went for drugs and if there wasn't any, I earned some through illegal activities. But I couldn't afford that anymore in this situation. However, I was given a saving angel in the form of Sandra who always kept a little extra money which she could lend me. Unlike me, she also received more from the authority and was used to the merciless savings dictate. However, the lack of payment also constantly caused tensions between us.

As a single mother, she was largely exempt from the regulations of the authority. I, however, was continuously forced to spend my already slim money on applications for training. The rejections piled up in my apartment and the documents never came back. Responses usually only came in the form of normal letters whose wording I could recite in my sleep. They were happy that I was stupid enough to write an application, but lamented that they couldn't offer me an apprenticeship because the quota had unfortunately been exhausted. That was a polite way of saying "What are we going to do with a criminal in our branch who can only steal and rob."

I felt like I had already written to every available company in Bremen and constantly received rejections. I also presented the collected works to the authority, which came up with ever new stupid ideas. I should take on a one euro job. That was especially kind of mass punishment. You worked 40 hours a week in some institution for an hourly wage of one euro. This money you could then additionally keep at the end of the month. For the authority it had the advantage that you were calculated out of the statistics. You were employed, worked hard for almost no salary and couldn't complain. Previously it was once said that forced labor was forbidden. In the modern Federal Republic, however, it seemed to be a panacea. The main thing was that you could nicely calculate the statistics and distribute millions of workers as cheapest wage slaves.

I should visit an authority measure. Allegedly at the city sanitation, to collect garbage from public parks and take it for recycling. These poor wretches I had already seen with their yellow vests walking through the parks and collecting small paper scraps with such a comical clipper. I couldn't refuse this task because otherwise I would have been completely without money and also lose my apartment. I saw the guys in their yellow vests when they set off in the mornings, but my task consisted of separating whole containers of trash with a shovel.

I, a small woman with 42 kilograms evenly distributed over 165 cm body height, was supposed to separate mountainous piles of garbage with a large shovel and sort them. Every day for a full eight hours, only interrupted by a short lunch break of 30 minutes. You didn't need to be a genius to see that something like this couldn't work. After an hour and a half I was completely exhausted and additionally powerless. I could hardly stand on my legs anymore, but no understanding showed. That was my job and I had to carry it through for a whole year. Already after one day I couldn't even raise my arms to shoulder height and I complained about my suffering in the evening completely finished to my neighbor Sandra.

She just shook her head and caught me the next morning in the staircase. Instead of going to work, she took me to a doctor who issued me a sick leave certificate after a short examination. I had two weeks of rest from this nonsense. The aunt at the authority was naturally very enthusiastic, but that didn't matter either. I was sick and thus also did not appear in the statistics as unemployed. Mission successfully completed. Naturally, the money for those two weeks also didn't come. From the originally intended €80 I only got a total of €8 for one day's work. But this misery should continue for an entire year. Help from either the authority or the city sanitation was not to be expected.