Why do people haunt other people

Spitting people : That'll keep the spit away

Watch out, it's going to be gross. You can stop reading. But I have to experience it - on the street, in broad daylight, everywhere. I feel sick just looking at it, when the sound comes along, I choke. Sometimes I can't eat for hours afterwards. I feel attacked and dirty. It is total strangers who do this to me: exclusively men. They spit in front of my eyes, ears and feet, and those of numerous other women and children.

What, please, is a dog poop that is outrageous everywhere, the generally well maneuverable urge of the German favorite pet, against the sudden, slimy expectoration of a strange man? Then someone confronts me with body fluid against my will, suddenly, violently, disrespectfully.

In the Cologne city code, the act is recognized as a pollution of public space and can be fined 50 euros (Berlin would be rich overnight!). In Mumbai, the act is considered hazardous to health because, for example, tuberculosis is spread through droplet infection. In New York City they try it with humor: “No free paternity tests here,” clear up speech bubbles that are stuck next to the saliva stains.

Nobody does anything in Berlin

Nobody does anything in Berlin. But someone has to stand up to these idiots. Only in a figurative sense, of course, yuck. How many times have I taken a breath and remained silent. Out of fear. Anyone who spits openly in the presence of women can be trusted to do anything. A test of courage: to speak to everyone I catch.

The one there, tall, plump, would-be bouncer type, so of all people should be the first. "Excuse me (why do I apologize?), Do you realize how gross that is?" My heart is pounding. He keeps going. "Plugs in the ear," says an elderly lady next to me.

A conversation develops about the brutality of morals, which a gentleman in an ironed plaid shirt joins. Would we even know where it all came from? The bravest warriors had enough spit shortly before the battle to spit it out, unlike the fearful rabbits, who got their mouth dry from nervousness.

I stayed away from spit

The young man at the bus stop doesn't look like a warrior at all. A slim boy, maybe 19, pale, sweatpants. "That's disgusting, you don't do that, nobody taught you manners?" I ask. "Do you want a piece of bread with it?" He replies calmly. The spit stays away from me.

A grim-looking southerner of advanced age silently shows me the middle finger. A fat German around 40 says: "Better take care of the refugees!", Context unclear. And again it's an 18-year-old at the most who reacts particularly outrageously: "There's no handkerchief with you at the moment, mom, but if you give me your scarf, I'll wipe it off."

The next time I won't let myself be dealt with like that, yes, there is such a pale, lanky youngster again, spitting on the middle of the sidewalk.

I bark at him. He looks up, tormented. Mumbles something about apology and orthodontist and impression with crumbly, bitter paste. In fact, there is a buckle box hanging around his neck. He has tears in his eyes.

Could he give his mother a quick call from my cell phone to have her pick him up? His battery is empty. Of course he may. The poor. It was always like that for me.

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