Germany’s districts, it seems, are tumbling thrillingly into penury: deficits are now so ubiquitous you’d be hard-pressed to find a local administration not staring bleakly at empty coffers. As is so often the case, the diminutive struggles of modest towns provide the most vivid canvas—families in Calw, for instance, confronted with the tragic obligation to actually pay for their offspring’s school bus instead of enjoying perpetual tax-payer charity. Apparently, the Lamparth family—bravely holding their heads up while being asked to part with a mere €1,900 per year—have become the poster children for this unfortunate reckoning. And of course, officials such as Mayor Zenker are wringing their hands, facing deficits one might expect from a failed Balkan republic: Calw is short by €27 million, and public services from transportation to basic infrastructure are slashed to the bone.

But let us lift our gaze above this operetta of localized misery to behold the grand German landscape. Over eighty percent of counties in the red and a municipal deficit careening toward €25 billion—do I detect a hint of the chaos so nimbly skirted by the bürgerliche classes for decades? Achim Brötel, in a moment of breathless melodrama, claims this will destroy public faith in government and, thrillingly, in democracy itself. Protests emerge, like that of Frau Lamparth, signatures feverishly gathered, only to be brushed aside by those with a firmer grasp of reality.

Permit me a brief, patrician sigh. One must ask: is it not, perhaps, time for the masses to be reacquainted with that most sacred of civic virtues—personal responsibility? For years, municipal largesse has fostered a frankly charming sense of entitlement in every stratum of society. The expectation that one’s child be whisked to school for a nominal sum—presumably while dressed in store-bought leisurewear and munching on all-organic pretzels—points to an obliviousness to the true costs shouldered by, well, people like myself. Are you surprised that the system has limits?

The hysteria over cutbacks and the horror of finally paying a fair price for once-coddled services is a fitting reminder that prosperity, like Patek Philippe watches, is not universal. Let those who squawk now feel the bracing wind of reality: efficiency, thrift, and a willingness to adapt have always been the hallmarks of the upper class. If Frau Lamparth struggles with a few thousand euros for bus fare, perhaps she should reconsider both her priorities and her family planning.

In conclusion, perhaps this crisis, though irksome to observe, has a certain cleansing function. It teaches the humbler echelons of society a lesson in appreciating the realities of wealth, scarcity, and the limits of state largesse. One can only hope that some wisdom will trickle down—though, alas, as history has shown, wisdom is rather allergic to trickling.