I'm on the thirty-fifth floor of a building with a glass facade that looks like it was built to pierce the sky. Every time I come here, I get a weird feeling inside.
If you ask why, I'd just say it's the secretary of that prune-faced woman I deliver internet purchases to—without fail, at least five times a week—and leave it at that.
The cocky attitude of the security guard at the door, or the condescending glares and heavy sighs of the people riding the elevator with me, didn't matter at all. The moment I saw her, everything before that just reset to zero.
She was gorgeous, no exaggeration. It didn't take much effort for her to make someone like me—who chases high standards without looking at his own pathetic state—drop his jaw.
The moment I stepped through that office door, which opened with an irritating buzz, her scent would hit me and leave me completely spellbound. She was also incredibly polite, standing up to greet everyone without exception. In this corporate dump where I delivered hundreds of packages every day, she was the only person who hadn't lost her humanity.
Okay, maybe I'm playing favorites a bit, but the number of people like her could genuinely be counted on one hand. It seemed like the people entering these glass-covered steel piles left their tolerance and politeness at the X-ray scanners. Honestly, remembering to pick them back up on the way out should be considered a win.
Today was going to be very different from the usual, mostly because it was probably the last time I'd see her. That's why I meticulously combed my hair and took a deodorant bath before entering the office.
She stood up from behind the high reception desk—which only let you see up to her eyes when she sat down—to greet me again. Whether from excitement or a hint of sorrow, I had to take a few deep breaths before I could even start talking.
She hadn't tied her hair up today; it cascaded down her shoulders in large waves. I wondered if she'd done it on purpose. After gathering my courage a time or two before, I had actually told her how much this style suited her.
I wasn't wrong. Towards the ends of her long, coal-black hair, the color lightened, almost turning white—that was the detail that completely destroyed me. Whenever she tied it up, I was deprived of it. I suppose the advice I gave her was as much a product of my selfishness as my courage.
While handling the standard paperwork, we started making small talk again. I blurted out that today was my last day and that I was heading to Australia for a language school in a couple of days.
You should have seen the look of pure astonishment on her face. To be honest, it was a massive surprise to me, too, that anything about me could affect her like that.
We had never really had the chance to talk outside of package deliveries. How could she possibly know that I'd dropped out of university in my senior year and joined a courier company just to save up money?
Actually, aside from my close circle, nobody knew that story. Getting expelled for beating up a professor wasn't exactly something to be proud of.
Do I regret it? Hell no. Would I react the same way if it happened again? Without a doubt. Even though I didn't voice it often, what I went through wasn't an open wound for me.
I've never been particularly strong or brave, but I also couldn't stoop low enough to stay silent in the face of injustice.
I immediately brushed away these untimely thoughts. As long as I kept carrying the burdens of the past on my back, I wouldn't be able to move forward at the speed I needed to. I had grinded for two whole years and finally reached my goal. Starting tomorrow, no one could stop me from beginning a new life.
Just as I grabbed an armful of various-sized boxes and was about to leave, something happened that I had never experienced before. The woman who captivated my entire being was handing me her business card with a shy smile.
Can you imagine the state I was in? As I took the politely offered card, I kept staring right into her eyes. I vaguely remember her saying, "See you," on my way out.
How long had it been since I felt this kind of rush? High school? Freshman year of college? With my hands and feet completely tangled up, it was impossible to remember.
The ding of the elevator arriving at the floor snapped me from the past back to the present. Even though I experienced sweet emotions, I unfortunately lived a life grounded in bitter realities.
The moment the doors opened, I threw myself toward the mirrored section with a metal handrail in front of it. Resting the bottom of the boxes against the rail made them easier to carry. I might have been taking up more space than I should, but I couldn't ride down all those floors holding a massive pile of boxes freehand.
After two or three floors, the doors would open. Oh, what I wouldn't give to just descend straight to the ground floor in one go and comfortably escape this hell of metal and mirrors.
