Fun and responsibility: Tax office: Already paid?

When the doorbell rang just before Christmas, I was sure it was the Amazon Prime delivery person. As always, I was scantily clad because I was sitting in bed and writing (still not a single column has been written outside of the few soft square meters of my mattress called “Bruno”). I sprinted to the door, hoping my Prime Angel would give me a last-minute gift of things to give away afterwards, and yelled “Secret House” into the intercom. A voice answered me with probably the most shocking message that can be transmitted over an intercom: “Fireich Office Friedrichshain-Kreuzberg, Ms. Hohmann, we have an appointment.”

I almost fainted when caught and immediately called my next appointment to cancel the appointment for the afternoon. Luckily I had a short phone call before the tax office lady made it to the fifth floor. She was wearing a long down coat, glittery eye makeup (like I do when I’m trying to look particularly glamorous), and was carrying a fake leather wallet with handwritten notes inside. She was extremely friendly, sat down at the table, huffing and puffing, and suggested that I give her 250 euros in additional GEZ payment in cash – that would have paid off my debt.

A huge weight fell off my heart because of course I expected it to be a bailiff. Instead, a friendly woman with sparkly makeup sat there, wrote me a handwritten receipt, and commented on the radio news. I couldn’t think of any reason not to give her 250 euros in cash – because I actually listened to the radio every day, if only because I couldn’t stand the images that you have to confront in other media.

My only problem was that I wasn’t sure if I even had 250 euros in the account. I said a silent prayer to God that a bill had been paid in the last 24 hours. Then I put on my shoes and the GEZ woman complimented me on them, which I responded with a compliment on her eye make-up. She counteracted it by informing that glitter was now banned because of microplastics, like straws. She has already created a personal supply. I answered (as always) with the truth: “Me too.”

Then we walked to the Späti next door, we both greeted the Späti seller like an old acquaintance, which was also true. I withdrew 250 euros from the ATM and was happy that the Späti seller would benefit from my 5 euros fees. She said: “I’m known in the neighborhood like a colorful dog.” I said again truthfully: “Me too.” Then I thought of how my friend A. once said: “Watch out for the colorful dog role doesn’t get out of hand.”

Then we caught ourselves both shazaming the song that was playing at the Späti at the same time: “Let’s talk about Sex” by Salt ‘n’ Pepa. The next day the glamorously made-up GEZ woman called me again and said that I had accidentally given her 100 euros too little. I would “save her life” if I took another note from her. I was surprised for a moment, then invited her to come over to my place for a moment. My neighbor across the street (born in 2003) sat at the window and blew his trumpet amateurishly. He called my name, the GEZ woman said: “You’re a colorful dog too.”

It was only when I talked about the GEZ woman’s angelic appearance at dinner the next day that I realized that the “colorful dog” was probably a con artist. I decided to look at it in a Christian way in the spirit of the season: the woman had, in a way, worked hard for her 350 euros.

The next day my friend R. dragged a gigantic pile of hay into my apartment and, thematically, transformed it into a life-sized nativity scene – and us to Mary and Joseph. I thought of how the GEZ woman had stood at the door, like the holy couple at Christmas. My grandmother passionately sang the Bavarian Christmas carol “Who’s Knocking?” in which Mary and Joseph are repeatedly rejected at the door until they finally end up in the manger, with the ox and donkey. Guests came and we had the last supper of the year on hay. We allowed guests to smoke cigarettes, but as a precaution I placed the fire extinguisher next to it that a lover had given me for Christmas a few years ago, just before our fire went out.