a) Nobody looks at me
b) I always get stepped on.
Always.
To make things worse, it turned out to be “An Installation”, with people walking around anarchically and no chance for me to exchange a look of complicity with anyone, to walk all over the place naturally, or keep my shoes and toes intact up to the end.
The place was absolutely crowded, and the exhibition itself was pretty disappointing. It was called “Living rooms” and it was divided into different areas, fully furnished as living rooms with weird details, like an old tv screen emerging from the wallpaper with futuristic news on, or an armchair with a back like a padded headstone. There was a corridor with some paintings too, and there I was, taking refuge, staring at a bit of wall between two paintings, happily imagining it was the space between two thoughts, when I suddenly felt the heavy weight of a shoe landing on my right foot.
The owner of the shoe turned out to be a hipster I had seen just after I arrived, holding a blue drink, discussing loudly with other hipsters the depth of the blacks of a painting that I swear was completely white. I couldn’t believe the crap they were talking; until I realised they all were dressed the same way, with weird-shaped jeans, retro glasses, and bad haircuts, and the similarity between them made me think I was facing a sect of pretentious morons who -if they could see me- would have thought I was a narrow-minded square.
I wanted to shoot him an accusing look, not only because of the stamp but especially because of his snobbery, and tell him: “Hey, asshole, you’ve just trodden on my foot.”
But maybe after this he would have looked down on my foot, said “sorry” and gone away. And I would have had to learn –from him– the difference between being invisible and being ignorable. So I didn’t say anything and kept calm, accepting my lack of coolness, and not offering any resistance to the fact that I don’t belong to places where people drink blue drinks, but still maintaining that the guy stepped on me because he couldn’t see me, because I’m a superhero and I can fade away until I vanish. Because I don’t usually fit but I don’t have to admit it in anybody’s presence. Even less so in someone’s who thinks the height of sophistication is wearing trousers below his arse. Hell no.
3 comentarios:
el planteamiento sería quizá: voy a una exposición de este tipo a jugar el roll de snob, a pisar cuantos mas dedos gordos posibles para luego pedir perdón amablemente y que no me los pisen a mi, a beber liquidos de colores, a reirme de estos acontecimientos sociales carnavalescos cuanto mas mejor y disfrutar del teatro siendo el mejor actor. A mi me fascinan esas inauguraciones porque puedes jugar... y ligar ;-)
un beso,
jc
con tu comentario lo entiendo todo mejor: "pisar para que no me pisen a mí". Así que eso es lo que hacéis... y así ligáis?!
Un beso
hay que pisar con cuidado para no traumatizar a la víctima, sutil arte como la exposicion en cuestión,
Te pisé alguna vez? (ahora no recuerdo) ;-)
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