Right in the middle of these thoughts, the absolute last thing I wanted happened. A group of white-collar workers flooded into the elevator with their joyous laughter and exaggerated gestures.
It was as if every character archetype I despised had surrounded me in a cocktail mix. I felt like I had been forcefully dragged to a circus turned into a haunted house.
I wasn't this resentful towards them in the beginning. I had even politely said, "Have a good day," a few times while getting off the elevator or after delivering a package. I wasn't expecting a polite response; just wiping that condescending smirk off their faces would have been enough.
Unfortunately, that was clearly a pipe dream. My attempts drew about as much interest from them as the sound of a fly flapping its wings.
Giving up, I found the solution in keeping my distance. I couldn't suck up to them like the senior couriers I worked with.
In honor of my last day, the group that forced me to squeeze into the corner of the handrail included a guy who fit the archetype I called the "bonus."
This species represented the absolute bottom tier of the flashy corporate employee profile. Whether it was because they were just one step above the service class or because they stubbornly refused to wear the clothes tailored for them, they were by far the most aggressive class.
"How many more times do I have to tell management to ban outside service providers from using the elevator!"
The loser had started yapping again. He had absolutely no intention of missing his only chance to grab attention in his current environment. In a society where his character couldn't even carve out as much space as one of the boxes in my hands, this was his way of fighting for existence—by degrading a class he deemed beneath him.
Don't let my words about his lack of character fool you; usually, these types aren't exactly physically developed either. Today's protruding bump fit the exact description. Within the mixed-gender group he rode the elevator with, he was the only one with below-average looks.
Below-average height, slumped shoulders, and thinning hair that seemed to come as part of the standard package were the man's most prominent features. When his thinly-veiled remarks about me were completely ignored by the people he was with, his back, hunched from a lack of self-confidence, protruded a bit more, signaling to me that danger was approaching.
"Why didn't you use the stairs?"
The inevitable had happened. It was time for him to directly accuse his chosen victim to compensate for being ignored.
Since he had raised his voice a pitch, no one had the luxury of not hearing him anymore. As his friends turned slightly toward me, a clear gap opened up between the king of losers and me, allowing us to see each other perfectly.
This was exactly when the necessity of experience showed itself. After dealing with members of this same dickhead family a few times, I had developed the habit of wearing earbuds. I wasn't currently listening to music, and I had heard what he just said perfectly clearly, but did anyone other than me need to know that?
I was standing with my back to the doors. With my face hidden from the mirror due to the boxes in my hands, I looked like a lizard camouflaged in the wild.
It wasn't that I didn't know this act wouldn't be enough, but my goal was partly to let the pathetic character save face and return to normal. I was even fake-nodding my head to a beat so everyone would think I was listening to music. Surviving until we hit the ground floor was all I needed.
"I'm talking to you, answer me!"
A finger poking my back served as the official declaration that we had passed the point of no return. I'm pretty patient when it comes to words, but once it gets to physical contact, I can't say I have much of a filter.
Like I said, I had no intention of resorting to violence over something this trivial. The issue was small, so I figured I might as well exploit the fact that the guy in front of me was small, too.
Not to brag, but I'm pretty lucky when it comes to height. I was over 190 centimeters the last time I checked. Even though I have a slender build, this trait alone saves my overall appearance.
The guy messing with me was probably a meter seventy at best. Without taking a single hand off the top of the boxes, I twisted backward from my waist and started staring straight ahead without lowering my head at all. I knew perfectly well the man was right in front of me; my goal was to drive him crazy by acting like I couldn't see him because he was too short.
The arrow had left the bow. Taking it one step further, I pulled out my earbuds and called out to the other white-collar workers who were looking at me in bewilderment.
"Which one of you just poked me?"
By asking the question while completely ignoring the guy standing right next to me, I immediately caught one or two people in the group struggling not to laugh.
While this amused me, judging from the weird noise he was about to make, the man battling his inferiority complex wasn't enjoying it at all.
