I worked in a cable company, one of the best jobs I ever had, I'm not saying it because I was a flatterer or something like that, but because compared to the previous jobs, it was wonderful. I was in "Los Ruices", near my house, in principle I would not have to get up early to arrive on time, but the reality of the traffic in Caracas, especially in the mornings, so even if I lived ten blocks from work, it was better for me to get up early to get there comfortably.
I entered at eight in the morning, consequently, I left my house at six, after avoiding the traffic, I arrived at "Los Ruices" around 6:30 a.m that gave me a lot of time, which I took the opportunity to relax a little and do other things, such as drink coffee.
On the avenue there was a bakery run by two older women, sisters (or was it my impression), blond and blue-eyed, they must be Portuguese or Italian[1]. The place was small, simple, cozy, and every time I entered, the classics of Latin American music always sounded, the atmosphere was enlivened by Alejandro Fernández, Juan Gabriel, Juan Luis Guerra, El Puma, Los Panchos[2], and all the great Latin musicians.
Those two sisters were a real curiosity, one was slim, smiling and lively, the other was more robust, serious, and bitter, usually taking turns to attend the box. One always chatted with customers and joked, while the other only greeted them coldly and nothing more. In the place there was always a lively and pleasant atmosphere, everyone treated everyone, the employees always chatted with each other, the music played at full volume.
I always asked for my favorite drink, a Mokaccino[3], my drug, I loved it, it was like an article that I saw a long time ago that said: "sugar is the worst drug that humanity has produced in the last 50 years" and if it was like It was indicated by that tabloid title, without a doubt I was one of the millions of victims of that new and disastrous evil. I would arrive every morning, stand in line at the cash register, buy my ticket, ask for my coffee, and walk down the avenue while taking it calmly, it was a kind of morning ritual.
One morning I came to the place in search of my load of sugar and caffeine, the place was particularly full, the line was long, luckily it was very early, so I had time to wait, the line moved little by little, I was finally able to pay and I went to the bar, dodging several people, with the ticket raised to order my coffee. The employees passed by the bar taking all the orders, "cachitos", "pastelitos[4]", coffee of all kinds, bread, juices, the "balanced" morning diet of many Venezuelans, well loaded with sugar and carbohydrates, I was still waiting to be attended when something happened truly out of the ordinary.
The bakery is full, the employees juggling to dispatch the products when a rather curious character entered the scene, it was a guy, I don't know what ministry or public office, SENIAT[5], some "misión[6]", state bank or any of the "misiones" created by the government, in short, he was a public employee, that could easily be identified by his red shirt and cap, full of emblems alluding to the revolution and the late "Commander[7]" Chávez. The man entered the bakery radiating the power that his clothing gave him and with great arrogance.
Everyone realized it, the gazes of those present fell on him, some showed expressions of hatred, others of discomfort, some of them were scared, it was as if the whole place had fallen into complete silence as if time had fallen. I would have frozen, at least that was the impression I had at the time.
It was like in the movies of the Second World War, where a relentless Gestapo agent, in his uniform, entered a local to hunt down runaway Jews, threatening everyone present, with a fierce look and one hand resting on his automatic pistol.
The character walked with a defiant expression and radiating an aureole of power, of untouchability, of superiority, the thing was clear. The character went to the bar and asked for something, one of the employees told him that he had to buy the ticket first, the man turned around and got in line, at least he showed common sense by following the indication.
As is well known in recent years with the government there have been numerous manifestations of discontent, some peaceful and others violent, but in that bakery, there would be a rather subtle and strange act of protest, almost subliminal, to the point of becoming ... funny.
The official with his expression of power and self-sufficiency was queuing, several people stood behind him to queue as well, including a motorized one. He was young, he was carrying cardboard rolled up in the shape of a tube he was coming or going to a stationary store, the boy was wearing his motorized helmet and was separated from the official by a person, a tall and quite corpulent guy. The queue moved slowly, the motorized man looked at the official with a disguised expression of aggression he was not a follower of the government and its revolution. At one point he extended his arm and, with a slight movement of the wrist, hit the official's neck with the cardboard tube. As he was on his back, he did not realize who had done it, the blow was light and harmless, rather than physical damage, it was something symbolic.
