CET Student Correspondent
Most Halloweens are spent trick-or-treating, dressing up, partying, and having a good time with friends. The beginning of mine was been no such thing.
Denny (my Italian Roommate) and I were the only ones home in Florence for the holiday, and we were planning on going out to celebrate when he returned from him job as a waiter (around midnight). In the meantime, I ordered pizza delivery.
When the deliveryman buzzed up, the button that opens the main building door wasn't working, so I ran back to my room and yelled out my window that I would come down and get the pizza.
To open the main door to the building, one needs a key or the code for the electronic keypad. I entered the code and went inside, but when I arrived at my door, I realized something horrible… my apartment door had closed automatically, and I had left my keys inside. My phone was in the apartment, and everyone I knew who had keys to the door was out of the country (with the exception of Denny). I was screwed. At least I had my pizza, though.
Before seeking any help, I sat down outside my door and savored the taste of the first half of my Italian delivery pizza. (One should also note that in Italy the hallway lights do not stay on automatically-- every 60 seconds, I stood up, walked to the elevator, and renewed my light source). After I finished eating, I went downstairs and knocked on the door of the apartment underneath mine.
Our porter lives below us. She is a bit cranky. I've tried to initiate conversations with her over the past few months with little success. I was not too optimistic about the possibilities that lay ahead. She opened the door and I told her my situation. The porter, son, girlfriend and I started talking, and they gave me some wine and some of their freshly roasted chestnuts. Delicious.
We talked about me living with 5 girls and how 2 bathrooms are not sufficient for them, the extreme cost of American universities, and, of course, how I run without a shirt. One must realize that I am not well dressed right now. As I rushed outside only to grab my pizza, the only thing I was wearing was a pair of athletic shorts. No shoes, shirt, or anything else. I go running relatively frequently here and, like I do at home, I run only with shorts, shoes, and my iPod. This isn't normal for Italians, so I get stares.
Whenever I leave to run, I always pass by the porter. We talked about how she thinks I am very strange for running without a shirt. She laughed at me for a good 6.5 minutes, bringing in her son and his girlfriend, also. Then she stopped laughing for 30 seconds, remembered what she was laughing about, and started laughing again. Meanwhile, I was trying to laugh with them in the "I don't know what's so funny but I'll laugh with you anyways" sense.
I'm finally back in my apartment, down 1 pizza and several hours, but up 3 new friends.
Drew Silverstein,
CET in Florence Fall 2009
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