"Do we have to be squeezed in here because of you? The elevator is only for plaza employees!"
I didn't have the luxury of not seeing him anymore. With the few strands of hair left on his head and the weird vertically-striped jacket he wore to make himself look taller, he was right in front of me like the midday sun.
The fact that he ended his sentence with a rule he pulled straight out of his ass worked perfectly in my favor. I unleashed my venom directly through that channel.
"And where exactly does it say that the elevators belong to plaza employees? The only warnings I saw were about weight and passenger limits. My hands are full, so I can't bend down—is there a sign about this at your eye level, by any chance?"
I'm a nice guy and all, but my bad side is nasty. Once I start hitting below the belt, I don't stop until I knock the guy out.
As a few more compressed hisses of air came from the people holding in their laughter, the color of the man I just mocked for his height began to change. His slightly reddened face showed he was upset by what was said, but also indicated he still had a few cards left to play.
Since we had started, it was necessary to crush the enemy without slowing down. In any kind of fight, whoever takes the initiative holds the advantage.
"I guess being stuck in the middle is making it hard for you to breathe, which is giving you a sense of anxiety. It's a shame I'm in this position—hey buddy, give me a hand, let's lift the gentleman up and sit him on this handrail so he can get some air!"
While speaking directly to one of the white-collar guys watching us with his mouth hanging open, I could clearly see the squirt next to me blowing his top.
Was I enjoying this? Yes, undeniably, and a lot. What can you do? Like our ancestors said, the hunter becomes the hunted.
"You insolent prick!"
My opponent didn't even know what to say. Starting in a harsh tone, leaning heavily on the 'r', and ending the word almost at the point of a scream made his mental state completely obvious.
"I'm going to report you to your company! Give me your name!"
The thrashing had begun. It was time to use the status difference between our professional lives. Since this move was the harbinger of the most desperate act to follow, it was time for me to deliver the penultimate blow.
"Maybe you couldn't see it since it's a bit too high up, but my name and other details are right here on my ID badge. If you ask your friends nicely, they can easily jot it down for you. Also, you'll probably call before I even get back to the office, so please don't forget to ask them to send you one of the promotional shampoos we distribute. Getting this 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, you'd be doing both yourself and everyone around you a huge favor!"
The next step after a workplace complaint is usually making up absurd excuses to paint you in a bad light to the surroundings. The most common method is claiming that people working non-stop all day stink.
There have definitely been days when the workload kept me from taking care of myself and I walked around radiating a strong essence, but today I was going to see my delicate butterfly who hadn't yet emerged from the cocoon of my heart, and right now I was giving off scents like a walking perfumery aisle.
I had only accused the man attacking me based on a guess, but it wouldn't take long to realize my generalized roll of the dice had landed on double sixes. The faces of the female colleagues lined up around him watching us wrinkled up, looking in disgust at the three strands of hair on his head that looked like an oasis in the desert.
This was the exact point where the glass I had filled to the brim overflowed, because the man trying to prove his existence through me had caught those looks too.
"I'm going to management right now. I'll make sure you never step foot in this plaza again!"
I have to admit, he played his last card with a class you wouldn't expect from his appearance. While threatening me, he eloquently stated that this wasn't empty talk and that he actually had the power to make it happen.
It was tragic that he couldn't see the underlying cause of his problems. It was tragic that I couldn't record the series of blunders he committed in this elevator just to go down a few floors and force him to watch it.
Up until his final sentence, neither his actions nor his speech were truly his own. But in the end, he had finally found himself. Cornered, freed from the meaningless anxieties imposed by the necessity of being a modern human, he had let his basic instincts take over.
I actually respected the guy. In my eyes, he was no longer the aggressive loser from when he first got on the elevator. I even involuntarily thought about just dropping the issue right there.
While taking the time to point the needle at myself, naive thoughts like these always flooded my brain—well, I guess I should say ever since the incident that ended in a fight and ruined my academic life.
