Working on a Sunday morning can be a surrealistic experience if we are set in the right mood. To start with, I ride my bike to work because it’s nearby. No need of trams. The streets are empty, and the commute that generally takes us more than fifteen minutes now takes us less than ten. However, the journey seems to be longer. There’s more time to observe and think random thoghts, one of which is: Nothing more beautiful than driving on an empty street. I arrive to work and sit in my place. It doesn’t mean that I start working; it just means that I need to be on time. It’s Sunday morning and I work as customer service, so it’s meant to be a lazy workday, unless people are so concerned about their products that they wake up on a Sunday and the first thing they think is calling us.
There are just three people in the system, including me, but my other colleagues are far from me so I cannot see them. It contrasts with the populated office during the week. Also I can hear a German consultant speaking from the other corner of the office. They put as English and German team together and now I have to occasionally be started by a loud German speaker who isn’t sensitive enough to realize that hearing somone raise their voice in such a harsh language may be a scaring experience for many. Anyway, the surprise is not yet over, because after a long exchange of what for me seems to be a series of insults and threats, the German speaking guy ends up all his calls with a prolonged and high-pitched tchüss, or even more astonishing, a ciao ciao which clashes completely with the rest of the words. It reminds me of those boxers who, after beating each other mercilessly, shake hands and hug each other once the match is over. I go to the kitchen and attempt some cooking in the microwave, and before I know, the day is almost over.
Forty minutes to go and there are no calls and no emails. I feel the peacefulness of the world enveloping me. If people can stop complaining about their missing orders at least on a Sunday and they can enjoy of their free time, the world still has some hope. But I thank inwardly every customer that calls because, thanks tothem, I can enjoy of this surreal experience and have a very calm workday. Now, in a few minutes I finish work and I wonder if I’ll be able to find such peace at home. Over there I have Youtube, free movies in streaming and the eternal Facebook that works practically as a mirror in which we need to look at ourselves once in a while to remind ourselves who we are. Maybe I’ll go to a meeting with people who like storytelling. They have enticed me with the hint of grilled sausages. But I need to prepare a story, what can I say? How can I entertain them for a couple of minutes? I know, I will tell them the story of the three muses:
The first muse came to the young artist and murmured to his ear: I am beautiful and you can’t resist me. You will suffer for me, but still desire me. You will want to die for me, but you will always be indiferent to me. But the young man said: Sorry, that doesn’t look like a good deal for me. I will have to decline. The second muse came up to him and slapped him in the face. She said: You are useless and I despise you. What do you have to say about it? And the young man said: Nothing. I have no answer to that. The third muse came to him and dropped to his feet. She said: Look at the world around you, look at the beauty everywhere, but also look at the tragedy over there, remark the sadness of this scene here and the complexity of this other situation. And the young man at last found his inspiration.