Welcome to the next episode of Archi’s Diary, a weekly entry in my favorite amnesiac’s journal as he tries to adjust to a world he doesn’t remember.
Episode 21 – May 2016
Last week has been full of pain and bad decisions. I arrived in Cancun on Sunday and rented a cheap room on the outskirts of town, planning to do some research, maybe get a tan and meeting with the reporter Susan Sanchez. That turned out to be more difficult than expected and came with spectacular unintended consequences.
On Monday I went to her office downtown to get a meeting, or maybe get access to a recording or something. Seems to work in the movies, so why not try. The bruises on my arms testify to the lack of success in this endeavour. When I got there I asked for Miss Sanchez. The receptionist, a nice lady in a frilly dress told me to wait, and was replaced by a humanoid mountain of steroids wrapped in a black suit. I say wrapped, since he couldn’t have dressed himself with his gorilla-like appendages. He gestured me to leave and when I reacted slightly slower than he fancied, he grabbed my arms, pushed me to the floor, punched me in the face and dragged me outside by my legs, clutching both with one hand if it matters. Outside he proceeded to kick me in the ribs a few times. That really pissed me off, but what could I do about it? He was big and ugly, smelled bad, was probably unloved by his mother and yes I’m bloody angry! Who does that? Who punches and kicks somebody for merely asking a question? It’s not like I offended him or anything.
Afterwards I returned to my lodgings to weigh my options and decided that I should break in and see if I could find Miss Sanchez’s office or an archives room, where they might keep the Chichen Itza footages. I’m blaming that particularly bad decision on watching Oceans 11 with Alvarez recently, and on getting punched in the face. Could have a concussion. I spent most of my time Tuesday and Wednesday planning my little ‘heist’ and procuring the tools of the trade in form of a roll of climbing rope and a crowbar. Not exactly up to scale with Ocean’s replica vault, but I figured it’d do.
A quick online search gave me the office layout. Also on my last visit I noticed that the building had an external fire escape, and I felt a plan taking shape. First, get to Susan Sanchez’s office, then the archive; I’ll leave the media room last if the other two don’t have anything. There seems to be some renovation going on on the fourth floor, which means I can use the scaffolding to get up and inside unnoticed. I noted that last night the building emptied around 10 PM. The guard-shaped Hulk who drives a red muscle car (go figure) was the last to leave, and only the occasional offices remained occupied. If I dress casually and stay calm I might be able to move freely. If I ignore that I’m white, and most people are usually familiar with their co-workers, I’m sure I won’t stick out as a sore thumb. In any case, turns out that wasn’t what caused my downfall.
Thursday I broke in at 23:22 assuming the place would be empty and went to Susan’s office directly, where I had my first surprise for the evening. Completely cleaned out. A desk, a chair and a lamp was all that was left. Cursing, I headed to the archives, which took me on a nerve wrecking elevator ride to the basement with the cleaning lady. She attempted small talk but was turned off by my lack of response. At least she didn’t call the police. Must be used to people working late. Didn’t ding anything in the archives either, so I used my laptop to connect to the network and started looking around. Zip. Absolutely nothing. AT that point I figured that hanging around was a bad idea. Found a stash of microfilms, but nothing relevant for my search (still, microfilm, how cool is that!). The media office was my next stop, located on the top floor along with the editing bay, which is where everything went wrong. Turns out, that’s one of the few places with very expensive equipment behind secured alarmed doors. I managed to get my crowbar in the frame before an ear-splitting ringing broke the silence. And I panicked.
I don’t mind admitting it, that in my panic I didn’t think straight. Instead of running down and out onto the scaffolding which might have given me an opportunity to escape, I decided to stay and hide. Where would you hide in an office building you have never been in? Well, I personally opted for the nearest air vent and climbed inside. And the air vent happened to be temporarily blocked off because of the construction. Fuck me.
Now it is Friday morning and I haven’t been able to escape because the office was crawling with guards and police after the alarm went off. Small piece of advice: DO NOT EVER SLEEP IN AN AIR VENT, if you can avoid it, that is. All the time I was scared that somebody would hear me snoring or I get discovered in some other way, and I really need the bathroom.
What was I thinking? What did I expect to find here? All I knew was that the reporter had been at Chichen Itza, nothing more. Not if there was footage taken or a report filed or anything. I have made an ass out of myself, based on a stupid assumption that I would find some incriminating evidence on her desk, like in the movies. This was stupid and dangerous and now I’m stuck here. I was desperate for any kind of information, and I put myself in harms way. Maybe I’m too stupid to know better. This would be hilarious, if it were happening to somebody else.
As of right now I have very little water or food left and I can hear construction workers starting work below. I don’t know what I should I do.
End of episode 21.
If you like what I do and know others that would love to get a weekly dose of Archi’s Diary and the occasional post on reading, writing and life in general, then please like, share and subscribe to follow. Stay tuned!