I suppose it's not worth writing that each of my delusions turned into practical experience multiplied by negative one. Literally two weeks later, I was ready to agree to any apartment whose wall color wouldn't cause fits of misanthropy. I also forgot about convenient location; the main criterion became the immediate presence of a subway, even if it was the last station on the longest line.
In short, moral fatigue greatly prevented me from looking at things with humor. And the wrinkled shirts I took out of my backpack reminded me strongly that even if I bought a closet, there would be nowhere to put it… It was in this mood that I stumbled upon an interesting website that promised me a quick, comfortable, balcony-equipped, Wi-Fi and big TV deliverance from all my torments. It also had a lot of educational stuff: jobs, ads, rental offers…
The first few ads were read with great surprise, which turned into euphoria. I had never seen so many beautiful, cozy, cheap apartments anywhere! Despite some ads having errors and some containing rather strange wording, I enthusiastically wrote letters to the landlords, looked at photos, and even imagined what curtains I would buy for the kitchen.
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Many of these ads, in addition to the apartment description, also had surprisingly exhaustive descriptions of the landlords. People talked about their religiosity, shared terrible stories of family tragedies, described the charitable activities they engaged in. I even felt ashamed for some reason. And of course, each apartment looked like a virtuously executed miniature copy of paradise. The descriptions included some even excessive amenities: kitchens equipped with appliances, unlimited Internet… In short, that was the first day in Germany when I fell asleep peacefully.
The next morning brought many positive responses. Surprisingly, almost all the places I was interested in turned out to be available, and their owners were ready to move me in literally "the day after tomorrow." One thing was confusing: all the apartment owners had left Berlin. They served in NATO forces, performed heart surgeries on children in Bangladesh, put out fires in Iran, and worked on farms in Ohio. In short, they were all incredibly wonderful people with equally wonderful apartments, but... these apartments were closed to me. The house could only be viewed from the outside (otherwise trust the sent photos), then sign a contract and send the required amount via Western Union. Only after that could I get the keys.
The feeling that several people were trying to deceive me is not pleasant. But it interestingly stimulates cunning and a desire to get to know the scammers and their methods better. So I continued communicating in their usual style—a slightly stupid, agreeable tourist. First, I composed a long and heartrending story about myself and a list of convincing recommendations from other apartment owners who had rented to me. This letter was met, literally, with radiance. People were proud that such an amazing person as I would live in their modest apartments. If I hadn't known all the sad stories (which were abundant on the Internet), I would have been deeply moved, promised eternal friendship, and wet cleaning of all rooms three times a week.
But after all the tenderness, specifics followed. I had to fill out a special form and attach a scan of my passport. I really didn't want to share my documents. So I filled out the application with outright lies. Only my honest name remained true. And I simply "forgot" to attach my passport to the letter.
But no one paid any attention. The people in "Iran, Ohio, and Bangladesh" were waiting for me to do the most important thing—send them money. They didn't even notice the blatant nonsense in the form (I wrote that I was born in 1897, in the "profession" field I put vampire and witch hunting, and chose as my homeland the city of Singapore in the Duchy of Luxembourg). That was even a little disappointing. The greedy scammers were losing their touch, and that deprived me of exactly half the pleasure. After all, now I had to deal not with subtle manipulators but with ordinary pickpockets who found a virtual way to get into my pocket.
Then I started being capricious: suddenly declared that I was afraid of being cheated, wrote long letters about loneliness and that there would be no one to help me in trouble. In short, I tried to diversify our communication as much as possible. In response, I received lengthy assurances that this is how "things are done in Germany," I just needed to trust the system, the system would not let me down.
I spent two weeks on such correspondence. I tried to provoke the scammers into any statements, frankness, insults, in the end. But with each new day, with each new question, only the number of emails they sent back increased. And in each of them there was a farewell and pleasant: "All you need to do is send the money. And in two days you will be living in the apartment." And one married couple, Shandelle and Abraham Berg, even moved to outright bribery. They promised me one month of free rent if I paid three months in advance along with the deposit. In total, I needed to send only 1000 euros(!)... somewhere to England, although according to the story, the family had moved to Alabama. By the way, their number was also suspicious, with code 213 (Algeria). But is it worth paying attention to such trifles? By the way, this wonderful family showed an amazing lack of preparedness for fraud. They wanted to rent me an apartment in a building where there were no apartments at all, only offices.
What particularly delighted me in this whole situation was the opportunity to have a good laugh. I had never seen such amusing apartment rental agreements. They were all drafted, in general, according to the rules, but at the same time had a disconcerting design. One agreement even had a photo of the lawyer who drafted it attached. The lawyer was very real, nothing unusual, in a black robe and white wig. And in another document I found an intriguing clause. It was simply called 'DEATH'. To put it briefly, the content was that I would have to pay rent even after my own death (if I did not manage to terminate the contract within 30 days).
But no matter how amusing and fun it was, I still had to end the correspondence. I apologized to my 'interlocutors' and explained why I was not interested in further communication. There was no response.
Now I am gathering all the papers (letters, documents that were sent to me) to take them to the police. I don't know if this will help other people looking for an apartment, protect them from scammers, but I want to believe that I did everything I could.