The Rose of the Plaza, The Nightingale of My Heart

I find myself on the thirty-fifth floor of a glass-clad skyscraper seemingly built to pierce the sky, and each time I come here, I feel a strange sensation.

If you were to ask why, I might casually tell the medlar-faced receptionist that I deliver online shopping here at least five times a week, without fail, and leave it at that.

It doesn't matter if the security at the door is rude or if the people who ride the elevator with me sigh with disdain; the moment I catch sight of her, everything resets.

She is stunning. I'm not exaggerating; she is truly stunning. Even for someone like me, who holds himself to high standards without looking in the mirror too often, I didn't have to exert much effort to be captivated by her.

As soon as I step through the office door, which annoyingly creaks open, I'm greeted by a scent that fills my senses. She is unfailingly polite, rising to greet everyone without exception. She's the only one who hasn't lost her humanity in this dreary plaza, where I deliver hundreds of packages every day.

Sure, perhaps I'm a bit biased, but individuals like her are rare. Those who enter these steel and glass towers seem to leave their tolerance and kindness behind, as if it were required by security. Even remembering to take it back with them would be considered a feat.

Today was going to be different from the usual because it was likely the last time I'd see her. That's why I carefully styled my hair and took an extra splash of deodorant before stepping into the office.

As she seated herself behind the towering desk that barely revealed the upper part of her eyes, she greeted me once more; whether it was with excitement or sadness, I had to take a few deep breaths before speaking.

Today, she left her hair down, cascading in waves over her shoulders. Was it deliberate? Once or twice, I summoned the courage to tell her how much I liked this style on her.

I wouldn't be wrong. Her long, charcoal-black hair was lightening towards the ends, almost turning white; that detail was what captivated me. I missed that when her hair was tied up, and I suppose the advice I gave was as much a product of my selfishness as it was of my courage.

As we resumed our usual banter while going through the standard procedures, I suddenly dropped the bombshell: today was my last day; I was off to a language school in Australia in a day or two.

You should've seen the look of astonishment on her face, and it surprised me how much an issue about me affected her.

We never had a chance to converse beyond the delivery routine. How could she have known that I dropped out of university last year and joined the courier company to save up money?

Only my inner circle knew this story, and it wasn't something to boast about, especially since I got kicked out of school for standing up to a lecturer. Do I regret it? I wouldn't react the same way again. Though I didn't elaborate much, what I went through wasn't a scar I carried with me.

I immediately pushed aside these untimely thoughts, knowing that carrying the burdens of the past would only hinder my progress. I struggled for two years and achieved my goal, and no one could stop me from starting a new life without worrying about tomorrow's dissertation.

Just as I was about to grab a handful of large and small packages, something unprecedented happened. The woman who captivated me in every way handed me her business card with a shy smile.

Can you imagine my state? As I looked into her eyes while accepting the card she delicately handed over, I vaguely recall her saying, "See you on your way out."

When was the last time I felt such excitement? High school? Freshman year of college? I couldn't remember.

With the ding signaling the elevator's arrival, I returned from my reverie to the present moment; though I was filled with sweet emotions, my life was laden with bitter truths.

As the door opened, I maneuvered myself into the mirrored corner with the iron handle. Propping the boxes against the iron bar made them easier to carry. Perhaps I was taking up more space than I should, but there was no way I could navigate all those floors with a mountain of boxes on my lap.

After descending a couple of floors, the door opened again. What if one day I could escape this metal and mirror hell by riding straight down to the ground floor?

Lost in these musings, the last thing I wanted to happen did. White-collar employees crowded into the elevator with cheerful laughter and exaggerated gestures. No matter how many of them rubbed me the wrong way, they enveloped me like a cocktail of characters. It felt as though I'd been forcibly dragged into a circus turned into a horror show.

Initially, I kept my cool around them. I even bid them a polite "Have a nice day" a few times upon exiting the elevator or delivering a package. I wasn't expecting kind words in return; dispersing the condescending looks on their faces was enough for me.

Unfortunately, realizing this dream proved difficult, and my attempts didn't interest them any more than the sound of a fly buzzing. I found solace in giving up and keeping my distance, unable to grovel like the veteran couriers I worked with.

One of the extras in the group, the type I dubbed the bonus, cornered me against the iron railing as a tribute to my last day.

This type embodied the essence of the flashy employee profile in the plaza world. Whether it was because he was above the servant class or insisted on refusing to wear a tailored suit, they were the most aggressive bunch.

"How many times do I have to tell this management? Outsourcing providers shouldn't be allowed to use the elevator!"

