I'm on the thirty-fifth floor of a building covered in glass that looks like it was made to pierce the sky. Every time I come here, I get a weird feeling in my gut.
If you ask why, I'd mention the secretary of that sour-faced woman—to whom I deliver online shopping packages at least five times a week without fail—and leave it at that.
The attitude of the security guard at the door, or the condescending looks and sighs of the people riding the elevator with me didn't matter at all. The moment I saw her, everything before that was reset to zero.
She was beautiful. Simply beautiful, no exaggeration. It didn't take much for her to make the jaw drop of someone like me, who chases high standards without looking in the mirror.
The moment I stepped through the office door, which opened with an irritating noise, her scent would hit me, and I'd be stunned. She was also incredibly polite; she stood up to greet everyone who came in without exception. She was the only person who hadn't lost her humanity in this plaza dump where I delivered hundreds of packages every day.
Okay, maybe I was a bit biased, but people like her were truly fewer than the fingers on one hand. People entering these steel piles covered in glass seemed to leave their tolerance and politeness at the X-ray machine; I guess we should count it as a profit if they remember to pick them up on their way out.
Today was going to be very different from usual because it was probably the last time I'd see her. That was why I had combed my hair with care and taken a deodorant bath before entering the office.
She was greeting me standing up again behind the high counter that only allowed her eyes to be seen when she sat. Whether it was the excitement or the sadness inside me, I don't know, but I had to take a few long breaths before I could start speaking.
She hadn't tied her hair up today; it was falling in big waves over her shoulders from the sides. I wondered if she did it on purpose; I had gathered my courage once or twice before and told her how much this style suited her.
I wasn't wrong; her long coal-black hair faded in color towards the tips, turning almost white. That was the detail that finished me off. I was deprived of this when she tied her hair up; I guess the advice I gave was a product of my selfishness as much as my courage.
While doing the standard procedures, we started chatting a bit again. Suddenly, I told her that today was my last day and that I would be going to a language school in Australia in a day or two.
You should have seen the look of astonishment on her face; it was a big surprise to me too that a topic about me affected her like this.
We never had the chance to talk outside of package delivery, so how could she know that I dropped out of university in my final year and joined a cargo company to save money?
Actually, no one outside my close circle knew this story anyway. There was nothing to be proud of in roughing up a lecturer and getting expelled from school.
Do I regret it? Never. Would I react the same way if it happened again? Without a doubt. Although I don't voice it much, what I went through wasn't a wound inside me.
I've never been very strong or brave, but I couldn't belittle myself enough to stay silent in the face of injustice.
I immediately wiped away these untimely thoughts; I couldn't move at the required speed as long as I carried the burdens of the past on my back.
I struggled for two whole years and reached my goal; no one could stop me from starting a new life starting tomorrow.
Just as I was about to grab an armful of boxes big and small and leave, something happened that I had never experienced before. The woman who took my breath away in every aspect was handing me her business card with a shy smile.
Can you imagine my state? While taking the card she politely offered, I was looking into her eyes at the same time. I vaguely remember her saying, "See you when you leave."
How long had it been since I experienced such excitement? High school, the first year of university... It wasn't possible for me to remember while my hands and feet were tangled.
The sound indicating the elevator had arrived at the floor brought me back from the past to the present in an instant. Unfortunately, even though I experience sweet emotions, I have a life full of bitter realities.
As soon as the doors opened, I threw myself into the mirrored section with a metal handle in front of it. It was easier to carry the boxes when I leaned the bottom of them against the rail. Maybe I was taking up more space than necessary, but I couldn't go down all those floors with a huge pile of boxes in my arms.
The door would open after going down two or three floors. What would happen if I could just escape this metal and mirror hell by going directly to the ground floor in one go?
While I was lost in these thoughts, the last thing I wanted happened; a group of white-collars filled the elevator with cheerful laughter and exaggerated gestures and mimics.
Every type I hated had surrounded me like a cocktail. It was as if I had been forcibly taken to a circus turned into a horror house.
I wasn't so reactive to them in the beginning. I had even politely said "Have a nice day" a few times while getting off the elevator or after delivering a package. I wasn't expecting a polite word in return, it would have been enough if that condescending attitude stuck on their faces dispersed.
Unfortunately, this was seemingly a hard dream to realize. My attempt didn't attract their attention as much as the sound of a fly flapping its wings.
Giving up, I found the solution in keeping my distance. I couldn't fawn over them like the senior couriers I worked with.
In honor of the last day, the group that made me squeeze into the corner of the rail I was leaning on included one of the types I call a "bonus."
This species corresponded to the bottom of the flashy employee profile of the plaza world. Whether it was because he was just one step above the service class, or because he insistently refused to wear the suit cut out for him, he was the most aggressive class.
"How many times do I have to tell management to ban external service providers from using the elevator!"
The loser had started talking again. He had no intention of missing the only opportunity to attract attention in the environment he was in. This was a war of existence he waged by humiliating a class he saw as below him in a society where he couldn't provide as much space as one of the boxes in my hand as a character.
