The Heavenly Anarchy of Exorcisms

*rubbing her hands in a positively insane way*

I told no one, not a single soul knows that i am (all hail the convenientness of neologisms) bridgifying right now . Nothing has been decided or planned between Grace, Fernando and i, hence it cannot be 'my turn', especially since i am the one who left the last post.
Tonight, i am bursting with the indomitable energy of those who can smell freedom approaching an it is making me very nervous! Nervous enough to put aside every notion of order or Bridge discipline, or anything that could delay or slow down the process of exorcism i am about to go through.

A few minutes ago, i was out of the hotel for a couple of sidewalk lenghts and a sip of tea from my Starbucks thermos, i looked at the building's front door, attempted to hide that mad smile that was speading all over my face and headed back inside to find once more my way through the 'blogger.com/dashboard/new post' routine that has been bringing so much apprehension and joy into both my real and virtual lives until today. What about the Cheshire Cat smile? You will understand

(almost inspiring, is it not??!)

I've been wanting to write this post since The Bridge was born, a post in which i would be depicting an average night at work. More than once, i started taking pictures of every little thing that has been furnishing my nights for the last three years. More than once, i've been downloading from my camera to the computer pictures of piles of towels just cleaned, almost empty ersatzic* coffee cups, rows of frozen mini-croissants freshly baked. Sometimes as well, pictures from leaking bathtub pipes, dead bulbs, broken chairs, dusty and mute air-conditioners, torn hairdryers' cables. A few of the pictures eventually ended up on the internet, Facebook or even here, but most of the time it got up to my throat just how pathetic they were and i would delete them without further ado, ashamed of the terrible truth they were actually revealing: ---> Sweetie, this is your real job. You ARE the official and main night receptionist of a hotel that's falling apart. You hate being ignored by french clients and foreigners alike and yet you are, you hate not being thanked for the constant effort you make not to look exasperated when forced to face a grumpy little person unable to say 'hello' let alone vocalise the digits of a damn room number in an understandable known language, and yet you're not. You hate giving that fake apologetic glance of an innocent and stupid girl unable to change a fuse (and yet you do) when told that the air conditioner is not working, because you have to hide the fact that you and your manager are perfectly aware that the whole system is out of order but still have to give your client hope that everything will be fixed the next morning, knowing too well it wont, and consequently you hate it when you have to say 'i'm sorry i don't know how to fix it' trying to convey 'i'm just a helpless turkey paid to hand over keys, don't ask too much of me, i've only just managed to learn figures from one to ski...sorry: six! you'll have to wait for my strong male colleague to come and rescue you tomorrow morning' and yet you must; and you hate it even more when that tall russian bimbo or the fat italian macho suddenly looks at you with those unbearable understanding eyes you would have loved to discover one second before they turned into meaning 'oh yeah, indeed young turkey-maid, just give me my key then, and off you go' and yet, you let them condescend to you.

...But tonight is a new night, tonight is the night i bring the pictures to the open. And why that?
Because of this:



Tonight is N-2, and N-2 is almost over: it is 3 a.m. and there are four more hours to go before i can overcome that disfiguring smile to shout 'last night was my last Tuesday night at work!'
Soon, there will be no more.

Yes, it is true that soon they will also be no more free tumble dryer, photocopy, milk, mini cheese and cereal packs, tape, printer, san-pellegrino, screwdrivers, bin bags, sheets, paper tissues, compressed powdered bleach, forks, towels and sponge mats, but the long and unexhaustive list of things that i will NOT miss is far more impressive:

- no more night work
- no more exhaustion
- no more late night plumbing
- no more feeling like i might as well be transparent, robotic or dead as long as i provide a room-key

- no more saying 'yes, of course' when i really mean '*quiet but firm rude hand gesture*'
- no more putting on three pounds per night because of mini-babybel, bread, fat yoghurts, powdered hot chocolate, coco pops and microwaved emmental on toast.
- no more smelling like baked croissants

- no more missed week days concerts
- no more feeling like my brain is a dry vegetable forgotten on a sidewalk after a market day
- no more forced multilingual learning of rude words
- no more being the target of the rude words previously mentioned
- no more insinuations that as a french girl behind the front desk i might also be a prostitute or well provided in girl-friends all eager to spend the night with three married men whose wives and kids wait in the room next door
- no more towels to fold



- no more slaughtered English
- no more suspiciously dirty towels that i have to accompany to the washing machine.
- no more believing that a night at work could be used for a drawing or writing a text
- no more forgetting every day how uninspiring and encline to procrastination the whole place is
- no more nutters to endure, no more hearing them knocking, banging, scratching, kicking on the glass sliding locked doors, before eventually realising that 'oh dear! there's a doorbell!'

can it really be missed? mh?

- ...well you got my point: no more hotel.

The energy is slowly vanishing as i am gradually remembering that The Bridge was not at all designed for exorcisms. My part of The Bridge is initially about sharing the beauties of Paris, of France, about cheese and wine, about concerts, exhibitions and cafés.
But we might see this the other way round: from my angle, i decide to make it look like i, from now on, will have much more time to enjoy Paris by night and share it with you...

...and now i feel better.


How extremely...funny would it be that N-1 or N Night could bring a nostalgy tour in their trail...