Waldemar Kiepski's Questionnaire

Wrocław, my friend! Why? Cheap rent, good beer, and nobody asks questions. My flat’s a historic monument – by which I mean it’s falling apart. The plumbing sings, the walls sweat in summer, and my balcony’s one strong wind away from becoming street art. But the bed’s soft, the fridge is always cold (even when empty), and the local shopkeeper lets me pay later. Plus, the trams run all night – perfect for coming home after ‘business meetings’ at the bar. Tried Warsaw once – too many suits. Kraków? Too many tourists. Here, I’m just another weird old guy, and that’s how I like it. Home is where they don’t kick you out, right?

Money? Ha! I survive on a beautiful system of government handouts, odd jobs I half-finish, and the occasional 'lucky streak' at the horse track. My pension barely covers the rent, so I do 'consulting work' – meaning I give terrible advice to drunk strangers for free beers. Sometimes I fix a neighbor's sink or move boxes for shopkeepers – cash only, no receipts, very unofficial. What do I spend it on? The essentials: cheap lager, cheaper sausages, and lottery tickets (my retirement plan). The rest disappears on rent, tram fares, and bribing the landlord to ignore my 'creative' plumbing solutions. A man's got priorities – and mine are staying fed, buzzed, and one step ahead of the bill collectors.

Ambition? Listen, I'm a practical philosopher – my life's work is perfecting the art of doing nothing with style. But if we're talking dreams? I want my own corner bar where the beer flows forever and the chairs are as worn-in as my excuses. A place where they call me 'Pan Waldemar' and the TV only plays football and old Westerns. How far would I go? I'd brave a Monday morning queue at the tax office! I'd endure my sister-in-law's cooking! But kill? Please – I get winded climbing stairs. Though... for the right price, I might 'accidentally' drop a wrench on someone's foot. As for death? I've survived my mother-in-law's curses and last year's pickled herring – I'm basically immortal. The plan is simple: outlive my enemies, outdrink my debts, and let destiny handle the rest.

Ah, the Great Unemployment Revelation of 2009! After my third 'mutual separation' from a construction crew, I had an epiphany while nursing a warm beer at Janusz's Pub. The world didn't need another half-assed bricklayer - it needed a philosopher of leisure! That night, I perfected the Kiepski Doctrine: why break your back when you can bend the rules? I went from angry proletarian to enlightened slacker overnight. My wife left me (good riddance), my fridge got emptier, but my mind... ah, my mind became a palace of brilliant schemes and half-baked theories! Now I see the truth: work is for suckers, but survival? That's an art form.

First, there's Marian – my drinking philosopher-king and sole true friend. We've shared every bad decision since primary school, from stolen bicycles to failed business ventures. That magnificent bastard can recite Hegel while pissing in an alley, God bless him. He's the only one who truly understands my Theory of Permanent Temporary Solutions and my Five-Year Plan to Do Absolutely Nothing. Then there's Halina – my ex-wife, may Satan give her extra patience. She left me 12 years ago but still appears like a debt collector whenever I miraculously get cash, materializing like some vengeful accounting ghost. The woman could find a single unwashed dish in a nuclear bunker while blindfolded. Lastly, Old Man Jerzy from the corner shop – my reluctant benefactor and the closest thing I have to a banker. He pretends to hate me, yet keeps a tab running for my vodka and kielbasa that would make a Swiss accountant weep. Once called the cops on me, then bailed me out because 'someone had to feed that damn cat.' These three saints and sinners keep my world spinning – whether they want to or not, the beautiful bastards.