As a result - "thanks" to us! - two mutually exclusive meanings of the same idiom appear in the German language. And the polite "Moment mal, bitte!" ("A minute - and everything will be ready!"), customary in German mouths, is transformed into a decisive "Moment mal!", accompanied by a decisive gesture of the hand. A gesture reminiscent of the prohibitive wave of the striped baton of a Soviet traffic cop. I will try to choose for some newcomers to "Unna" another and more adequate meaning of what seems to be the same little phrase: "Stop where you sit, brother, and don't move!" Considering the meticulousness of our German friends, catch the nuances of the translation: in the first case, they will indeed fix all your simple papers in the blink of an eye; in the second, the official may simply act "according to the rules" - go to drink coffee at the appointed time, turning your "moment" into "one hundred years of solitude."
In general, when dealing with paperwork, you should not rush in "Unna" but rather take your time, getting used to the measured German way of life. And if you constantly keep in your mind's eye the not entirely official and completely indecent domestic road sign "Keep your distance!", you can count on reciprocal German politeness and courtesy.
On the principle of Crocodile Gena, or If you don't have neighbors...
My notes about "Unna" are purely subjective. It cannot be otherwise: if you came to the camp, say, from the barracks of Central Asia, and arrived on a bus that kept threatening to lose its wheels along the way; if you consider life in a tent the proverbial paradise in a shack - you will have one set of impressions about the comfort of local life. If you happened to arrive here directly from a metropolitan apartment furnished with modern appliances and fashionable plumbing, and not just anyhow, but by plane, where the stewardess, frozen in her white-toothed smile, kept plying you with whiskey and nuts - you are a priori destined for completely different memories.
For those who have yet to visit here, I would advise putting our newspaper aside for a while and going to the Internet forum at www.vorota.de for unbiased information. And for the rest, I will continue...
Of course, the local living quarters, mostly built back in the 1950s, do not quite meet the notions of comfort of the 21st century. But one should not forget that you are only in a temporary camp. It is easiest for those who follow the principle of Crocodile Gena: "The best, of course, is ahead!"
True, some of our former compatriots manage to carry even this fine principle to the point of absurdity: since everything is temporary and not mine, then... Well, in general, you get the idea. And for greater clarity, I will give two examples, immediately asking the reader's forgiveness for a certain physiological nature of the description of daily life.
While you live in the block in proud solitude, while no neighbors have appeared in the next room, in "Unna-Massen" you can quite console yourself with the not-at-all vulgar proverb that "poverty is not a vice" and repeat to yourself: "We are modest, but clean." But as soon as adherents of the French "Sun King" settle next to you, literally following his motto "After us, the deluge," life turns into the familiar (for some) communal hell (or paradise, if you will).
"Dear guests! Bitte, don't pee on the toilet seat!"
This is exactly the "deluge" that our neighbors managed to create in the bathroom almost every day. Since I was the only one among everyone around who spoke German more or less decently, I had to constantly explain myself to the local communal services. The question that first the building manager and then the German workers asked me almost once a day, frankly, tired me out. And it sounded like this: "Why is it customary in your country to clog toilets with tampons?" At that, note, our German friends were not mocking at all, but were genuinely perplexed: a) why the ill-fated pads clog the drain, b) and in general, where do so many of them come from?
Regarding point "a", I dared to ask our female neighbors with the utmost politeness, motivating my interest by my unwillingness to have further explanations of this kind with the Germans. And I received a naive answer from the "children of nature": "But we have always done this and will continue to do so!" No arguments had any effect on them.
What to do? I found the only way out, and, as practice showed, the right one. After another round of explanations with the German plumbers, I angrily wrote in terrible Russian "Rules of conduct in the toilet", in which I stated all my wishes and complaints, and stuck it to the cistern with tape. The rules read: "Dear guests! Bitte, don't pee on the toilet seat, flush after yourself. For tampons you must use a special trash bucket. In case of non-compliance with the rules, the Sozialamt, in accordance with paragraph 8, will deduct 20% of Leistungen. Frau Knippe".
And what do you think? The neighbors very quickly heeded the appeal of the nonexistent Frau Knippe.
Another successful experience of transformation
Encouraged by my not entirely lawful success, I dealt in a similar way with the local drunkards, who bought beer and vodka at the Massen kiosk and on the way to our house emptied both glass containers, and already under our windows - also their natural containers. This happened every time for some reason in the midnight hours, so that the rare Germans who happened to witness this touching scene, at best passed by (were they used to such behavior from "guests"?), and at worst shied away and crossed to the other side of the street. The attempt by the "upper" neighbors to kindly admonish the lovers of the "yorsh" and of relieving themselves in the bosom of mother nature led to nothing, so I had to resort to the already tested "German variant".
Once again hearing the midnight gurgling sounds, I dressed up in the best I had and, putting on my face an arrogant "burgher" expression, attacked the serene "naturalists". To achieve the desired effect - that is, the flight of drunks from the traditional meeting place - it turned out to be enough to convincingly shout something like "Scheisskerle", "Schweine", "Sozialamt" and "nicht trinken und nicht pissen".
No more carousing under our windows. Moreover, the "alconauts" stopped appearing even at the kiosk, which led to another pleasant consequence. If the first time the proprietress, having recognized that your humble servant was not from these parts, silently placed on the counter a liter can of beer along with a small bottle of Jägermeister and turned away sadly, then later, in the absence of drunken raids, she relaxed and even argued with pleasure with me about the merits of Rhine and Bavarian beer.
Of course, most people passing through the "Unna-Massen" camp do not belong to those rather colorful types I just told you about. But such is human memory: over the long term, it retains only the good; over the short term, it retains "sharp" experiences. As you can see, I simply have no such "sharp" memories of the German camp staff: for the most part, they managed to perform their work with the utmost, if you will, "bureaucratic" skill - remaining as inconspicuous, efficient, and courteous as possible. Eh, if only we could send our domestic officials to "Massen"! To live and, at the same time, learn from their colleagues.