Where the Devil says good night

It has always been my dream to have an agent. Ok, maybe not always. As a little girl, I was convinced I'd grow up to be an archaeologist, move to Greece, study old rocks and learn The Iliad by heart. In the meantime, I gave up that thought, and all that's left of it is a trip I'm planning on spring break, from Sparta to Troy. Then I wanted to have an agent. And now I do. He's not exactly the kind of agent I had in mind, mainly because he's not in the publishing industry. But I still like to hear myself say "I just got a call from my agent".

So today I got a call from my agent, and we went to see some apartments. Because my agent didn't take the time to get to know me, he made some horrific errors of judgement. He took me to the quiet, green and peaceful areas in Warsaw. Where there's nothing but trees (he's also blithely unaware of the fact that I spent a year in the forest in Ligota, so he can't fool me with some parks), old ladies walking their dogs and / or their grandchildren, churches and grocery stores. In the end, I told him I wanted something in a noisy area, without trees, preferably near a bridge, and that I was lookng for some other kind of entertainment than the one provided in church. And then I popped the question: "What about Praga?"

Of course everyone warned me about Praga, the unsafe neighbourhood which people tend to avoid when looking for a place to rent, otherwise quite popular among artists, renowned for its hip coffee shops, galleries and parties.

My agent was not happy. He told me Praga was either for people who were born and raised there (I find that sweet, it means everybody knows everybody), either for poor people (I find that discriminatory and mean - for a moment, my agent sounded like Cartman "no way, dude, Kenny's family is poor, they live in the ghetto") or for artists, since they are easily accepted there (I find that perfect). He told me Praga was the place where the Devil says good night - far from the city centre and dangerous, where there's nothing much left to do after it gets dark - unless, of course, you're willing to take a risk. So he went on and on about the residential neighbourhoods, but I was not listening anymore. Without knowing it, he had just offered me the perfect reason for a drama of small to medium proportions. What he meant to say was that responsible people, who go to work from 9 to 5, need a cozy and safe home to go back to.

What I meant to say was that I needed a place that will match my out-of-office personality and lifestyle.

Unfortunately for me, I looked responsible. And it was me who fixed the appointment at 5.30, after work.