Don't mind me saying inadequate as a character; usually, these types aren't very developed physically either. Today's outlier fit the description perfectly; he was the only person with a below-average appearance in the group of men and women he got on the elevator with.
Below-average height, slumped shoulders, and thinning hair that seemed to come as standard package equipment were the man's most prominent features. When the words he said implying me were ignored by the people he was with, his back, hunched from a lack of self-confidence, protruded a little more, announcing to me that danger was approaching.
"Why didn't you use the stairs?"
The expected happened. It was time for him to make a direct accusation against his victim to take out the pain of not being taken seriously.
Since he raised the tone of his voice a notch, no one had the chance not to hear anymore. When his friends turned slightly towards me, a gap would form between me and the king of losers where we could see each other clearly.
This is where the thing called experience reveals how necessary it is. After dealing with a member of the same jackass family a few times, I had acquired the habit of using headphones. I wasn't listening to music right now, I had heard what he said clearly a moment ago, but did anyone other than me need to know that?
I was standing with my back to the door. With my face invisible in the mirror due to the boxes in my hand, I was like a lizard camouflaged in the wild.
I wasn't unaware that this state wouldn't be enough, but my aim was for the loser character to save himself and return to normal. I was even fake-nodding my head to the tempo so everyone would think I was listening to music. It would be enough for me if I endured until we reached the ground floor.
"I'm talking to you, answer me!"
With a finger touching my back, the official declaration that we had entered a point of no return was made. I am quite patient with words, but I can't say I have much tolerance when it comes to physical contact.
I have no intention of resorting to violence for such a simple thing. As I said, the subject is small, so I decided to use the fact that the person in front of me is small too.
Not to brag, but I'm a bit lucky in terms of height. It was over 190 centimeters the last time I measured. Although I have a thin build, this feature of mine saves my appearance.
I reckon the guy messing with me couldn't be more than one-seventy tops. Without taking my hand off the boxes, I turned from the waist and looked straight ahead, not bowing my head in the slightest. I knew perfectly well the man was in front of me; my aim was to drive him crazy by acting like I didn't see him because of his short stature.
The die was cast. I took it a step further, took off my headphones, and called out to the other white-collars staring at me in confusion.
"Which one of you poked me with your finger?"
As soon as I asked the question, ignoring the guy standing right next to me, I saw one or two people in the group trying to hold back their laughter.
Although I enjoyed this situation, the man struggling with an inferiority complex didn't seem to take much pleasure in it, judging by the strange noise he would make a moment later.
"Do we have to be squashed because of you? The elevator is for plaza employees only!"
I no longer had the chance not to see him. With the few strands of hair left on his head and the strange vertically striped jacket he wore to look taller, he was right in front of me like the midday sun.
It played right into my hands that he ended his sentence with a rule he pulled out of thin air. I released my venom directly through that channel.
"Where is it written that elevators belong to plaza employees? The warnings I see only state weight and person limits. My hands are full, I can't bend down; is there a sign about this topic at your eye level?"
I'm generally a nice guy, but my bad side is nasty; once I start hitting below the belt, I don't stop until I take the man down.
When the sound of suppressed snickering came from those who were holding themselves back a moment ago, the color of the man I mocked for his height began to change. His slightly flushed face showed that he was annoyed by what was said but still had a few trump cards in his hand.
Since we started, it was necessary to pounce on the enemy without slowing down, because in any kind of fight, the one who takes the initiative has the advantage.
"I think you're having trouble breathing because you're stuck in the middle, and that's creating a sense of anxiety in you. How terrible of me to be in this situation... Friend, give me a hand, let's lift this gentleman onto the rail so he can come to his senses!"
While I was speaking to a white-collar man watching us with his mouth open, I could clearly see that the loser right next to me was blowing a fuse.
Was I enjoying it? Yes, undeniably so. What can we do? As our ancestors said, the hunter becomes the hunted.
"You rude...!"
My opponent didn't know what to say. It was easy to understand the mood he was in from the way he started in a rude tone, put a heavy emphasis on the letter 'r', and almost screamed at the 'd'.
"I will report you to your firm, tell me your name!"
The thrashing had begun. It was time to use the status difference between our business lives. Since this move was the harbinger of the most desperate action that would follow, it was time for me to land the penultimate blow.
"Maybe you couldn't see it because it remained a bit high up, but my name and other information are available on the card on my collar. If you ask your friends, they can easily take notes for you. Also, you will probably have called before I get to the office; don't forget to ask them to send you a shampoo from the products we distribute as samples. Since you got so close, I couldn't help but notice... your head smells terrible. I don't know if it's sweat or grease, but if you washed it, it would be a nice gesture for you and those around you!"
The step after reporting to the workplace is to find absurd excuses and launch a smear campaign against you. The most common method is to claim that people who work non-stop all day smell bad.
It's not that I haven't wandered around with a heavy "essence" on days when I couldn't take care of myself due to work intensity, but today I was going to stop by my delicate butterfly who hadn't yet emerged from her cocoon, so I was emitting fragrant scents like a walking perfumery aisle.
