A very bad weekend

Saturday - 1 pm

It's ridiculous. Really ridiculous.

I'm not a person who talks a lot and either one of those charismatic chicks who know how to attract crowds or whatever. To tell the truth, even when I start a speech I tend to wrap myself up and people end up not understanding anything of what I say and walk away. Or they nod politely, with that little smile that you know it's not true and then you understand that it's better if you shut your mouth and leave. In high school, I was a chronic clumsy and tended to hang out in the corner of the classroom. I saw my classmates chattering about make-up and clothes, boys and TV shows, while I didn't have the faintest idea what to say and ended up keeping quiet, thinking that one day, when I went to university, I would be at their place and I would have talked about many things with my classmates. In reality, during university things got worse: I tried to join some student committee but I was never able to integrate so I left the group and holed up in the library. And... how did I end up mulling over my sad school years?

Oh, yes.

But, anyway, I met Miriam at the library, and, at a certain point, Dennis and Maddalena and Annalisa also appeared... and... I met a couple of old high school friends not long ago and they greeted me cordially and we chatted... so in the end, it's not like my school life has been so depressing. Because I'm not as socially inadequate as I think I am. I just don't feel comfortable entertaining a lot of people. And above all, I can't stand situations where you find yourself next to someone with whom you have no idea what to say and the air is imbued with an unbearable silence. So unbearable that you hear any creaking, any squeaking and you are afraid even to breathe because you think it can be heard. Usually in films at this point in the background starts a melody that creates atmosphere, which makes the viewer stays in suspense because he knows that something will happen. Except, in this case, we are not in a film but in an elevator and I doubt that any background song will start. Which, to be honest, is really a waste. I mean, it could be an innovative idea to spread some music in corporate elevators like when you go to the dentist and in the waiting room there is a pleasant radio station that buzzes all the time. Sometimes you listen to songs that you don't know, others to songs that remind you of past times and past people, other times songs that accompany the reading of a book or a magazine. The same thing could happen in corporate elevators. Because sometimes it happens that you walk in and find yourself with a dozen strangers. Some talk on the phone, others chat to each other while others just stand there waiting for their floor to come. A little music, on the other hand, would be an excellent background for chatting between colleagues and would give something to do to those who have no one to talk to like me at the moment. Because, instead of staring at the elevator doors and avoiding staring at the guy next to me, I could have started flying with imagination lulled by the notes of some melody that I may not have listened to for a lifetime. One of those that takes me back to my adolescence, to the afternoons spent lying on the bed to fantasize about my future path and my future job. It was a little sad to be honest, especially if I think that, in those same moments, my classmates were really living their life, they didn't just imagine it. And it is also depressing because at the time I imagined my university years as a period full of commitments and friendships, while the image of me bundled up in the library is not exactly the same thing. And now that I think about it, it's also depressing because I imagined doing a super demanding job at the time. One Of those that make you feel exhausted but satisfied at the end of the day. One of those that make you stay there and contemplate the world that you have helped to be a little better. I certainly didn't think that, once graduated, I would end up writing obituaries and proofreading in a newspaper. I did not imagine going to live in a suburban tiny flat and, above all, I did not imagine finding myself with my boss, closed in the elevator, on a Saturday morning.