Chapter 1: Setting the Scene

In a town shrouded in fog and grime, I felt the weight of my surroundings encroaching upon my spirit. The harsh realities of communist austerity hit me harder than I had anticipated, especially without the support of my father. My circumstances arose from failing my university entrance exams, which led me to accept a state-assigned job at a spinning factory, located about eighty kilometers from my home. It was a path I accepted as my punishment, and life began to slow.

My living situation was cramped, confined to a small room shared with two other young women. This room, once a summer kitchen, was tucked away at the back of a large house. Amenities were scarce; we had only a shared sink for cooking, washing, and bathing. We quickly learned to be resourceful, while the outhouse served as our toilet.

As I sought a meeting with the factory's party secretary to request a ‘redistribution of accommodation’ in hopes of securing a better living space, I quickly grasped the futility of my endeavor. Prioritization for apartments went to those in higher positions, followed by families with children. I recognized that a bribe might improve my chances, but I was uncertain about how much would be necessary. Four months passed, and I was still waiting for my audience.

Of course, acquiring anything required the right connections. Just the previous month, I had mustered the courage to approach my foreman with a different request.

“Could I get some additional shifts?” I asked, desperate to earn more through weekend and night work, which offered better pay.

His response was a blank stare, seemingly taken aback by my boldness. “I’m not sure.”

“But I truly need them. My minimum wage barely covers my rent.”

“Everyone needs them,” he replied dismissively.

I realized I needed the right approach. “I’m going home for the weekend. We have some excellent palinka there.”

Though he pretended not to hear, he instructed, “Come see me when you return.”

That was my first attempt at navigating the world of bribery independently. Two weeks later, after parting with a few liters of palinka, along with some oil, sugar, and flour—items rationed but readily available to my father—I secured additional shifts, including weekends and nights.

As January drew to a close, the weather was surprisingly mild. The snow had melted right after the new year, leaving the roads cloaked in dirty slush. Potholes on both sidewalks and streets became treacherous traps, and during the night, freezing temperatures turned the slush into a slippery layer of ice, giving the town a polished appearance.

I spent one night in an apartment in the industrial district, surrounded by unfamiliar faces. In the cramped living room, twenty-three of us settled onto sofas, armchairs, and the floor. It was a video night, where a black-market dealer showcased films smuggled from the free West for a small fee. These gatherings were a monthly ritual for me, igniting my imagination with the stories we watched. One film set in West Germany left a lasting impression. I marveled at the scene where the hero dashed through heavy rain to his car in pursuit of a villain.

I mentioned the absence of potholes or puddles in those streets, to which one of the guys replied that only pristine streets were used for filming. The sheer number of cars, honking and bustling, depicted a vibrant life that felt foreign to me, especially against the backdrop of fuel rationing in Romania.

I often fantasized about commuting in my own car instead of relying on public transport or slogging through slush. I dreamed of living in a place like Germany, where streets were clean and well-lit, stores were well-stocked, and genuine American jeans were available—not the rough imitations we had to make do with by distressing our Romanian denim in the bathtub with a brick.

Thank you for reading,

Maria

Join Fitness Blender for Day 1 of a 5 Day Challenge focusing on lower body strength training.

Conquer Day 1: Your Daily 5 Launch Plan - a motivational guide to kickstart your journey.