#10 - La chica del gas
Recent revelations:
The divine never acts alone.
The entropy of the universe can only increase — second law of thermodynamics. (What is entropy? A measure of disorder.) Applied? After a whole day spent cleaning, all it takes is a pencil on a table for everything to be done again. In other words: disorder attracts disorder (the same applies to evil).
Find a job that doesn’t cost you too much.
Repair things as soon as they break.
Make your home a place where you enjoy living.
Buy a plant.
Choose a book.
“El gas… ! Lectura del gas!”
I always start my day on the rooftops. It helps me stay away from the ground, and since I always have trouble getting started — to be honest, I should say: as I still struggle to believe that this is what I do now, reading gas meters — I take my time to enjoy the view before diving into the hustle and bustle.
Barcelona isn't what I imagined. Crowded, noisy, and relentless. No matter what, it never takes a break. Going out in the morning during rush hour feels like being swallowed by the beast.
Jonas in the heart of the storm.
I thought I would find here what I didn't have the courage to look for within myself. In other words, I was devastated when, upon arriving in the Promised Land, I realised that being myself wouldn’t be enough to get me papers, a job and an insurance number.
“But… I’m a good person!” I can still see myself stammering in front of the police station. Without a doubt. Take a number.
After a year of unemployment, I was already lucky to be able to put on a uniform and shout “El gas!” ¹ all day long.
Suffice to say that we see of E-VE-RY-THING, every day. From all social classes to all kinds of possible reactions. Once the doorbell button is pressed, what happens follows a dichotomous order:
So there are those who open the door immediately and let me take a photo of their meter in the kitchen. Then they say, ‘Goodbye and have a nice day,’ and close the door. Those are very rare. I know how to appreciate them.
There are those who open immediately, but only to say NO. ‘You shall not pass.’ (Think of the hoarse voice of the wizard in The Lord of the Rings). Frank and to the point. I appreciate them just as much.
Then there are those whose footsteps I hear behind the door. They come closer, look through the peephole, then play dead, holding their breath until they see me turn around and leave.
Finally, there are those who open up only to give free rein to their frustration at being born into such an ungrateful and meaningless world. For those, I simply write a little note at the bottom of the screen for the colleague who will be coming back in two months: No picar. Do not knock on the door.
After two weeks, I must confess I contemplated the possibility of throwing everything out the window.
However, everything changed after the encounter.
9 o'clock in the morning. G. avenue, far away in a neighbourhood I don't know very well. It's grey and I'm cold. I couldn't wake up, so I have to run and start the day's list without even having time to drink my first coffee. The building is brand new, which is a bad sign — usually, no one lets you in. But she's the first to answer and she seems nice. The meter is on the balcony. I follow her. She's elderly and has trouble walking. As we pass through the hallway, I notice a magnificent portrait on the wall. A young woman in charcoal looks at me calmly. She's confident and smiling. Auramar², I whisper. It's written in the bottom right corner.
I take a picture of my meter and thank her. Looking up, I realise: it's her. Forty years later, but the look in her eyes is unmistakable. ‘It's you... The woman on the wall, isn't it?’ She nods. Walking back down the corridor, we both stare at it, somewhat dreamily. ‘It's a self-portrait,’ she finally admits. I'm speechless. ‘Did you do it?’ So, as she told me her story, we got a little sidetracked. I forgot about my meters for a moment, and she forgot to take her medication.
Because I told her that I also liked drawing, ‘but writing, above all... yes. Writing...’ she kindly showed me more drawings. Then texts. And poems. The table was covered with them. I had never met anyone who spoke so beautifully about the sea and solitude.
The coffee had cooled, and we had to say goodbye. ‘I have work to do,’ I said, inspired, and I wasn't really talking about reading the gas meter. She got the hint and, at the door, advised me to get to work without further delay. I nodded and thanked her. Poco a poco, I said. Little by little.
She grabbed my arm. Poco a poco, no. Trabajo duro. Like a prophet, she warned me: it will be a difficult path. Very few people succeed because very few people know what it means to make real sacrifices.
Then we said goodbye with a hug, like old friends. With tears in her eyes, she said, ‘Most of the time, we meet people... But today, I met a person. A beautiful person.’
After that, whenever I wondered what I was doing in this seemingly hostile city, wandering the streets and enduring this treatment, I clung to her words. ‘I'm doing my best,’ I kept repeating in my head. Then I realised it was time to make myself useful, so I started taking notes. When the old man on the eighth floor, started crying in my arms because I said, ‘Hmm, it smells good in here’ over the saucepan, and he said, ‘It was her favourite dish.’ Or when I complimented the paintings of the young man who lived under the eaves in Sants and said ‘Come on, you can’t give up now, your paintings are beautiful.’ He was so moved he gave me homemade cake, to help me finish the day. Every day, when I got home, I wrote down these anecdotes, which I unoriginally called ‘Las historias del gas’ (gas meter stories). Just for me, decorated with what I was collecting in the street. I felt a bit like Amélie Poulain sometimes.
So it's true, for now everything seems to have disappeared. My childhood dreams, my young adult ambitions, my desires for glory and fame. Useless burden of beauty... But on that day, the day we met, something came over me. Everything seems to have gone up in smoke, I thought... But don't cry, look, said the little voice inside me. Beneath my feet, a green shoot sprouted from the ashes. You are exactly where you need to be right now. Have faith. Stars are born from their own collapse. ³ —
¹: Reading gas meters is quite a skill. We get paid to walk around the city and go door to door reading gas meters. Four hundred doors a day, six hours of walking. But since everyone is suspicious (thieves are notorious in Barcelona), no one wants to open the door. So we ring all the doorbells of the floor at once and shout: ‘El gas! Lectura del gas!’ That increases our chances (we get paid by the meter).
²: Pssst... Auramar, the woman I met, is a real writer. She has published a book, illustrated with her own drawings. A beautiful tribute to her journey on this earth. — Available here (in Spanish only).
³: See Article #8, The Aftermath.
The PDF version here — Print it, save it, share it.
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