Selfie

Before getting deeper into this story, I will have to say that I’m not a selfie or thirdie fan. No, I’m definitely not. Why? Because I’m not a photogenic guy. I don’t have a pretty nor agreeable face.

However, now that my days at the office are finite, I decide to overcome my stupid fixations and capture, at least through photos, the essence of the office; that is, its people, those tiny and fragile human beings.

There we were: Deyvis, Joeliño and me. 9 pm. Three hours have gone by since the official hour to leave the office has ticked. That’s our nature. We don’t get extra money for extra working hours, but we believe that duties must be fulfilled, that the client has to receive his work done on time. It sounds stupid, but we were raised like that: we fear being irresponsible, we fear being chewed out, we fear to fuck things up, even intentionally.

How do I convince Deyvis and Joeliño, who are working hard trying to figure out how to codify that whimsical ore deposit handed by the client, to get them on a selfie? I can’t come up with a decent lie so I tell them a truth: Deyvis, Joeliño, come on, join me in this selfie, please. It’s the only way I can proof my fucking wife that I’m home late because I’ve been working hard at the office and not drinking beer in some bar.

They laugh at me. They call me downtrodden, but agree to be part of my project.

There we are: they are laughing because witty Joeliño (stupid son of gun) is giving me the finger and I’m laughing because I enjoy the amazing environment these people, these hardworking people, create.

This other pic reveals the difficult situation the company is facing. Check out that little bag of animal-shaped cookies by Joeliño’s left side. You got it. Well, before the crisis we used to work long hours accompanied by a delicious hot pizza and a big and cold Coke bottle. Now, we barely have money to get that animal-shaped cookies bag. But, is that really important? No, hell no. What really matters is that, with pizza or cookies, the people of my office, my people, my mates, will always carry a tonne of good mood within their souls.

Half an hour after the selfie, we leave the office. I walk them to the Metro station. Shortly they will travel to their homes squashed by other hundreds of hardworking Peruvians inside an smelly bus. I say goodbye, fellows, and shake hands. See you tomorrow, they say. I head to Wilson avenue while thinking that I finally have with me the photo I wanted, the photo I’ll draw from my pocket and see, years and years later, bald, fat and uglier, that I’ve always been happy.