Freeze!

Man, this job hunt just stepped into a whole new level: theater of the ridicule.

A friend of mine, deeply concerned about my status, presented me with a contact. This was a friend of his, a rich girl with a shop in a posh area of town. We settle for a three o’clock meeting. I arrived at a quarter to, with a C.V and a killing smile.

Sandra – the posh shop owner – was wearing miu miu jeans, a pair of LV loafers – tiny but gaudy- and a tight tank top encrusted with Swarovskis. Her lips were caramel and her abs shiny with glittered lotion. She smelled like... I don’t know, but it’s around – like the fragrance of the month.

We sat for an hour, and she crossed examined me. She determined that, I was charming enough to be part of her sales team. So she sent me to her headquarters. It turned out, her family owned a chain of Levi’s retailers, and she was the weakest link. In order for her to contract me, I had to take a Psychological test.

I told her, Listen: I think you’re fooling yourself with these tests. You can Google into any company, and beat them at their own game. I can take your test, but it will only prove that I can tell you what you want to hear.

She felt like I was being extra honest, but she had a four o’clock appointment: another clerk hopeful.

It took me an hour to find the address – in Bogotá, you can get lost in certain areas where the whole streets and avenues scheme (inspired by Manhattan’s) perverts into Diagonals and transverses. I found the place, and it was empty. Just two high schoolers, wishful shopping, and an executive hopeful, probably on a rest window between interviews. Other than them, there was the custom service team, and the cashier, yapping about some personal matters I couldn't care to overhear.

When the four o’clock clerk hopeful arrived, i recognised him from when we crossed ways at Sandra’s shop. He was not European- he was queer. Loud and clear. We shared the taste in watches – broad wristband, rock and Roll-ish. His hair was a disgrace.

The cashier said to him the same thing he had said previously to me: you’ll have to wait until Vivian – the psychologist – returns from running errands. We did. I browsed the classic cut section. These pants were assembled in Medellín(I knew this, because I read it somewhere), and cost the same as what I paid for a month’s rent. The shirts were all Copenhagen blue and of poor taste – cowboys don’t dress as bleak as those mannequins.

Then something weird happened. The executive pulled out a gun, while a brown, tall man harangued his way into the shop, screaming, Freeze! Everybody behind the counter!. Then, one of the high schoolers poked me with a .38 and coaxed me towards some boxes piled near the register. We were kindly asked to shut the fuck up, to bow our heads, and remove any earthly possessions we might treasure, like a Mobile or a fancy watch. Since i look like a bum, I could easily said i had nothing to share. My fellow assaulted team showed signs of fear. The perpetrators, like dogs, got aroused by the smelled, and harassed the cashier.

-You, fucking asshole, open the register!!!.

The guy declined, so the gunman pistol whipped the cashier till he reconsidered. The cashier handed the keys, the perpetrators ransacked the place while we only listened, and the cashier moaned.

-All of you, shut up! Or I’ll get mental!

I took the cashier’s hand, gently and stealthy, and placed it on my rushing heart. I said, we are all as scared as you. You need to relax. And with that he breath easier, until the robbery was over. Then the cashier got up, and finally hits the panic button. The police arrived half an hour later. In the meantime, we the hostages became close friends, and shared our every emotion throughout our collective experience. I lend my Mobile to everybody, so that they could block their SIMs. They reported their beloved phones as stolen. C115. V3, L6 – status symbols they didn’t posses anymore. We talked about important numbers, and plans so cheap, you could text message the world for a small monthly fee.

The cops came and took our statements. The cashier felt relieve – he was so scared that he had to pay for all of the stolen goods. The cops explained to him that there was an insurance for these matters. The cashier was positive about the fact that said matter was never discuss on his contract. He feared some kind of reprisal. I became a suspect, because I was too calm during the process. The cashier said that I was the only one keeping a cool, and with all his possessions on him. I gave the cops all the assistance they needed, even gave them a detailed account of my possible whereabouts.

This weekend is inauguration day. I was planning to go on a protest, but things are getting so repressive in my neighbourhood, it wouldn't be prudent. I don’t think I’m going to go to the psychological interview, I consider this turn of events a bad omen. The police await for my deposition on Tuesday.