Me as a member of city assembly, of društveno-političko veće (social-political chamber) aka du-pe veće ("dupe" being a butt), a sitting, one among the not-too-many in the coming year or two. I was elected on the list of SSOJ, of all things, as they didn't have anyone younger and still somewhat known. So perhaps my 2000 students and perhaps a hundred people from DBA customers' offices knew me and I got elected.
Not that it mattered any. The sittings were extremely boring, and while not quite staged and prepared, the very selection of issues that will be on the agenda made it so. The language in the materials we were getting was fugly, an incogruent mix of the late 80s self-management newspeak (renamed to PC later). One could voice some dissent but would never get enough support to sway the final decision, and we pretty much didn't decide anything important.
Some time at half term (of theoretical 4 years) I simply stopped attending. There was no point.
Among the customers of DBA was one workshop repairing office gadgets. Their chief was the legendary Đ. Ž., precise mechanic. According to the story which was often retold (mostly by Carp, he worked there before), the guy got a phone call from a customer complaining about the repair
- I'm telling you, maam, the thing passed through my hands, it must work! There's nothing else at this point but the power cable, it's not properly plugged in and the machine has no power. Just check the cable...
...and kept repeating that a few more times. Finally the customer gets an opening to say
- What cable are you talking about, this is a mechanical typewriter!