Chronicle of a vivencia courtesy of Trenitalia's the eve of the Epiphany from Torre Pellice take the train to return home. There are only a few more minutes on arrival at Porta Nuova, when I stop reading, I gather my things and begin to take the cars in search of a functioning toilet. Almost at the head of the train, I find the services for the disabled, those with the sliding door that is open when I arrived. Later, to be locked up, turn a crank to the right of metal that protrudes from the wall. After you pee, try to wash my hands - But the hair dryer active; amazed, I try the key water; the work, the acting a bit 'to wipe dry and rejoined the crank to open the tailgate. But it is locked. I try several times, but the handle is too hard. Then try the button automatic opening, then another, emergency (if the press does not open automatically). Depressurizzante puff of air. Nothing more. I turn, I see on the opposite wall is a key for emergencies (I'm still in a bathroom for the disabled!). Just crushed it, an alarm starts ringing, but no runs.
The train, now, arrived at the station, I feel, without distinguishing the words, Ads by rail, and fired from the TV commercials lined up along the tracks. The yellow light is intense, the bathroom sa en train, a mixture of liquid soap and the smell of the chairs, the floor is dark and slightly damp. I take off my backpack and starts to knock, indeed, now I beat your fists on the door, starting as a joke, to scream. None that I feel. Then I stop, I listen and look. Someone passes out, maybe. Batto, cry, anything. I'm beginning to resign myself to spend the night there ironically. But I do not want: it's eight o'clock on Saturday night, I have better things to do! Given this, the train is turned off, everything, including lights. I do not see anything anymore, Ugh! - Not I can not even read! Cry, again to no avail. Now I'm all alone. I wonder if the air I'll just get to tomorrow. (It is already heavy because of the heating, and the place is so small ...) I take off my jacket, I try again to push the crank and the door, but do not move anything. Scream, always laughing a little, wondering if it would make sense cry for help. But then I remember that doing so could consume air faster, and risk losing precious energy. Without really believe it, I do not see it arrive the next day. What a horrible death, I tell myself. Then try with the kick - perhaps make more noise - but now the spring. And I remember having a cell phone. To do a little 'light, first of all. And to call someone. But who? My mom to tell her that be long for dinner, because they are locked in the bathroom of a train parked at the station? But what goes through my head, only the awful! But I could ask my dad to call someone to come and take me ... Hmm ... Then I meditate I could ask it to Christina - so I had to hear their 'tonight. Finally I realize that I could call on its own rescue! Should I call 113? Or 112? No, the 118 no, those are the firemen. Or the ambulance. Go for 113! Biip Biip ---- ---- ----- Biip No one answers. Biip - What efficiency! - ---- Biip piecing the eighth ring, reciting to myself, in the tone of an outraged member Consumers Association: "This is the guaranteed service to your customers?". Now I really think I'll call Ale lives nearby, is one that knows if the draw ... Yes, all you sbrigherà! But then try again with the 113. The third ring I respond: "Hello, Police." And I thought to call City Police ... But that's okay. "Good evening, my name is Henry Piergiovanni ... I was in the bathroom of a train at Porta Nuova ... ...." Somewhat embarrassed, I manage to extricate themselves and to report the situation. The policeman, first in amazement, telling me to call directly to his colleagues of Porta Nuova; but then, with kindness, he offered to transfer the call. I'm waiting. A streak of light seeps vertically from the door, if I try to push it, however, does not open. Forces a bit ', but then I tell myself that if they put me in line and yanked and I make noise, do not give a good impression. The policeman to Porta Nuova I forget to say my name. Let me explain worse than before, he is banned and I have to say it twice because I understand the story. After you wanted to know which train they are, ask me the phone number, but I do not know him. "That's where I'm calling" add a little 'embarrassed, then I apologize. "It's okay," she reassures, "just call someone station will be open, "and hangs up. I'm afraid that no one will come, that he believed it was a joke. I laugh. And I beat my fists, and scream again, louder. Just to try.
Even televisions and ads out. Are they warning the passengers to get off the train at the end of the trip? Who knows ... In the meantime, can I call Ale. But no, look. No one came. Is still beating his fists against the door, but then I think it's best not to heat up. Risk of wasting precious energy. And ... If you eat too much air in a quarter of an hour did not arrive, call the police! But that figure we would talk again with the receptionist before, that kind! But they approach the voices ... ... bright and footsteps! ... some car back. Yes, they walk fast. So I knock and I do feel. Finally arriving at my car, and I found. I warn you not to push the door. Trafficking of a key, but do not know how to open. Neither of which lock. The door snaps sideways, but it remains closed. I repeat them not to push it. And who do you think? Without even touching it, I already put a jacket and backpack, and now looks quiet, half a meter away, long arms outstretched, and me smile. I touched a doubt and if we can not open it? No, they will get it soon ... A few seconds later, Troc Troc, stick around and ... open! Before me, two young men, with a marked accento meridionale, mi domandano se vada tutto bene. Poi uno mi chiede perché fossi lì, e se non mi fossi accorto che il treno era arrivato in stazione. Uscendo di lì, rispondo che dovevo andare in bagno e che sì, me ne ero accorto, ma non riuscivo più ad aprire la porta…
Mentre ci avviamo verso il vagone successivo, quello che porta alla locomotiva, uno dei due, che era rimasto indietro, ci dice di tornare da lui. Ha i capelli color ambra e l’accento toscano. Sta provando ad aprire la portiera che abbiamo appena passato. Traffica un po’, ma non ci riesce; e così riprendiamo il corridoio di prima. Con qualche difficoltà riesce finalmente ad aprire la portiera in testa al treno. Nell’attesa li look. Will have at most three decades, seem going manner: "Two boys," I tell myself. We expect a vertical ladder, the first tells me to be careful, because the steps are far away, then think about it turn around orders. But I usually go down, and I'm down with a jump in the open air! I still ask a document for a check, and consult to determine whether or not to take the data. The amber-haired, he writes, nods his head. The other, then, that my personal data, keeping my identity card completely turned to his colleague, flattened the paper on which one is taking note. I like watching them. The Tuscan rises the radio and signal operation performed. I return the document and tell me that I can go. I thank them once again and walked toward the exit of the station, euphoric pitch. On the streets of the old I start to sing out loud, not even when I close it down to people. What I care what they think? It is the first time that I can.