He started ranting again, lame, not intending to miss the only opportunity to grab attention in his environment. It was a survival tactic to humiliate a class he deemed inferior in society, while I, as a character, couldn't provide as much space as one of them.

Don't get me wrong; they're usually not lacking in character development. Today's surprise was no exception, as the only person in the group who boarded the elevator with a shoddy appearance was this guy.

The man's most distinguishing features were his below-average height, slouched shoulders, and thinning hair, as if they were standard package equipment. As his words implying disdain for me fell on deaf ears among his companions, his already hunched back seemed to slump a little more, announcing that danger was approaching.

"Why didn't you take the stairs?"

It was expected; it was his moment to directly accuse his victim, who would suffer the agony of being ignored.

As his pitch rose and his friends turned slightly towards me, there was a gap between the loser king and me where we could lock eyes.

In these moments, experience was key. Having dealt with similarly obnoxious family members in the past, I had developed a habit of wearing headphones. I wasn't listening to music at the moment; I had heard what he said, but would anyone besides me know that?

I stood with my back to the door, my face obscured in the mirror by the boxes in my hands, like a camouflaged lizard in the wild.

Little did I know that this wouldn't suffice; my aim was to salvage

 The somewhat lame character and return to normalcy. I even bobbed my head to an imaginary beat, giving the impression that I was listening to music, enough to keep up the charade until we reached our floor.

"I'm talking to you, answer me!"

With his finger poking my back, we officially embarked on a journey of no return. I have patience for words, but I have no tolerance for physical contact.

I had no intention of resorting to violence for such a trivial matter. Though he was small, I was a bit fortunate in terms of height. The last time I checked, I was over 190 cm tall; while I may have had a slight build, this feature lent me some presence.

The guy taunting me must have been around 170 cm at most. Without setting the boxes down, I turned from my waist to face forward without lowering my head. The man stood before me, and I pretended not to see him due to his short stature, hoping to provoke him further.

The arrow was loosed, and I took it a step further by removing my headphones and addressing the other white-collar workers who stared at me in surprise.

"Which one of you poked me?"

It would have been one thing for me to pose my question while disregarding the man beside me, but seeing one or two people in the group struggling to suppress laughter would have sufficed. Though I enjoyed the situation, it was evident from the strange sound he'd make shortly that the man, grappling with his inferiority complex, wasn't finding as much amusement.

"Do we have to cram in here because of you? This elevator is for plaza staff only!"

I had no chance to ignore him any longer. He loomed over me like the midday sun, with a few remaining tufts of hair on his head and a bizarre vertically striped jacket he wore in a bid to appear taller.

It served me well to counter his accusation with a rule he conjured out of thin air; I shot back directly from that same channel.

"Where does it say that the elevators are exclusively for plaza employees? I've only seen weight and person limits on the warnings. I can't bend down with my hands full. Is there a sign at your eye level about this?"

I kept my cool, but it stung; once I start hitting below the belt, I don't stop until the guy's down for the count.

The man I mocked for his height started to turn red, while a few suppressed giggles emanated from those who had restrained him. His slightly flushed face betrayed his hurt pride, yet he still had a few cards up his sleeve.

Since we had started, it was crucial to maintain the upper hand, as taking control in any altercation would be advantageous.

"I think your anxiety is due to feeling squeezed between us. What a pity; let me give you a hand. Let's lift the gentleman and seat him on this railing so he can catch his breath!

I addressed a white-collar man watching us with his mouth agape, and I could see the guy beneath me seething with rage. Did I feel a sense of satisfaction? In a way I couldn't deny, but as our ancestors said, the hunter becomes the hunted.

"Bastard!"

My adversary struggled to find words, starting off roughly and emphasizing the letter's' with extra force, almost spitting out the'd' in anger.

"I'll report you to your company. Tell me your name!"

The tension escalated. It was time to exploit the disparity in our work lives, and it was time for me to land the penultimate blow, as this move signaled the most desperate action to come.

"Perhaps you couldn't see it because it's a bit high, but my name and other details are on the badge pinned to my collar. If you ask your friends nicely, they could easily jot it down for you.

Also, you'll probably be calling before I leave the office. Would you mind requesting a bottle of shampoo from the giveaways we distribute?

I couldn't help but notice when you got close to me; your head had quite an odor. I don't know if it's sweat or grease, but giving it a wash would do wonders for you and those around you!"

The next step would be to complain to HR and concoct lame excuses to paint me in a bad light. One of the most common methods was to claim that people who work tirelessly all day stink.

