Untitled
My alarm clock is ringing. At first, I have no clue what is going on. Other than that, it takes me a few tries before I find it and kill the awful sound. It's 5:55. As I reach for the kitchen, I almost stumble over the step, hardly hold my balance. I wash my face in the kitchen sink. Then I drink glass of half warm water and observe the sky outside the window that goes to the main street. It is quite clear. Not that bad, I think to myself, as the forecast yesterday night said it should be raining the whole night and the upcoming day. But at this time of the day, no matter what the forecast is, it tends to stop raining, any day. There are no cars going on the street, but there are still wet trails from tires on them.
I want to push myself to eat, but my body being in a sleeping mode would not even be able to take a warm tea, so I leave it and go to change. Ten minutes later it is about time to leave for the train. I grab my English books and put it in my bag with few blank papers. As I rush from home to catch the train, I have my jacket just half way on my shoulder and I am already breathing deeply as if I was running a whole mile already. But I am on time. When I get off the train at Prague's Smichovské nádraží, I feel like the train slowed down my speed and I have to try hard to make myself be fast again. Getting on the metro brings some satisfaction at last, as it is fast enough. Six stations further I get off at Florenc and walk the escalator, and try to prepare myself psychically for teaching in five minutes. I pass the main street on red light. I know, that these lights never show green, they 're broken. Too bad it doesn't help me to save a minute.
The next lights are (on) a huge junction for a three–line road, and I always wait here for ages before the green jumps in. Here, standing opposite an ugly cubic 90s building of the Hilton hotel, and the oval shaped huge administrative building looking like some huge swimming pool for ZOO penguins, I start feeling nervous. The cars and the place itself make me feel like it is almost inappropriate to be a sole human, that to exist without the "foil" – a car or a house – is so yesterday. To get to the "Miele house", this oval creature stuck in between a highway ramp and another highway street, I take the pedestrian ramp that is about 12 meters above this all. I never understood why they put flower pots with blossoming flowers on a bridge that goes over a highway. Those poor flowers get the worst air they possibly could. I could imagine that someone just drew it on the last–phase construction plan to make it look more "lively" to the investors and office–buyers, and then someone took it seriously and had it put there.
I enter the hall in the first floor. The lady at the desk puts my name down wrong again, always thinking it must be my first time I am here, because she again repeats that I need to go to the fifth floor to get to the firm.
This place is my most not–favorite one. A hall with six lifts. Each lift has its letter–name. You go to either one of them and click a floor you want to get to. This button panel has a display showing you a letter of lift you should take. This time my random lift is F. F and three digital arrows, as if I did not know I should move on to get to the right one.
I have a company. It is a young business man. We are getting on the same lift, so he may be going to the same floor. We get on the lift and get off in a short while on the fifth floor. The moment we spend standing next to each other is so short that neither one of us bothers saying a formal 'hello' or 'good bye'. I take my left, he takes his right. One floor, two companies. I ring a bell next to my panel of glass door. I only come to teach here, so I always wait a few moments before someone comes and opens the door for me. It is 8 o'clock, but I am again here earlier than the secretary. The chair that I see behind the glass door is still empty. In any way, someone should come and open the door for me any second.
Surprisingly, this obviously "domestic" (familiar with place) businessman is still standing in front of his panel of glass door. He is trying to ring the door bell to his company, but in between he has been going through pockets of his suit, searching for something nervously. It seems that the businessman has forgotten his chip card at home.
The same ring tone is coming out of the electronic panel in front of him, as he rings. But no door opening. No voice response. We are stuck in our positions and we wait.
I put my hand in the pocket of my coat and play patient, looking out of the office window coming from the conference room, showing a row of windows of the Hilton hotel reflecting the first morning sun beams. I can hear the cars passing on the highway down there, in a very silent mode. But I see no move around.
The man has been going through his pockets again. He finds a card, but it is obviously not the one he was looking for, as he pulls it back. In front of him, behind the glass panel of doors, is a grey wall with an information panel. About twelve or fourteen lines with names of departments. Six arrows next to them point to the left, the rest to the right. Somewhere on the left off this blind wall there are six departments. On the right, eight or more departments. How many people can such a company have in its spaces? Dozens?
The man has finished going through his pockets, unsuccessfully. Nobody is coming to open him. And, nobody is coming to open me. He sighs quietly, and reaches for his cell phone.
–Oh, hi Mark! This is me! Hi, hi..... I was wondering, are you in the office already? You're not? Oh, okay. Never mind. I just forgot my card today, can't get in. It's okay. Don't worry. See you later!
Another call.
–Peter? Hi, how's it going...listen, are you in the offices? ...What....ah, okay, since yesterday? Really? I didn't know that...cool. Eh, so, enjoy, and see you on Monday.
We are still where we took our positions minutes ago. No matter what, my morning speed is lost for good. How will my teaching look like today? Do I still look prepared? At least I won't look like I rushed too much and my cheeks will get the normal tone.
–Hello, Joe? Joe, this is me, are you here already? Oh, I see... .no no, no problem, only that I forgot my door card at home, so I need to get through this damn door...yes, sure, it's okay.
Another sigh. He turns and looks at me, but lets the look go through me, as if I was not there. I say nothing, and turn back to see if my folks are coming to save me from my trap. I see somebody's shadow in the back office, but it disappears. Nobody in sight. I have already stopped occupying my mind with thinking whether I will ask for coffee or tea. I rub my shoe tip on the rough hall carpet and do little steps back and forth, and let the time pass, as I look down and watch my shoes. The lifts are all off. Everything is muted to almost a zero.
Finally, one of the door buzzers in the hall starts buzzing.
Ekleksographia:
Wave Two
March, 2010
Fiction
Radka Hlisnikovská
Radka Hlisnikovská was born and raised in the Czech Republic. Living near the capital, Prague, she always felt attracted yet ambivalent about it. She graduated from studies in Jewish history, literature and religion, as well as Hebrew and cultural studies at Charles University in Prague. Hlisnikovská recently moved to Massachusetts, where she has been focusing on photography.