It is well-known in Slovakia, that the door people, those who work the reception in any given building, literally and symbolically hold the keys to the building. They have the power to deny entry, to demand an id, to spleen your morning with incorrect information -- room numbers and floors. They know that they have that power and wield it with impunity. Moreover, in a post-commie state, during which salaries were levelled, they even had status. In the states, we might consider them peons, who get reimbursed to read magazines, and smile; here, they greet you with the disdain of nobility, managing to look down at you as they look up from their low perch.
So, this is the tale of one vrátnička, who manages and controls the door in one of the largest business centers in all of Slovakia.
The first day I met Pani Vrátnička, she greeted me with the accustomed, "občiansky preukaz". Which literally translates to, "personal id". No "please". You don't say please to someone who has no power to say "no". So, I went with my spiel, "Nie som slovenka, tak tu je moj pas". (I'm not Slovak, therefore, I have no id. I give them my passport.) This opened the gates of conversation. She smiled, asked me if I spoke German -- a common question, ironically, is to ask the Americans if they speak German or Russian as the older population in Slovakia were forced to learn these languages. She, unknowingly, showed her worldview at that point, forgetting that almost no Americans speak German, let alone Russian.
Anyway, she told me the floor number in German and I was granted admission.
Upon breaking the ice with this first conversation, she decided that it would be a good idea to tell me snipits of her life eveytime I entered the building (which is three times weekly). I can paraphrase her situation by saying that "život je ťažky", or as in American, oops I mean, English, "life sucks". She has two jobs. Her husband has three. So, after establishing her professional woes, without divulging her name, she moved on to her real purpose.
After teaching one afternoon and while leaving the building at which point I usually keep a safe distance and call out a have a nice day. She beckoned:
- Oh, Miss! Come here.
And then with a conspiring lean toward her couter and me, asked:
- Do you know anyone in Ireland?
- No, I'm American.
- Oh. (As if she hadn't seen my passport 10 times already.) So, you don't know anyone my husband and I could work for in Ireland? My husband and I really want to go to Ireland.
- No, I don't know anyone in Ireland. There are many agencies in the center of town that can help you work abroad.
- Yes, but in the agencies you need to speak English.
Hmmm. And in Ireland you don't need to speak English? The conversation continued, during which only one thing was verified. No, I am not Irish and no, again, I don't know anyone in Ireland who is looking for employees.
She was asking under some basic assumptions that I have found here in the locals, more appropriately, the elders of this Slovakian tribe. Those being: first, all English speakers know eachother; second, they are willing to help you because you ask; and third, life is easier outside of Slovakia. It is worth mentioning, based on the many books I have read by Irish authors, that the Irish consider life to be easier everywhere but in Ireland. Well, I suppose she was acting on the premise that it doesn't hurt to ask, that the world is actually a small place. Travellers know the world is small because they've seen the connections; those who don't travel believe in those connections.
We ended our conversation with my side, "I'll do my best to keep my ears open", and her side "fine, I look forward to hearing from you". <<>> We haven't spoken of this encounter since. I do imagine her going home, to her apartment, which is probably identical to mine, telling her husband with a seed of hope that she had a conversation with an American about working in Ireland. That maybe this hope made their dreams that night a little fluffier, before another day of watching doors and working more than one job.
So, if any Irish people read this post and would like a very friendly woman and her husband to come work for you, please send me a comment. It's clear to me that Pani Vrátnička really wants to leave this place, where life is hard, and go to Ireland, where there are rainbows, songs, and leprechauns.
So, this is the tale of one vrátnička, who manages and controls the door in one of the largest business centers in all of Slovakia.
The first day I met Pani Vrátnička, she greeted me with the accustomed, "občiansky preukaz". Which literally translates to, "personal id". No "please". You don't say please to someone who has no power to say "no". So, I went with my spiel, "Nie som slovenka, tak tu je moj pas". (I'm not Slovak, therefore, I have no id. I give them my passport.) This opened the gates of conversation. She smiled, asked me if I spoke German -- a common question, ironically, is to ask the Americans if they speak German or Russian as the older population in Slovakia were forced to learn these languages. She, unknowingly, showed her worldview at that point, forgetting that almost no Americans speak German, let alone Russian.
Anyway, she told me the floor number in German and I was granted admission.
Upon breaking the ice with this first conversation, she decided that it would be a good idea to tell me snipits of her life eveytime I entered the building (which is three times weekly). I can paraphrase her situation by saying that "život je ťažky", or as in American, oops I mean, English, "life sucks". She has two jobs. Her husband has three. So, after establishing her professional woes, without divulging her name, she moved on to her real purpose.
After teaching one afternoon and while leaving the building at which point I usually keep a safe distance and call out a have a nice day. She beckoned:
- Oh, Miss! Come here.
And then with a conspiring lean toward her couter and me, asked:
- Do you know anyone in Ireland?
- No, I'm American.
- Oh. (As if she hadn't seen my passport 10 times already.) So, you don't know anyone my husband and I could work for in Ireland? My husband and I really want to go to Ireland.
- No, I don't know anyone in Ireland. There are many agencies in the center of town that can help you work abroad.
- Yes, but in the agencies you need to speak English.
Hmmm. And in Ireland you don't need to speak English? The conversation continued, during which only one thing was verified. No, I am not Irish and no, again, I don't know anyone in Ireland who is looking for employees.
She was asking under some basic assumptions that I have found here in the locals, more appropriately, the elders of this Slovakian tribe. Those being: first, all English speakers know eachother; second, they are willing to help you because you ask; and third, life is easier outside of Slovakia. It is worth mentioning, based on the many books I have read by Irish authors, that the Irish consider life to be easier everywhere but in Ireland. Well, I suppose she was acting on the premise that it doesn't hurt to ask, that the world is actually a small place. Travellers know the world is small because they've seen the connections; those who don't travel believe in those connections.
We ended our conversation with my side, "I'll do my best to keep my ears open", and her side "fine, I look forward to hearing from you". <<>> We haven't spoken of this encounter since. I do imagine her going home, to her apartment, which is probably identical to mine, telling her husband with a seed of hope that she had a conversation with an American about working in Ireland. That maybe this hope made their dreams that night a little fluffier, before another day of watching doors and working more than one job.
So, if any Irish people read this post and would like a very friendly woman and her husband to come work for you, please send me a comment. It's clear to me that Pani Vrátnička really wants to leave this place, where life is hard, and go to Ireland, where there are rainbows, songs, and leprechauns.
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