Pop! ... was a simple light and almost silent sound produced by the contact of the cardboard with the neck of the character, but the aggressor, once the felony had been committed, with a quick movement, tilted his body enough to remain to hide behind the broad man who stood between him and the official, like a rambunctious child running away after doing mischief.
The official turned to look for the provenance, but ran into the huge subject behind him, while the culprit was still cunningly hidden. The character looked at the man behind him, the unexpected accomplice of the motorized, who simply looked in another direction, pretending to be crazy. After a few seconds, the official dismissed him and looked sideways, hoping to hunt down the person responsible for that act of aggression.
The majority in the bakery witnessed that innocent and burlesque blow that the motorized vehicle made, but surprisingly when the agent made visual scrutiny of the place, everyone, including me, fell silent with an expression of not having seen anything, adding to that small act of rebellion, to that small protest.
The queue continued to advance, the official made additional scrutiny, but when he saw that there was no response from anyone and that he did not find the person in charge, he simply limited himself to remaining calm in the queue. His turn came, he bought his ticket and went to the bar, picked up his snack and before leaving, he took one last look, one last attempt to find the culprit, the motorist responsible for the touch bought his ticket and went to the bar to order your product, no one accused him, no one said anything.
The almighty government agent had been disarmed, he left the place scratching his head, confused, little by little people began to talk to each other again, no one commented on what had happened, the motorized man withdrew after a few seconds and everything came back to normal, I drank my Mokaccino coffee and left the premises. I left the bakery with my coffee, walking down the main avenue in the direction of my work, thinking about what had happened in that bakery and the reasons that started it.
That was like going back to high school, to adolescence, to a time when mischief was an important part of people's lives, going back to a time when you had to deal with bullies who wanted to mess up others. well in a way that happens in adult life as well.
This was the simplest, simplest, smallest, but also a rare example of protest that I had seen so much that the reaction of the opposite party, the attacked party, was null because they simply did not know how to interpret it, whether or not to take it as an attack, Also, he did not find the aggressor either.
Suddenly the scenes from the comic series "The Three Stooges", Moe, Curley, and Larry punching and slapping each other left and right came to my mind, and a smile came to my face, which quickly turned into an uncontrollable laugh, I began To stagger while I laughed uncontrollably, the people who passed by me stared at me as if I was crazy. It was so much that I laughed that I had to step aside and sit on a wall to control myself.
After a few minutes, already recovered from the fit of laughter and still with my coffee in hand, I continued my way to work. Of all the anti-government protests I had seen and participated in, this was the simplest, smallest, and most peculiar, the simple childish game of the mysterious prankster. The curious episode helped make my day.
[1] Those are the main European nationalities in Venezuela, along with the Spanish. In Caracas, there is an important colony with a long tradition, also in other areas of the country, such as Maracaibo.
[2] They are renowned musicians with a long tradition in Latin America. They belong to different genres such as Boleros, Rancheras, Salsa, Merengue, Ballads, Latin pop, among others. If they get their attention on YouTube, they can access their music.
[3] Chocolate coffee drink. It is produced employing a machine using the same concept of "instant coffee". In Venezuela, this drink is produced by an industry called Nestlé that has been operating in the country for almost a hundred years.
[4] "Cachitos" is a typical Venezuelan bread roll, eaten for breakfast. It is a very soft dough, made with wheat flour, eggs, fat, sugar, milk, water, yeast, and salt; inside which ham cut into small pieces is placed. Then, it is rolled and baked until golden brown. In the case of the "Pastelito", it is the same concept but with puff pastry, which gives it a different consistency.
[5] SENIAT - El Servicio Nacional Integrado de Administración Aduanera y Tributaria (The National Integrated Service of Customs and Tax Administration) It is the executing body of the national tax administration of Venezuela. Founded in 1994 before Hugo Chávez came to power.
[6] Misión - In the plural it is "Misiones". The word means "Mission" and is the name given to the projects that the government does to "help" the people of Venezuela. Each one is dedicated to "serving" a sector of the population. For example, children, students, single mothers, poor families, elderly people with few resources, among others. Of course, all this is completely theoretical, in reality, this is a cover for acts of corruption.
[7] It is the translation of "Comandante", that is the nickname given to Hugo Chávez by his followers. He was named "president" of the republic, but once in power he began to take a path of authoritarianism and one of his main characteristics is that he began to use that nickname. It also came hand in hand with his origins in the army.