My first van

Conductor: “Alli Billett, please!”

Damn. Now it’s happening.

And it’s so wrong.

Every time I hear that phrase I get nervous, even if I have a card. Only today I really don’t have one. I just forgot. It was not as conscious a decision as before, as a not so liquid student who sometimes preferred to pay for beer rather than Drämmli. Of course you can also steal it, but such petty crimes are even further in the past.

The legendary teenage thefts with Karin…
Oh, Karin, you clever life artist, how you kicked us out every time we were caught wearing five lace bras on top of each other!

At a time when people still listened and were convinced by a good story.

At a time when the goods were not yet properly secured and our breasts did not yet fit in the stolen cups.

Well, they have long since grown out of that, or rather, grown down. And Karin is gone.

Karin, how I needed you now! You would have known how to talk your way out of this situation. You’ve probably never bought a ticket in your entire life. You don’t need anything like that.
You have your quick wit, your mischief, your cunning.
Karin, you most fascinating of all creatures, where are you?

Conductor: “Have you shown your ticket yet?”

No, but I can show you something else. The sunset, my children, a… penis?

Typical. If you ever need a penis, you won’t have one. I have nothing to show this woman, who isn’t even wearing a conductor’s uniform. Not a casual saying, not a heart-warming excuse and certainly not a fine.

No, but would you like to see my sweaty forehead instead? You are also welcome to touch it, it is a cold sweat, a sweat of fear. It’s everywhere, all over my skin, making it harder for you to catch me if I escape. But don’t worry, I’m not running away. I forgot. I stand stock still and sweat guiltily. My heart is pounding out of my chest with excitement. Do you still see it? Do you see how red and violently it beats on my body wall?

I feel like Raskolnikov, the man from Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, cutting open the skull of an old woman. With an axe, for which he specially builds a holder in his jacket, so that he can carry it to her apartment unnoticed. I don’t have an axe. And no holder for it either. I had no intention of traveling without a ticket. And I don’t want to kill anyone either. I still feel comfortable as a criminal. I’m the one who didn’t dare pay for her train fare. The promotion dodger. The rotten apple that threatens to contaminate a hundred healthy apples, turning their red, plump cheeks into brown decay.

I am destruction, annihilation, ruin.

Public Enemy No. 1.

Conductor (very sure): “Hello?! Can you show your ticket now or not?
I (very whispering): “Karin?”
Conductor: “Huh?!”

It’s almost as if my inner Karin has disappeared too. There is no more courage, no youthful courage, no spark of courage. Goodbye daring, hello conformism.

Me: “No, no. I forgot to fix it.”

Relief. Now it’s over.

There were two conductors. And theoretically the other person could have already checked me, hence her question. Silver tray, nothing wrong with it! She basically gave me the excuse and all I had to say was “yes!” Two ridiculous letters! A yes instead of a no.

Why didn’t I just exchange them?

My God, what a world lies between these two short, compact words! 100 Stutz, justice, the cornerstones of a functioning society – or just the SBB?

Why didn’t I lie?

Unfortunately, history has shown that people tend to inquire. Someone would definitely have betrayed me. The most conscientious of them all, who sees it as his civic duty to report my crime. For all the honest people on this train and on all the trains in the country.

But it wasn’t this external betrayal. It was the inside that made me tell the truth.

I had to confess my sin. Clean myself.

How happy was my Catholic soul. And my face first! I’m glad I didn’t have to watch it. This stupid, ready-to-fail face, almost gratefully accepting the parking ticket from this eager woman. A face that screams: “Punish me, punish me!”, as if I were a cheerful flagellant.

«Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you. Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen…”

These Christian roots are annoying. Can someone finally pull it for me? They are the enemy of all artistic embellishments of reality. The death of all escapes and emergency exits. The death of every good story.

Because many gods have become one, there is only one truth. And their many alternatives are all just bad lies. What happened to the good old poetry, the respect for successful inventions, the openness to other worlds, a life on the contrary?

I was an ancient Greek woman, ready for violence, for Ulysses-like tricks, to survive! And now?

The Rothenfluh mix of the categorical imperative!

Mimimi “the liar destroys the community”, mimimi he is “cowardly and worthless”. You, you… Lace!

“Imagine if I could do that!” the conscientious passenger shouted at my lying self after betraying me to the conductor.

The thing is, not everyone does it! Most of them are like me, worn out by the wheel of time, too correct, too guilty, too cowardly, too lazy, too good, too used to it, too old, too rich, I don’t know. Karins, on the other hand, are rare. They are the jugglers, the sorceresses and mythomaniacs of this world! People who know how to turn their hardships into a heroic story.

Not everything is black and white, not even tariff evasion. Let’s walk more in the gray area that plagues our entire lives. Let us occasionally make cunning excuses, skip school, strike out, step out of line, pursue the temptation of the forbidden, go overboard.

Be little Karins.

Release adrenaline and feel the excitement!

Conductor (print the ticket and hand it to me): “Thunder.”
Thank you!”
Pastry chef: “It will be better soon!”
Me: “Don’t ever think about it, thank you very much, have a nice day, goodbye, goodbye and thank you!”