We (DBA) had one customer (probably Gargamel, by the smell of the images this story brings) who thought it would be a good deal, the price was good and the goods were certified original, to get a few trucks of american made coke. He did sell some of it, but it still didn't work the way he liked it, so he poured it to anyone who'd come by the office. Last time they offered me some, I replied with "thanks, but I don't work here, so I don't have to".
It's really worse than european, worse than what they make here.
The border got closed for males below age of 55. No mobilization, officially, but just so that you can't legally return if you can't prove you legally left. Not that you'd have broken any law, except exiting in a wrong place. But that's enough if they want to get you. Got confirmation from someone in Sombor (perhaps Ileš), says yes you can get a permission from you-know-whom, but it's for one exit, and that's exactly where you don't want to go, who knows what you may have signed.
Guys all over sezam are telling each other which area of the city is being visited by the guys who come late in the evening to hand you invitation to go to a "military exercise", even if you aren't in the reserve (and more frequently if you are), after which you get shipped to Croatia to "volunteer" in RSK or some such unit. Many of them already have their own schedules, where to sleep on a night like that.
The exchange rate was at 350 din for 1 DEM, on Zeleni Venac (green market in Belgrade). Official rate is long irrelevant.
Lujo Ležajić came by DBA one day, with bandaged hand, to swig a shot of loza, before he goes to the hospital to get that sewn. What happened? Don't ask (bottoms up then), I'll recount the whole thing when I return.
And off he went, and indeed came back a couple of hours later, with a couple of fresh stitches under a new bandage. He nearly separated the thumb from his palm. What happened - as any decent man of the house, he was preparing cabbage to sour it, the sarma doesn't grow on trees. Although he lives in a village, he has an apartment in novogradnja, of which any decent village had a couple of buildings, to house the managerial, engineering, agricultural staff that had to be brought from afar, to have a local development team. His luck was that his was the last one, on 2nd floor (am. 3rd), end of staircase, so the two square meters of the last landing were practically his. There he put up the barrel, chair crates with cabbage heads, and cut out the root stems out of them. He had a real tough steel hunter's knife, as sharp as it gets, and he'd poke a triangle around the root with it, take out the root, fill the hole with salt, lay the head in the barrel, next head. Well there comes the neighbor lady from the other apartment, goood ooneee... (his moustache smiles at that), and his gaze switched to her for a few moments, and his hand made another swing at the same time, missed the root but hit the palm. The surgeons said he was lucky to have such a good knife, the cut was not jagged at all, will heal fine.
We mocked him around this a lot, and he helped us at that, and then also helped himself to more loza. The cabbage event is mentioned in the house dictionary, see under 02-VI-1992..
Been to vineyard with dad and mom, the brandy at home sold out and the winter marathon was coming, needed to bring more to have around the house. The weather was real november one, pure misery, just the Waits' drizzle pressing down. We were just tying the boat to the left bank, where we left the škodilak, and two guys were like fishing five meters downstream. Well you picked the right time, guys... We climbed up the levee, and saw a parked lada with ukraine tags. Mom felt sorry for the guys, she always had a weak spot for the Russians, ever since that red army guy was lodging with them for a few weeks (a ruble with a bullet hole is still preserved, the tozna which was in the pocket behund it saved his life), so when these two guys gave up on fishing and came up to get in the car, she offered them a drink. Of course, why not.
We didn't have any other mug but of 2dl. Dad poured the two deci from a canister, and passed it to the nearer guy, who exed his half, exactly, and passed it the rest to his pal, who exed the rest. Silence. Mom offered another one, yes, can do. The scene repeats, same order of moves, same precision. „Harošaja, spasiba“ [good one, thanks]
Then each to his own car, we've got rained on enough.