IV
Everyday I walk the same route underground along with thousands of people from Central Station, stop Bijlmer suburb. Once removed from the metro I enter between the tower blocks of the corporations with the stained glass mirror cutting the lawns kept with care. After the blue Ikea building within the gray in the NCR. I put the badge in recognition of gimmick, the automatic door opens, the goalkeeper ignores me, I take the elevator, short corridor, another door magnetic card in another gimmick, until arrival in a room as large as a football field in which round tables are located divided by country, each with six operators.
walk between the employee accompanied by a buzz which converge incomprehensible dialects of the world. I reach the Italian position, I wave my colleagues, I sit down on the chair, turn on the computer, wearing headphones, and I begin to answer stupid questions, the most idiotic that they can think of.
For eight hours, five times a week, so it consumes my life. I'm young, but I feel that the time in here breaks up into sand that will not build any castle.
mesh was hard this time. Think I could easily bear the commitment to the call center after the experience to Telecom, but instead it was to deny me knowledge of all possible enthusiasm. Also my new colleagues were crazy. Imbalances. During working hours employed by a perseverance and tenacity hair-raising. Automated remained in place for several hours with eyes glued to the screen as if that was the only purpose of life. And presumably it was. That was me wrong, I still find myself there without mania or future. Observe the pet team manager finally shattered the last shred of my communist dream. They asked for a promotion called for the advance in the hierarchy, to become someone, and honestly, I understood their desire to get involved in the vicious circle of capitalism, in which you are appreciated only by doing something more than the others, but without wanting quell'integerrimo sense of having murdered the right to strike, 36ore condemned to death, hanged the minimum wage. So devoted to work, these young disciples were the climax of the majority shareholders. And it was not a brood of miraculous. Behind them, an army was ready to replace them with the same force of will, the same impetus. I was disappointed by it all. I did not feel anything to share that system. Yet I myself was part of that mechanism can not be disabled. I felt like a cog. Nothing more. And I had always run the same way as not to seize the engine, and they mine. Like a fucking Matrix, I had the impression that the salary credited to the c / c I like a battery-nourished body!
soon followed that rhythm fool week spun off so quickly lose track of time. Five days a week I listened to millions of words, for most complaints from angry and ignorant people, who on Friday evening seemed to be emerging from a juice extractor. Switch off and I realized that those bastards m'avevano shake the brain. A pap m'avevano tanned. And an entire week of my life had passed without an enormous sense of my place zero in the chest. Those two days of freedom were not enough to clean your brains out by thousands of insults which have been stored reluctantly, that Monday I was with the headphones connected. To appease the tumultuous swirl of rumors that I bounced off the head I would have to spend those two days off in a silent wood lying on the ocean floor, in the bowels of a cave. Or instead of I could complain about looking for another job. But it was not so easy to change now that I had arranged. In fact, I was lucky to find work in a short time, gained independence.
In short, wrapped in the warmth of the heated air, watching the world fall apart over the windows of glass, protected from the weather, away from danger, paradoxically trapped by the same hated my job easy.
accurate even after eight hours that day had gone. To tell, nothing. His colleagues were working overtime. I left the office. I got to the metro. I recognized some people who worked on the third floor. There he came there to greet the train and disappeared in the wagon. Montaigne too. Clouds out the window of parchment escorted us to the central station. It was raining slightly. I gave up the tram em'incamminai walk.
I needed to leave to escape the thoughts away. Amsterdam is the ideal environment to reflect their own whims. The architecture of the buildings blends perfectly with the atmosphere dark and foggy winter. A city
secret, mysterious, this one here.
I avoided the flow of tourists and crossed the Spui district. I walked along a building with a sloping front and taxes on wood colored red. I turned down a side street alone. A bitch asked me in the room. I refused. I walked among the less popular channels to find peace, dispersion, silence. Until I stopped in a cafe. The window was foggy from the heat. I went in and ordered a beer. These talks, read magazines, rolled cigarettes, sipping tea in a hotly much less of what happened in Italy. She does not gesture when talking. Nobody looked in the mirror to give un'aggiustata. No one raised his voice. Nobody seemed to give an account of being in the company of others, here is what I mean. It seemed that they were sitting in the living room to sip tea, slippers and a blanket on her legs, out of sight. They were beautiful to behold, so polite and civil. There remains, however, coldly on their own. Although we were warned in the same room loneliness mount dramatically. At that moment I needed exactly the opposite. I wanted to talk to someone about my health, my fears. But with whom? Then I thought about Penelope, as beautiful as the sun, and figured to get lost among the channels thrilled with his smile, the nose pointed at the buildings tilted, wide-eyed, happy pedaling a bicycle. I thought back to when we made love, caresses under the blankets in winter, tickling, laughter, and the happy days of our beautiful love story. The memory of Penelope came to grieve at all. Jesus, as I was inconsolable!
Scolai beer and I took another. The euphoria that had accompanied me that first period had disappeared, giving way to a deep concern without roots. Change country was not served. I worked again in a call center without any desire to do so and worst thing I did not know how to improve things. Before starting a project from Castellammare had more or less defined: find my way to be happy. Now, with his eyes glued to the ice clouds I thought, from the depths of my soul: "What the fuck am I doing here?"
grabbed his coat. I paid the bill. I left the bar and got lost among the city's lonely and unknown channels. Meanwhile, the light rain was coming down like ashes.
0 comments:
Post a Comment