Espressoism (en)

The airplane is so high that as I look up and down, I see the foaming heaps of cumulonimbus clouds distorted by perspective. These clouds rise from the heated ocean as if it were filled with exploding battleships. Their growth is astonishingly rapid, and they take on shapes as strange and varied as deep-sea fish, making me certain they are as dangerous to the plane as bamboo punji stakes are to a pedestrian.

I nervously swallow my saliva and say, “Espresso,” to the flight attendant. The girl notices the fear (or perhaps indecision) on my face and hesitates slightly.

“Espresso tiga kali,” I clarify, and she beams.

She undoubtedly speaks English, but as any seasoned traveler knows, it’s good to know a few languages.

After a while, another flight attendant speaks over the intercom, addressing the passengers in different languages. Each time the language changes, a murmur of confusion ripples through the plane. First, the English speakers ask each other what was just said, and when they realize it’s no use, the same message plays in Cantonese—prompting the Chinese passengers to ask each other what it was about.

The Malay version stirs no emotion—evidently, no one here speaks that language, except perhaps me (like when I ordered my coffee).

The announcement likely had something to do with the upcoming landing. And indeed, we begin our descent, and as I disembark, both Malaysian Air flight attendants are grinning from ear to ear—service industry workers love people (or are very good at pretending) who at least try to speak in something other than English, and they remember them.

Yes, it’s good to know at least a few words in a foreign language, just like the Egyptians—who are exceptionally adept at Slavic languages. Perhaps it’s a result of hifz (memorizing the Quran by heart), or a strong economic motivation that pushes them to learn and remember phrases that facilitate communication with tourists, or perhaps it’s their culture of oral tradition, storytelling, and reciting texts that helps them develop this skill of memorizing and reproducing spoken information?

I don’t know if it’s due to a combination of exposure, practice, motivation, and natural cultural openness, but they have an incredible ease of picking up phrases in different languages.

Just like one Municipal Guard I encountered in the vehicle-free zone while delivering some hot fresh goods in the iconic city of Sosnowiec.

The Fiat Ducato I was driving at the time—for someone who had previously worked with the joyful and improvisational approach to mechanics and quality of socialist, car-like products—was an 8-meter-long manifestation of finesse, a marvel of functional engineering, and a masterpiece of design.

Oh! It had power steering, a 1.9 PSA diesel engine under the hood, sliding side doors, a gear stick next to the steering wheel, a radio you could actually hear, and windows you could roll down… And in winter, you didn’t have to light a fire under it (like under a Żuk) to warm up the oil in the pan.

Jesus—sorry, Sir—does heaven look like this?

Yes, after the Żuks, Polish Fiats, and Nyskas, it was like boarding a Pendolino after traveling in a PRL-era compartment wagon.

This Ducato was the MAXI version, a monstrously long beast (like an articulated bus) that taught humility in cornering, precision in reversing, and did not forgive mistakes when it came to side-mirror calculations of the distance to the loading dock.

This Ducati Fiati was white and magnificent, with a beautiful, large, colorful illustration of a basket of fresh fruit on the side and the words “Fruit of The Loom” underneath.

Which means—as known not only in Malaysia, China, or Egypt—“Fruits of the Sewing Room.”

These “Sewing Room Fruits” were (for they are no longer) top-quality garments such as t-shirts and sweatshirts, hoodies, and tracksuits, which many fashion enthusiasts and trendy folks still wear with love, even to church.

It was a “very hot stuff” and highly prized commodity.

And it sold like very hot cakes from the only bakery in town.

A lot of fun and driving, that Ducato-Mi-Duet of ours had with this job.

The lightweight cotton goods didn’t strain the Ducato, which, thanks to that, raced like a hunting dog after ducks with its tongue hanging out.

And I, young, ambitious, and just recently (like that tongue) expelled… from university, was also happy.

I enjoyed driving, honing my youthful—full of enthusiasm but purely theoretical (though I thought otherwise)—driving style.

Fortunately, since there were no penalty points yet for careless driving and no diligent speed cameras to record it all, it was relatively cheap to make mistakes.

Our well-matched duo covered many hundreds of thousands of kilometers, delivering Noble Fruits of the Sewing Room to cotton vitamin-hungry citizens across the country.

Until one day, we reached the enchanted realms of the Principality-City of Sosnowiec’s Center.

Under the watchful eye of rapid-fire cannons and grenade launchers guarding the entrance to this elite zone, I stopped before the no-entry sign to the center.

This ban applied only “to deliveries of goods between 3 and 5 AM.”

And what’s a young, enterprising lad to do, standing helplessly with top-quality goods, having arrived at noon?

Surely, I wasn’t going to drag those heaps of goods like precious lumps of ore through tunnels dug in the brick facades of the city’s tenements!

I cheerfully ignored the rapid-fire equipment for mass impression, floored the gas pedal, and like into a mist-covered jungle full of mysteries, I immediately drove into this zone of no-entry, no-parking, no-standing, and almost no breathing…

Oh, well, to survive in this tough driver’s trade, you had to pull off tricks far worse, and there’s a ton of this stuff to unload, and someone with my education isn’t going to carry boxes for miles!

And what did Ducato think of it?

Well, it’s Italian, so Forza Italia, Vamos, and una cerveza, por favor.

To unload quickly, we drove right into the no-entry zone, and as I began unloading my “fruits,” I suddenly hear behind me:

“Achtung, Hände hoch, and drop your pants, and money on the table!”

Which roughly translates to—“Good day, this is the Terrible City Guard of the Principality-City of Sosnowiec. I am the Terrifying Aspirin Jemioło, and do you know, citizen, that you have entered the NRU (No Ride-Up Zone), your vehicle is parked in a no-parking zone and is additionally blocking the lawn, sidewalk, saucer, and outhouse? For this offense, the penalty is about 10 years in prison, alternatively 5 years of hard labor in the quarries, or a fine equivalent to the monthly salary of the Prince of Brunei. And may I remind you, that’s currently the richest man in the world. So, shall I write it up?”

“And what should I do when I don’t have 10 years to spare for being in prison, I’ve already been to the quarries and didn’t like it, and besides… Do I look like a sheikh, prince, or landowner?” That’s exactly what I thought, but I say, “Sergeant Aspirant Aspirant, or maybe already Colonel? But you’ve got it so nice here, and such stylish uniforms, and I’m just here for a moment, long road, far from home, got to work somehow, you know… Understand a man? So, will you understand?”

– “Yes, yes, of course, naturally, we will understand. By the powers vested in me, I hereby change the hard labor in the quarries to a fine…”

– “Wait, wait, just a moment, Honorable Guard, but do you know…”—and here I must have been touched by some Finger of God or struck by a brick, because I blurt out—“Mr. Guard, but what penalty when I have Fruits here! I’ve got FRUITS, and this goods, like milk, is highly perishable and must be transported immediately, and it has to be delivered right now!”

The guard, at this dictum, scratched himself under his cap, glanced at the side of the vehicle where “Fruits of The Loom” was written, and since he spent every vacation on the Hel Peninsula and once saw a commercial from Egypt, he knew some of the world’s languages and nodded with understanding.

Suddenly calm, by the powers vested in him, he waved his hand immediately—“Yes, fruits and milk must be transported with the utmost speed, citizen, continue with your tasks!”

And he left.

Phew… it’s a good thing he left and didn’t see me carrying those “fruits” into a clothing store.