Registration
It
was the last possible day for enrolling the autumn's courses. Going
to the school I met an old friend (who later became an architect).
He, too, was on his way to the fifth floor, where the enrollment took
place.
'Are
you on a summer vacation?' I asked.
'Not really,' my friend replied. 'Are you?'
'Yes, but in my thoughts I'm already working.'
It
was quiet in the office. Everyone was heading home, as it was almost
six o'clock in the evening. I had not decided which courses to take,
and the office being in an unorderly state, I decided to postpone
my registration. 'It must be possible to come again tomorrow,' my
friend said. 'So many students have not enrolled yet, so they have
to continue the next day.'
Walking
along the corridor I was looking for a lift or a staircase. It didn't
matter that I wasn't able to register. I was more interested in how
to get out.
At
the end of the corridor I opened a door which led to a construction
site. The floor was full of racks and machines. I closed the door
and inspected another corridor. I found rooms which I didn't even
know that existed.
Curiously,
I was not able to find a way down. The school janitor came across,
so I asked 'Where are the stairs?' He pointed me to walk five metres
onward, where a big staircase turned clock-wise down. Strange that
I didn't find this before.
But
this was no ordinary staircase. Instead of steps, it was covered by
a coarse carpet, which had been used so much that it had become smooth
in the outer edges. The students had the habit of sliding down the
carpet all the way to the ground floor.
I
positioned myself in the staircase and quickly slid past the 4th and
3rd floors. I remembered, however, that I was wearing new white trousers,
so I got up and cleaned the back of my pants. Apparently they were
not too dirty, as no one seemed to pay any attention. Even my friend
didn't say a word.
In
the downstairs there was a busy throng in the area next to the entrance.
The school kitchen was here, and people queued to get some food. Peeping
above the shoulders I tried to see what was on offer. Everywhere,
from the floor to the ceiling, I saw chicken legs: fried, barbequed
and deep-fried. There were also ducks fried in soy sauce, black and
shiny, as they were lifted to serving trays with a mechanical device.
The
room was full of ready-made ducks and chickens. It all looked delicious,
although the fried chicken legs didn't seem so special. I wondered
what the food would cost? No one answered, but I saw the prices. Duck
was the most expensive. Other dishes were up to ten euros each. Fried
chicken legs were more affordable, so I took one.