Though there were days when my workload prevented me from taking proper care of myself and I wafted about in a cloud of body spray, today I planned to visit my delicate flower, who had yet to emerge from the cocoon of my heart, smelling as fresh as a perfumery aisle.

I may have accused the man who attacked me based on mere speculation, but it wouldn't be long before I generalized my findings and realized my gamble had paid off. The few female colleagues lined up around us, grimacing in disgust, stared at the man's few strands of hair, which resembled an oasis in the desert.

This was the tipping point; the overflowing glass spilled over as the man, who was trying to assert his existence through me, caught the gaze of these onlookers.

"I'm going to HR now, and I'll make sure you never set foot in this plaza again!"

I must admit, he played his last card with unexpected finesse. It was evident from his tone that it wasn't just an empty threat; he had the power to make it happen.

It was a shame he couldn't see the root cause of his problems. It was a shame I couldn't replay the foolishness he displayed in the elevator we shared, recorded with a hidden camera, and force him to watch it.

Up until his final words, neither his actions nor his words had been his own, but he finally found himself. Cornered and liberated from the senseless pretenses of modern humanity, he had let his primal instincts take over.

I couldn't help but admire the man; he was no longer the pitiful aggressor he'd been when he first boarded the elevator in my eyes. I even entertained the thought of letting bygones be bygones.

As I pondered these naive notions, memories of the event that marked the end of my academic life came flooding back. I should've known better; ideas are easy to come by, but putting them into practice to bring about change is a different story.

At present, I harbored no guilt for failing to bring the maturity I lacked to my surroundings today.

"Goodbye, you're not the only one with influence in this plaza; I'll ensure neither of us can move around here comfortably anymore!"

We played our final cards; even if he didn't know it was my last day at work today, his efforts were in vain. My threat, I'm sure, would weigh heavy on his mind like a boulder. Though it may not be widely known, there were plenty of people who, like him, had crossed the servants in these glass prisons and lived to tell the tale.

Their stories circulated, and even if they lost their jobs, they added another layer to the armor of those who remained. With a sense of satisfaction, I slammed my card down on the table, as the elevator bell rang and the doors opened, revealing the swallow marks left by the man's pride in his throat.

Finally reaching the ground floor, after the short man hastily exited the elevator, the others followed suit. I could tell from their odd glances that they had noticed

 The man I had just tangled with.

As the guards, the notorious bad boys of the servant class, approached, it was clear that the man had scurried off, fearing that I might retaliate with violence.

After the commotion had died down, I made my way to the cargo office, regaling myself with a song I was fond of, sometimes humming and sometimes whistling along.

I couldn't help but reflect on my first day here; it was as if I had experienced the same embarrassment I felt upon entering the door. Over time, however, I grew accustomed to my surroundings. This job had provided me with invaluable experiences and exposed me to situations I wouldn't have encountered elsewhere.

I must admit, I struggled with myself initially. There were times when I felt defined by my job and caused quite a bit of trouble for those around me.

But eventually, I learned to live without the enlightenment found in those fantasy novels. I came to understand that jobs are defined by people, not the other way around.

I had clung to this idea for the past year; perhaps this dream wouldn't come true in the country of my birth, but it would eventually.

A friend from university had ventured abroad immediately upon graduating, quickly found a job, and always filled me with hope whenever we met.

My decision to go abroad and start afresh was largely influenced by these encounters. Finally, I was ready to take the first step toward my goal, having saved enough money.

My passport, visa, plane tickets — everything was in order. Tomorrow, I would bid farewell to this life, setting sail from a place where my worth would be appreciated if I loved what I did.

"Where are you, old pimp?"

The same greeting every evening. Though I had long stopped dwelling on this man, a smile involuntarily crept onto my face upon hearing those words.

Who else but Muharrem Abi would address me with such a standard greeting? Since my first day on the job, this had been his customary welcome without fail.

Initially, it had grated on my nerves, but I left him be once I got to know him and realized he was nothing but well-intentioned. With two sons nearly my age, he had visited the office several times, and upon hearing his interactions with them, I counted myself fortunate.

He was a bit of a loose cannon, with his mouth spewing profanities and his fantasies about various female body parts he'd encountered throughout the day.

Perhaps it was because the office was predominantly male, but whenever the manager attempted to hire a female staff member, he vehemently opposed it.

Today, he sauntered over to me and advised me not to wander off; a few folks from the office were planning to go out for drinks in the evening. It would be a farewell dinner of sorts; they were pulling out all the stops and had even reserved a spot at the fish market in Beyoglu.