Excerpts From My Life in Communist Poland

“Stay in line until noon.  Then I’ll be back and take over,” my mother said to me.  I looked at my watch.  It was seven in the morning.  It was cold.  My nose was running a little and I made a loud sniffle, both to get rid of the itchy water about to come out and to show my disapproval of the situation.  “Irek,” and here she lightly grabbed me by my shoulder, “Don’t give me any fuss.”  My breath formed a thick little vapor as I said, “Yes, mom.”  She gave me a quick smile and then left.

I looked at the line.  There were at least fifty people ahead of me.  I rubbed my hands together to warm them up and then I stuck them inside the pockets of my jacket.  I tried counting all the people in whispers but lost count due to my short attention span.  For a moment I wished they all died of heart attacks.

The store was open but there was nothing in it.  It was a bread store without bread.  Only the scent of flour remained from the previous day.  The chubby saleswoman walked slowly around the store looking for something to do.  She moved empty baskets from one place to another.  She was so chubby I thought that perhaps she ate all the bread.  The boredom set in and I tried hard to escape it.  I shifted weight from one leg to another as I waited for the delivery of fresh bread.

The people around me engaged in casual talk.  “My car broke down last night.  Me and my wife had to push it all the way back home,” said one man.  “What kind of a car do you have?” asked another.  “Oh, you know, it’s a Trabant.”  “Yes, yes, they brake all the time.”  Instantly, I imagined a Trabant.  And then I heard one passing by.  It had this very distinctive sound of its engine, if the thing under the hood could be called an engine at all.  A white cloud caused by the presence of oil in gasoline followed the plastic automobile.  The car was long gone but the cloud stayed there for a solid thirty seconds.