I had accused the man attacking me only based on a guess, but it wouldn't take long for me to realize that the dice I threw by generalizing came up sixes. The faces of a few female colleagues watching us around him scrunched up, and they looked with disgust at the three strands of hair on the man's head, which looked like an oasis in a desert.
This was exactly the point where the glass I filled to the brim overflowed, because the man who tried to prove his existence through me had also caught these looks.
"I'm going to Management now, and I'll make sure you never enter this plaza again!"
I have to admit that he played his last trump card with a class unexpected from his type. While threatening, he sophisticatedly expressed that this wasn't hot air, but that he possessed the power to make it happen.
How sad that he couldn't see the reason lying at the root of his problems. How sad that I couldn't record the series of foolishness he experienced in the elevator we were in to go down a few floors with a camera and make him watch it.
Until his last sentence, neither his movements nor his speech were his own, whereas he had finally found himself. When cornered, when he got rid of the meaningless anxieties imposed by the necessity of being a modern human, he allowed his basic instincts to take over.
I appreciated the man; he was no longer the aggressive loser he was when he first got on the elevator in my eyes. The thought of closing the subject right there even involuntarily crossed my mind.
While experiencing the times of sticking the needle into myself, such naive ideas would always rush into my brain—actually, I should say after the event that ended in a fight and finished my education life.
Thoughts wandering in your brain and putting them into practice to realize them were different procedures. I didn't feel guilty these days for not being able to make my surroundings experience this maturity, which I hadn't yet been able to realize, today either.
"Goodbye. You don't sleep in the plaza, do you? Then I'll make sure you won't be able to step outside comfortably!"
We had both played our last trump cards. Since today was my last day at work, his was already void even if he didn't know it. My threat, on the other hand, would sit like a huge rock on his heart; although it is not well known, there were many people who had been beaten by the service staff in these glass prisons.
Their stories would spread from ear to ear, and even if they lost their jobs, they would add another layer to the armor of their remaining class-mates.
As I was leaving, I slammed my card on the table without any worry and cut the clown's breath. While the traces of a big gulp appeared in his throat, the bell rang and the elevator door opened.
We had finally reached the ground floor. After the short man got off the elevator almost running with quick steps, the ones next to him followed him one by one.
The words I said to my opponent had also made his friends, who watched me mocking him with joy, uneasy. Even though they tried not to show it, in essence, they were no different from the man they didn't like.
It was because they were more skilled than him at hiding their seams that they easily assumed the role they had to play; that was why they felt in an insecure situation and ran away.
Luckily, I was good at moving while my hands were full; I had managed to throw myself out before the open door closed again.
From the blank looks on the faces of the security guards—the tough guys of the service class—as I passed by there, I would understand that the man I just wiped the floor with had passed through here. Management was in the opposite direction, however; it turned out the man was more cowardly than I thought, he had run away immediately thinking I would catch him and use violence.
After leaving my last point in a sensational way, I arrived at the cargo office accompanying a song I was humming with whistles and applause.
I don't know why, but the day I first came here fell into my mind. It was as if I was reliving the shame I felt when I entered the door embarrassed and bored, wearing the work clothes with logos all over.
After a while, I had gotten used to the situation I was in, whereas this job had been instrumental in gaining a lot of experience and experiencing situations I wouldn't have encountered if I were somewhere else.
I have to confess that I had to fight with myself a lot in the beginning; those were the times when I thought the job I did defined me, and I had caused quite a few problems around me.
After a while, I would almost experience the enlightenment mentioned in those fantasy novels; I would see that people are not defined by their jobs, but jobs are defined by people.
I had been holding on tightly to this idea for the last year. Maybe this dream of mine wouldn't come true in the country where I was born, but eventually, it would happen.
A friend from the faculty had thrown himself abroad as soon as he graduated; he had found a job in a short time and started to instill hope in me every time we met.
Here, the basis of my idea of going abroad and making a fresh start was based on these meetings. Finally, having saved enough money, I was ready to take the first step towards my goal.
My passport, visa, plane tickets were all ready. I was breaking free from this life tomorrow; I was about to set sail for faraway places where my value would be appreciated if I did my job with love.
"Where the hell are you, you scoundrel!"
It had been a long time since I stopped wondering if this man ever got tired of the same greeting every evening, but I couldn't help smiling after these words either.
Who was the person calling out to me with such a vulgar address? Muharrem Abi, of course. Since the evening of my first day of work, he had greeted me like this without exception every time.
I was a bit annoyed by this situation at first, but when I got to know him and realized he was a completely informal person, I let him be. The man had two sons almost my age; they had come to the office a few times, and when I heard the things he said to them, I considered myself lucky.
He had a very dirty mouth; one of every two words was a curse, and the other was expressing the dreams he built by thinking about the various body parts of the women he saw during the day.
Maybe this comfort came from the fact that all office employees were men; I guess that was why he defended like crazy whenever the manager wanted to hire a female staff member.
Then he quickly came up to me and told me not to disappear anywhere, saying that a few people from the office would go out in the evening to get wasted. This was going to be a farewell dinner; pushing their limits, they had even reserved a place at a venue in the fish market.