As I have mentioned before, public service offices in Sicily do not do much of a job. The same proved true for the police force. I was told that whoever is so useless that cannot do anything to make a living, he becomes a policeman. The salary is lower than the average, but it is a guaranteed job for life with little or no responsibility.
One beautiful day we were walking home and we took a new route so that I can explore the city better. We were passing by some Council building when we bumped into a friend of ours. Not really a friend, but an acquaintance; he is a friend of one of Alessandro’s numerous cousins and they came visit us in London last year.
Our friend is a policeman. He didn’t strike me with much intelligence or character when I first met him, yet I decided not to judge him. I thought he was just on holiday and he probably was enjoying himself a bit too much. It’s normal at the end of the day.
Yesterday we met him while he was at work. There was some important politician coming from Milano and they have sent additional policemen to guard in front of the impressive building. He was standing at the main entrance with another two policemen.
At first he did not recognise us; he passed by us and walked into the local Lotto shop. It took us a second to confirm that it was him so we followed him in the shop. He had just finished choosing his numbers and was paying for the ticket. The moment Alessandro said “Ciao, come stai? Ti ricordi di me?” the policeman recognized us and generously gave hugs and kisses away, like a good Italian.
We talked for few minutes, and then he said: “Come over to the next door cafe, let’s have a shot of espresso!” We walked in the cafe and he ordered: “Two espressos for my friends and one shot of Amaro Cinar (typical Sicilian liquor made from artichokes, with a really bitter taste). He then continued, “Oh, no, actually give me only a double shot of Jeggermeister because the other one smells too strong like alcohol. After all, I am at work.”
The barman, no older than sixteen years of age, poured the glass without even questioning. Obviously, who is he to question a policeman? He then drank the Jeggermaister faster than I drank my espresso. We talked for another 20 minutes standing in the cafe. That’s just the absolute minimum for Italians when they say “Hi” on the street.
As usual, my legs started hurting from standing too much and I started begging we go. The policeman agreed, “Yeah, it’s about time to go back to work, if I stay a bit longer, they might think I am hiding away during my shift.” We said bye to him and to his fellow co-workers, who were happily smoking away cigarette number 23 for the day.
It took us roughly an hour to say “Hi” to our police friend. Needless to mention, he was not on a lunch break.
No comments:
Post a Comment