IN ENGLISH, PLEASE: THE LADY, "TOM, DICK AND JARRY" AND THE PATH TO THE BARS.
The lady thought about something mundane. She thought about how she wished to get trapped in the elevator so she wouldn't have to go to work. She thought that she wouldn't even have cell phone coverage to be able to call for help. The only way she would be able to communicate with the outside world was through the button that recorded your situation after holding it down for a few seconds. She thought that such luck wouldn't come her way...
She drove until she reached her workplace as if she had teleported. For a moment, while maneuvering to park, she couldn't remember how she had gotten there. It was just an instant. Immediately afterward, she remembered the roadworks on the Alicante diversion, and her heart, strangled for a tenth of a second, resumed its usual palpitations. The rain threatened to clean not only her car but also to offer its stellar appearance to an immaculate street. That's why the lady felt a sense of strangeness and hesitation about getting out of the car. Cleanliness was not usual in the area where she was geolocated.
Nevertheless, she got out of the car, continued with her normal routine upon arrival, and made her presence known where she exchanged economic compensation for her dedication.
As she passed by the concierge desk, she greeted those present and took the elevator, which could only accommodate one person for vertical movement. As the elevator ascended to the third floor, a metallic female voice repeated the message: "Elevator out of service, elevator out of service." Twice. The lady thought, "Just in case you didn't hear it properly the first time." She burst into laughter that spread across the five floors of the building, albeit muffled. Those who knew about the malfunction looked at her in surprise because typically the effect of confinement that occurs in the psyche of normal people tends to be the opposite. But of course, nobody noticed that the lady wasn't a normal person and that the elevator wasn't actually out of service.
She carried out her tasks with millimeter precision upon arriving at her office. That day was the one for waiting. Waiting for an appointment that (she already knew in advance) wouldn't materialize. Nonetheless, she exchanged emails with several people with whom she hadn't scheduled a meeting, held impromptu video conference meetings to organize her work coincidentally with individuals who usually required at least a fifteen-day notice for a prior appointment, and thought, "What luck!"
Once she had finished her tasks, she returned to her car and began the journey back home. While driving on the Mediterranean highway, she once again thought about Julio and how close she was to reaching the well-deserved vacation period. Trucks were being overtaken by numerous compact cars driven by countless proletarians like herself, and as she contemplated Julio and his impromptu visit, she passed the truck with the red tent labeled "Tom, Dick and Jarry" Transport, Inc. (Yes, that's right, exactly like that). She laughed for just a few seconds, constrained by the suppression of a full-fledged laugh, before realizing that she had a weapon in her hands (the vehicle, of course) and tried to compose herself as quickly as possible.
She continued with her overtaking on the narrow middle lane of the road, but the next truck, this time with a blue tent and white letters, displayed an even more curious name, no os los váis a creer (or you won't believe it, for the linguistically adept). It read: "Transportes 'a las rejas'" (Transportation "to the bars").
The lady laughed again, thinking, serà precís? (or should I say, for those lacking knowledge of official languages) and reduced her speed by slightly lifting her foot off the accelerator, linguistically materializing her thoughts.
"Oh, Julio would love to be by my side right now. We would have a great conversation (with a beer in hand) at our favorite place, BEER para CREER (BEER to BELIEVE)."
