agent n reports
Recently Daniela reported on the new protected zone ('Schutzzone') that has been defined around two schools in Vienna's fourth district as a means allowing the police to expel junkies, drug dealers and actually anyone they don't like from the nearby Resselpark and metro station, which are infamous for being favorite places for said individuals to meet and hang out. (The area is commonly referred to as 'Karlsplatz', the name of the place in front of the nearby church and also the metro station.) Upon reading this, Philipp bet that if she showed up there, she would be promptly evicted, implying that she looks like a junkie. It was to be expected that she'd venture out to prove him wrong.
Philipp came along to observe and I offered my services as an objective witness and photographer. I was instructed via SMS to look for a "woman with a silly grey cap, a bag and a black winter jacket ... but a long one". The last part of the message turned out to be essential, as I nearly homed in on the wrong mark. (By the way, Daniela, your cap doesn't look silly at all.)
One thing you'll quickly discern about the local drug scene as a visitor to the area is that there isn't anything much to discern at all. The fellows who know how not to get caught are virtually invisible to the unsuspecting passerby. Those who do get caught are comprised of dealers, who aren't going to be back in the Resselpark anytime soon, and junkies, who are put on a substitute drug programme. The substitute drug (nicknamed 'substi') is just as addictive as heroin, but can be taken orally and doesn't make you high at all. It also suppresses the effects of the real opioid. Naturally, a good deal of patients doesn't swallow the stuff, but offers it for sale to idiots who can be convinced it'll do them anything good. This may involve scuffling about the now protected zone and muttering 'substi', seemingly to oneself, so as to avoid chatting up undercover coppers.
This works well enough when the weather is nice and the park is crowded with jobless scallywags, eg students from the nearby technical university. This, however, is definitely not the case int he middle of February. If there's anything clever about the introduction of the Schutzzone, it has to be the date. In the fiendish cold, the park is totally devoid of people, so no one will immediately notice any difference and acclimatise slowly. When we showed up there, the park mocked us. It greeted us with dismissive, sneering grins. No, really. As park benches could be abused as camp places by bums, the Resselpark is equipped with dozens of metal seats with armrests. And the back of every single one of them sported a smiley face made of snow. Must have something to do with vibrations caused by the wind passing through the perforated metal sheets. Or maybe a garden gnome with too much spare time.
No sign of any designated zone though. Later we found out that some of the sneering seats serve as delineation of the same. Our original plan had been to leave Daniela hanging out somewhere suspiciously alone and see if anyone asks her to leave, but given the situation it was clear that this wouldn't happen anytime soon. Consequentially, the bet was declared decided; she'll get a bottle of vodka. (If you have any trouble finishing it on your own, I'd gladly help.) And if the police wouldn't come to us, we'd go to the police. Conveniently, there's a police station inside the metro station. An announcement about the Schutzzone is posted there, written in Vienna's finest Beamtendeutsch (magistrate jargon). After we marveled at the in-depth description of the zone's border (Phil posted it over there) and couldn't really make much of it, three police officers happened to come along; Daniela asked them for an explanation and they were really nice and helpful.
We learned that inside the station's expansive tunnel system, the zone ends at a fast food place with piss-yellow fountains for a logo.
Outside, the border runs through landmarks such as these flower troughs.
Appropriately enough, they didn't contain any flowers, just snow. It hasn't been our day.
Philipp came along to observe and I offered my services as an objective witness and photographer. I was instructed via SMS to look for a "woman with a silly grey cap, a bag and a black winter jacket ... but a long one". The last part of the message turned out to be essential, as I nearly homed in on the wrong mark. (By the way, Daniela, your cap doesn't look silly at all.)
One thing you'll quickly discern about the local drug scene as a visitor to the area is that there isn't anything much to discern at all. The fellows who know how not to get caught are virtually invisible to the unsuspecting passerby. Those who do get caught are comprised of dealers, who aren't going to be back in the Resselpark anytime soon, and junkies, who are put on a substitute drug programme. The substitute drug (nicknamed 'substi') is just as addictive as heroin, but can be taken orally and doesn't make you high at all. It also suppresses the effects of the real opioid. Naturally, a good deal of patients doesn't swallow the stuff, but offers it for sale to idiots who can be convinced it'll do them anything good. This may involve scuffling about the now protected zone and muttering 'substi', seemingly to oneself, so as to avoid chatting up undercover coppers.
This works well enough when the weather is nice and the park is crowded with jobless scallywags, eg students from the nearby technical university. This, however, is definitely not the case int he middle of February. If there's anything clever about the introduction of the Schutzzone, it has to be the date. In the fiendish cold, the park is totally devoid of people, so no one will immediately notice any difference and acclimatise slowly. When we showed up there, the park mocked us. It greeted us with dismissive, sneering grins. No, really. As park benches could be abused as camp places by bums, the Resselpark is equipped with dozens of metal seats with armrests. And the back of every single one of them sported a smiley face made of snow. Must have something to do with vibrations caused by the wind passing through the perforated metal sheets. Or maybe a garden gnome with too much spare time.
No sign of any designated zone though. Later we found out that some of the sneering seats serve as delineation of the same. Our original plan had been to leave Daniela hanging out somewhere suspiciously alone and see if anyone asks her to leave, but given the situation it was clear that this wouldn't happen anytime soon. Consequentially, the bet was declared decided; she'll get a bottle of vodka. (If you have any trouble finishing it on your own, I'd gladly help.) And if the police wouldn't come to us, we'd go to the police. Conveniently, there's a police station inside the metro station. An announcement about the Schutzzone is posted there, written in Vienna's finest Beamtendeutsch (magistrate jargon). After we marveled at the in-depth description of the zone's border (Phil posted it over there) and couldn't really make much of it, three police officers happened to come along; Daniela asked them for an explanation and they were really nice and helpful.
We learned that inside the station's expansive tunnel system, the zone ends at a fast food place with piss-yellow fountains for a logo.
Outside, the border runs through landmarks such as these flower troughs.
Appropriately enough, they didn't contain any flowers, just snow. It hasn't been our day.
nex - Feb 22, 00:17
