Tagebuch: Keine Panick!

Dear Diary,

Owning my own car, I rarely use public transportation! So it was at the age of 20 when I took the train for the first time in my life, traveling to Salzburg at 19:00 of a Friday evening.

Now, for all of you experienced travelers, this may seem like a simple undertaking. Not for me! Arriving at the Westbahnhof with plenty of time to spare, I stared up at the signs, looking for the next train that was heading to my destination. There it was, track 9. I held the large heavy glass bowl under my arm, a present I had bought for my mother’s birthday, while people rushed by, their shoulders colliding with mine. I angled sideways, fearing for the bowl, and headed for the track.

My wool hat began to itch. I reached up to the back of my head with a free hand to scratch and then pulled my skiing luggage to the platform. What a lot of work. I wasn’t used to this. With a car, you just toss it in the back…

As I arrived at Platform 9, panting, I froze in horror. My train was pulling away! But I was sure I had left plenty of time. I pulled out my ticket, and felt sick. 17:00, it said, and Thursday, not Friday. Not only the wrong time, but also the wrong day! I hadn’t even checked. Desperate, I made a run for the last car already disappearing down the platform, the bulky bowl almost slipping from under my arms. It was useless. I plopped my luggage down and sat on the ground, my head in my hands, feeling like an idiot.

Now what? If I did not arrive in Salzburg on time, I would miss my mother’s birthday party and my parents would be disappointed.

As I sat there miserably, I noticed another train pulling into the platform from the corner of my eye: Another train to Salzburg was leaving in 20 minutes! Reprieve. My face lit up; I grabbed my cumbersome bag and pulled it to the other end of the station. Knowing that my ticket was for a different train, (and a day earlier!), I would have to fake it. Climbing into the car, I found a free cabin, stowed my luggage above me, and plopped myself, exhausted, down on the seat. I shook my head: Never again!

The conductor came by, looked at my ticket, and looked at my expression of frazzled despair… I opened my mouth to explain… but he cut me off.

“Keine Panik,” he said with a gesture of dismissal. No need to panic; the train wasn’t full. I could stay put.

Shutting my eyes I dozed off into a far away land, awaking only as the train pulled in to the Salzburg station.

– Ksenia Kuvaeva

Dear Diary,

I just wanted to tell you never to let Spanntrans move your stuff! When I moved from Berlin to Vienna I found this great offer online from the friendly company called Spanntrans. And they were from Austria; how bad can this be? The whole experience was a total nightmare.

The day we had scheduled the move, I was awakened at 5:52 by several impatient rings of my doorbell. I asked who was there, and immediately complained that nobody told me they would arrive so early. I was informed they had done a job the day before in Switzerland. A disgruntled Alexander Spannring practically yelled at me repeating Es war so ausgemacht! over and over. But nobody told us, and we weren’t even finished packing.

No matter, they would start to bring things down; we should hurry and finish packing the kitchen. Much to our dismay, they brought an early copy of our moving list (not the final copy we emailed them) and came without any cover for our mattress or even a big enough truck. They then proceeded to get totally pissed of at us, and told us it was going to cost more, and they might not even fit everything.

They packed up our things without any special care. Our furniture was thrown together into the back of their truck and soon enough they sped away, complaining I wouldn’t make it to Vienna for another fortnight.

Once I arrived in Vienna, they demanded immediate and full payment, before they would unload any of our things. This came as a surprise, and you can imagine how stuck we felt. After calling everybody we didn’t even know yet in Vienna and asking them to loan us some cash, we began to see our belongings emerge from the Spanntrans van. I was a bit confused as I saw some of the moving men disappear.

I was a bit more confused when Alexander Spannring informed me that the storage unit my things had been placed in was broken into and all my guitars had been stolen (one Gibson acoustic, one Taylor acoustic, and one Ibanez bass), as well us my TV, all my DVDs and CDs and some audio gear. I was told it would be covered by insurance. This too turned out to be simply a lie as Alexander Spannring left us in the dark.

When asked for an explanation in front of a judge in Vienna, he didn’t even bother to show up. The second time, he received a police escort due to his violent history with the law.

In front of the judge he claimed that he told me to call the storage unit and file a claim with them. Apparently he gave me their number. He hadn’t.

In the end, he walked away. And somewhere he’s still out there, up to his old tricks. Beware of Alexander Spannring and Spanntrans.

– Philipp Conrad