The Story of a Dream in Berlin
I will write this in English because my German is not so good (also tried Veggie yesterday and was sad, but not surprised, that it is closed). I will write this with the experience of having opened—and closed—a different kind of place made with love in Berlin. This is the story:
- The project begins with a lot of love. With a dream to make things better. A willing to sacrifice for something other than ourselves. A will to show everyone and ourselves that it is possible. Why not? It is not so difficult to do (cook, show, smile, serve) something even slightly better than the empty or commercial-industrial sea that saturates our city lives otherwise. We can do it.
We make the sacrifices. Place the bet. Our money, our intelligence, our contacts, our dreams and hopes, all go in bed. But then, the day one goes to the amt to register the business, the nightmare begins.
- First comes the GEMA, and the GMZ. No matter that you have not opened yet. No matter that you have only a little money, but a lot of hope, love and dreams. Our monthly money please. Or we close you down. And please, don’t do anything for love. Love does not exist. Calculate EVERYTHING. Even your insignificant dreams. And then, pay us, and maybe also (become like us!) charge also for it.
- Then comes Finanzamt, ordunsamt, and BMG. They all want a piece of the cake (even though it does not even exist yet). They are hungry. And they smell meat. It is for your own good they say: this is why we exist! (don’t you see? You are also responsible: you also need to feed the beast!).
- Then come all the workers. So spoiled by the German state. Who do not understand that really , money does not grow out of trees, and that their patron is not really God (with endless patience, money and capacity to tolerate all their informality, indifference and careless mistakes). After all they just want to “party”. A generation of “party” boys and girls serves us in the street (but nothing, or little, else).
It ends with the customers, who (with some rare exceptions, like you) prefer foods that looks, feels and tastes industrial. And expect robotic perfection (only possible by employing robot minded people, tacticts and machines). They don’t undestand love. After all we all know: love does not exist (for them! :-).
But they willl never know it. They will never understand. All those people at Gema, GMZ, x-amt. All those ungrateful and disloyal workers, and ungrateful and disloyal patrons of places full of love, will never understand what joy is. It is their lost. Their pity.
My advice: fly off from Berlin. No need to be in a place surrendered to commercial and industrial forces that will kill you before can breathe (and just about any project that, in reality, is for real) Only plastic superficial perfection, they say, please!—it is so safe!, so predictable, can’t you see?
So my advice is don’t bother. Just fly away from Berlin.