A hero could save us

For those who saw me coming home early in the morning. Cheerful, relieved and a little confused. And in a ripped Spiderman costume. For them is this story, this explanation. Because I admit, there are not always explanations for the capriciousness of our existence. But sometimes there are. And I try to explain it now.

That morning began as all my mornings start. I woke up at half past six, took a shower, got dressed (Levi 501 classic fit jeans, my favorite anthracite colored turtleneck, sneakers) and got for breakfast some rye bread with Gouda cheese and a cup of coffee. All as it should be. All as I like to wish in my well-arranged world.

Unlike usual (routinely I sit at my desk at seven and start writing) I had an appointment with my regular editor this day. I was expected at the publishing house at nine o'clock. Some formal matters had to be discussed, I was told. And my experience is that it is best to deal with such matters early in the morning.

At five to nine I got into the elevator of the office building. I had to go to the ninth floor. Just before the doors closed a young woman came to keep me company. At least I assumed she was young because she was dressed up like a superhero, a Spiderman. The elevator started moving when suddenly the light went out. And at the same time the cables stopped working. A power outage. We were trapped in the office elevator. Me and the superhero.

"NO! NO! NO! YOU CAN'T MAKE THIS! NOT TODAY! THIS CAN’T HAPPEN! NOT NOW!" Spiderman slammed savagely against the smooth walls. She pressed the buttons like a woman possessed. Nothing happened. She picked up her phone and screamed desperately and helplessly at whoever she was calling. She was told not to panic. A soft voice replied that it was most likely a sudden but brief technical glitch and it was expected that it would be resolved shortly. She had to keep her composure.

“KEEP MY COMPOSURE? KEEP MY COMPOSURE?”

She tossed her phone onto the dusty floor and sank down beside the broken parts. With all the strength she had in her, she tore the superhero suit into pieces. Dogged, ferocious, and frantic, she continued to destroy the costume until all she had was a loose fray hanging from her body. Only then did she seem to come to her senses. She was on the verge of crying and looked up at me.

"Sorry, sorry, for this outburst," she apologized. “But this elevator malfunction is the last straw. I have been fucked up all weekend. We have our team outing today, you know. And the theme is 'superheroes'. Another day in which I must pretend to be different than I really want to be. One more shitty day with pretty smiles, kind gestures, hypocritical giggles, and unwritten rules.”

She spat out the last line. As if a sip of vinegar had been taken. She stared blankly at her torn reflection in the shiny wall of the broken elevator. A discarded mannequin in a filthy basement.

“Why is a person nowadays forced to be a different version of herself? Why always so exaggerated? Why always so over the top, so excessively so superficial? Like we are just cheap creatures?”

She stood up and only then she seems to realize the state of her superhero suit. Fortunately, she was still able to smile about it.

“Oh yes, I will get through it. My problem, of course, is that I take life, my work too seriously. That I believe it really matters. I have to learn to see it all as a game, as a form of play or sport.”

That is when I suggested to swap clothes. In my favorite turtleneck she could pretend to be a kind of tech hero, a kind of Steve Jobs. I would put her rags on and go home and change clothes.

We had just got dressed when the elevator started moving again. The young woman thanked me warmly, wiped the left over of her tears from her eyes and left reassured for the team party. I called the editor to say I'd be a little late, but I didn’t disclose the reason why. Then I took the bus back home. Cheerful, relieved but also a little confused in my ripped Spiderman superhero costume.