Having ideas roam your mind and actually putting them into practice are two different procedures. I wasn't feeling guilty these days for not being able to project this maturity—which I had yet to achieve myself—onto my surroundings today.
"Bye-bye. You don't sleep in the plaza, do you? Then I'll make sure you can't walk outside comfortably!"
We had both played our final cards. Even though he didn't know today was my last day at work, his threat was already void. Mine, on the other hand, I'm sure would sit like a massive boulder on his chest. It wasn't widely known, but in these glass prisons, there were plenty of people who had gotten beaten up by the service staff.
Their stories would spread by word of mouth, adding another layer of armor to the working-class peers they left behind, even if they themselves lost their jobs.
Slapping my card down without a single worry on my way out, I completely cut off the clown's breath. Just as the signs of a huge gulp appeared on his throat, the bell chimed, and the elevator doors opened.
We had finally reached the ground floor. After the short man basically fled the elevator with quick steps, the others followed him one by one.
The things I said to my opponent had also unnerved his friends who had happily watched me mock him. Even if they tried to hide it, at their core, they were no different from the man they secretly despised.
The only difference was that they were more skilled at hiding the seams, which allowed them to comfortably slip into the roles they were supposed to play. That's why they felt insecure and ran away.
Luckily, I was good at moving when my hands were full. I managed to throw myself outside before the open doors closed again.
I could tell the guy I just ripped a new one had passed through here by the dumbfounded looks the security guards—the tough guys of the service class—gave me as they walked by. The management office was in the opposite direction, though. Apparently, the guy turned out to be more of a coward than I thought; he had run away fearing I would catch him and beat him up.
After making a sensational exit from my last stop, I arrived at the courier office, accompanying a song stuck in my head with occasional whistles and claps.
For some reason, my first day here popped into my head. It was as if I was reliving the shame I felt walking through the door, embarrassed and anxious, wearing that heavily logoed work uniform.
After a while, I had gotten used to my situation. In fact, this job had been the catalyst for me gaining a lot of experience and living through situations I never would have encountered anywhere else.
I have to admit, I had to fight with myself a lot in the beginning. Those were the times I thought the job I did defined me, and I caused quite a bit of trouble for the people around me.
Eventually, I practically experienced the kind of enlightenment you read about in those fantasy novels. I came to see that people aren't defined by their jobs; jobs are defined by the people doing them.
For the past year, I had clung tightly to this idea. Maybe this dream of mine wouldn't come true in the country I was born in, but it would happen eventually.
A friend from the faculty had thrown himself overseas the moment he graduated, quickly found a job, and started instilling hope in me every time we spoke.
This was the foundation of my idea to go abroad and make a fresh start. Having finally saved enough money, I was ready to take the first step toward my goal.
My passport, my visa, my plane tickets—everything was ready. Tomorrow, I was breaking free from this life. I was about to set sail for distant lands where my worth would be appreciated as long as I did my job with passion.
"Where the hell are you, you little whoremonger!"
It had been a long time since I stopped wondering if this guy ever got tired of the exact same greeting every evening, but I still couldn't stop a smile from spreading across my face after hearing those words.
Who was the person calling out to me with such a vulgar greeting? Big Bro Muharrem, of course. Ever since the evening of my first day on the job, he had invariably greeted me like this every single time.
At first, I won't deny it bothered me, but once I got to know him and realized he was just a completely unfiltered person, I just let him be. The man had two sons almost my age. They had visited the office a few times, and hearing the things he said to them made me consider myself lucky.
He had a foul mouth. One out of every two words was a curse, and the other was voicing fantasies he came up with by thinking about the various body parts of the women he saw during the day.
Maybe this extreme comfort came from the fact that all the office employees were men. I suppose that's why he defended like crazy whenever the manager wanted to hire female staff.
Just then, he quickly walked up to me, told me not to disappear, and said a few of us from the office were going out tonight to get drunk. It was going to be a farewell dinner. Pushing his limits, he had even reserved a table at a place in the fish market.