It was my Wednesday at the agency. Everything seemed normal until I found myself running in front of an overweight Italian family. We were trying hard to keep up with a half drunk Irish lady in a red dress.
The south of the island was volcanic that day. Overcrowded with half-naked tourists speaking languages from all corners of the world at over 35 Celsius degrees, I could hardly hear my thoughts, if any. I did not have enough napkins in my pockets to wipe out the sweat I was drowning in and nothing to chill out the burning redness of my cheeks.
When we fast turned left towards an older neighbourhood, the Afro men selling souvenirs winked at me and showed some drugs. As usually, I pretend I haven’t noticed. He didn’t seem to have a problem with that. His experience told the story of persistence. Sooner or later both tourists and residents do give up and try something. All he needed to do was to just be there.
I was neither a tourist or a resident, I was in between.
She was not in the mood of real estating that late morning. Judging her rush, she wanted to get rid of us as fast as possible. Maybe the Italians were the reason, after all. She had enough experience to know they often come with small budgets, want to see everything over their possibilities and eventually buy what they can afford from another agent, most probably Italian.
Anyway, I felt like a punished horse.
From fifty to fifty meters she told us there is less than a minute until our location, and so this journey took half an hour of fitness against our will.
“What is she saying?” the biggest of them asked.
“That’s right after the corner. Just a few more steps.” I replied with a fake smile that always made me look as if something went wrong at my birth.
“I hope it’s worthing!”, the wife replied almost choking.
We finally got there. I was crushed instantly at the realization there will be no sale for me that day and after that day, probably neither that week.
It was the most ugly and dirty complex from the entire resort. We climbed stairs after stairs and crossed through various twisted corridors, just to end up in the same place over and over. She needed about fifteen minutes to remember how to get there, as there was no elevator and the building itself was a maze.
Her old red evening dress reflecting in the green water pool reminded me about the itchy eye of water in the countryside where we used to wallow as children. What kind of childhood this woman had? I wondered. She seemed born pissed off.
After reaching the last floor and walking on an endless corridor, we finally reached the apartment. An old wooden door with a fragile lock was standing proud in front of us.
After arranging her dress and long messy hair a bit, she began to try the keys. One after the other, none of them worked. The door was still there, closed. And we were still there, desperate.
The Italians began to speak louder and louder on their language, as if they had a mass breakdown.
It was enough to give her a brilliant idea.
To throw herself in the door.
The door hit the wall. With our eyes popping out of our boiling heads, we all turned mute.
She arranged her dress and:
“Please, come in! Feel like home!”
We entered in turns, one after another, walking on the top of our toes. We pretended to look around while bumping into each other each time one of us turned around. On fast forward, we went out the same as we got ourselves in.
She closed the door with confidence. The Italians pretended interested and hurried at the same time. They all headed with small fast steps towards the exit, while I remained behind to process what kind of happening was that. Probably also to ask myself once again “What are you really planning to do with your life?”
An unexpected deafening noise scared the shit out of me.
The old door hit the floor.
In slow motion, a thick cloud of dust rose above. The sun rays breaking in hardly through the dirty windows hit me between the eyes making me see a scenario of my nearest future with perfect clarity, scene after scene.
I’ll get back even more depressed in the office. They’ll fire me eventually. Pushed by new adversities, I’ll start doing great things, probably even finding my way on the way. Sooner than expected, all my struggles and resilience will be rewarded and I’ll be very happy. From time to time I’ll laugh at the memory of the Irish woman in red dress who decided my entire future with just a push.
Well, I am still laughing at the memory of her.