Lorenzo Pirisino
lox.Journal

Business Lounge

Posted on 2006/05/11 01:08:05 (May 2006).



[A random day in life]

I wrote this piece some time ago, picked it up again before leaving for Korea and decided finally to post it.


The whole idea of business lounges belongs to the mind of an evil genius who once thought that people would enjoy a refreshing stop while at the airport.



Though they cater for me, provide me the much indispensable Internet connections and sometimes make me rest, these places are all the same, and as you readers of my blog know, I don't quite like to be put in a tin can because that's how everyone else does.



The smell of bleach, mixed with cheap extensively walked over carpet and fresh crappy quality Robusta brew (robusta is the shite version of the Arabic coffee bean) welcomes you to the lounge.



Here you show your passport and the ticket to paradise (your boarding card), and you are allowed in.

Lots of plastic seats (especially designed to look comfortable, space saving and cheap €“ have a guess which one of these three features is not real - ) and the classic mini-bar salutes you from distance.



Lots of people slabbering their food, drinking, burping, chatting, listening, computering and generally looking business-like completely ignore you.

A strange herd, nobody would move a finger if you suddenly collapse to the floor and die.



You look desperate for a place to seat, comfort to seek in the soft cushions home of millions of bum-cheeks and now your target of choice.



Time for a drink, some snacks, some computing, some burping, some farting and mobile-phone chatting.

You are part of the herd now, more cattle walks in, COMPETITORS for that freshly made Robusta coffee, and those over fried tarts!



SHOCK IN TOWN!



The lady brought the sandwich cart to the general attention, now the herd now resembles a bee-hive, bees flying around a fat chunk of honey, sticking their faces into it, feeding themselves to death, before returning to the usual routine of computing, phoning and farting (not burping this time).

They always send the young ones for the sandwich cart rota, they know that many of them don't make it through the first week of work.

A compassionate thought, sign of weakness, that's why that geezer in the grey suit (wait! almost EVERYONE wears a grey suit!!) stole the nice pickled cucumber from under your eyes! Next time I'll trample the stupid errand boy/girl!

Time for the boarding, time to go, leave the herd. The herd replies with the fake smile of the front door attendant, returned by an even falser smile and word of thank.



Time to leave, destination doesn't mean anything to me, it's the trip that it's important.
The picture of me driving a car in the countryside, going slowly, feeling the wind on my face on a sunny day, with no defined place to go, it's something that I cradle in my mind every now and then...


Comment 1

This reads very much like a poem, Lox! It really does - Excellent!!

Posted by Nigel at 2006/05/11 13:47:22.

Comment 2

Aren't we too negative, Lox? Always critical about everything, judging our fellow neighbours with disdain and probably arrogance. What about us? Are we different in fin dei conti?

Posted by Sheri at 2006/05/11 21:18:07.

Comment 3

Nigel: Thanks! More of a bit of prose I guess, but I still think that it might have some comedy potential... Oh well, my life is a comedy after all!

Sheri: Yes you are right. But that's how Florentine people are, always compalining. moaning and whingeing. But imn the end we get the job done or press on with our lives...

Posted by Lox at 2006/05/12 12:56:20.

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