Let's begin?
Yes, I'm ready.
How do I feel?
Not very well to tell the truth. Today is one of those days when I really want to give up everything. I don't know why, but I wake up like this, with a bad mood, and I wonder who makes me do it. It's one of those days when I start telling myself that I don't have any children, that I'm not even married, that it's not clear why I have to work so hard to work. I repeat to myself that to live, after all, you don't need much. You should know how to be satisfied. I would like to sell everything and move to the mountains, high up, away from everything and everyone. Living on simple and natural things.
To the devil. I don't know what comes over me on days like this. Which then with everything I have to do, it won't even pass so quickly. I already know that tonight or tomorrow at the latest it will be like nothing happened, and it will start all over again. It always happens like this after these moments of depression. I pick up everything great, if not better than before. Depends on what? I don't think it's pangs of conscience. I never had to worry about those. At least I'm starting to feel tired from the kind of life I lead. Maybe it's just that. Maybe I just need a vacation. A long and carefree vacation. Indeed, a sabbatical year. Here yes, a nice sabbatical year. Afterwards, shooting would be easier, with the batteries recharged. What then I speak, but I know very well that I wouldn't last long away from work. The tragedy (or luck) is that I love my life. I wouldn't trade it for any other in the world. Tiredness and anxiety crises go to hell.
How many years have I been doing this job? Ten? Winds? It's not that important. The important thing is that I'm good at it. Really. And I'm not saying that to brag. In life it is important to know how to recognize your merits, whether others confirm them or not. Self-love is a precious medicine to always carry in your pocket. I deal with demolition services, clearance and treatment of the residues of the accident, the DSTR. I'm the best, at least in my part. It might not sound like a particularly poetic or rewarding profession, but it isn't. Everything must be seen with the right perspective. My grandfather always said it: poetry is hidden in the gestures, words, blood and sweat of real workers, not in the dusty and useless pages of books.
I, just to go on with the discussion, work alone. I have specialized in every single production segment and have acquired the different and complementary technical skills that quality DSTR requires.
I have had no teachers. I didn't shop. I formed myself. Little by little, making many mistakes, but learning and improving every time. For example, the first thing was to figure out how to negotiate with customers. The choice of times and ways, in particular. Many times the customer has second thoughts and would like to give up the demolition work. For this I have to be able to convince him, to show all my professionalism and not give him any doubts about the goodness of the result. Sometimes, to the more demanding ones, I show a kind of brochure, with some photos and a detailed description of the most successful works. But most of the time it doesn't need to go that far. I convince them with words. After all, they can verify for themselves that no one has complained about my services in the past.
Accuracy, order, and cleanliness. I'm almost manic about some things. I must have taken from my mother. She has dedicated her life to cleaning the house, peace be upon her beautiful soul. Her apartment was always like new, beautiful, sparkling. It's empty. I never understood who he did it for, because he never invited anyone. She liked to smell clean. Perhaps she had developed some sort of addiction to detergents. Even in her later years, when her body rebelled, she hunched and climbed and scratched and swept from morning till night. She was such a fanatic that she hated to be interrupted while cleaning, she couldn't be talked to. My sweet mom.
I don't go to these extremes, but I defend myself well. I leave nothing to chance. And what's more, after I've done my job, I don't leave leaving as I found it: I leave better than before. Let's say it's kind of my signature. After my DSTR, it must be like a cleaning company came through. Of the good ones, though. Wax on the floors, anti-dust spray on the furniture, anti-fog on the windows, flower essences (those in season, of course) released into all environments. I carefully choose each product. I have my own trusted shop, I don't go to the supermarket like many others. They are terrifying places. There is no relationship, there is no dialogue. I find them dehumanizing. Might as well have them sent home. For certain things, I'm really done the old-fashioned way.
Even in the way I dress I try to distinguish myself. Whoever does what I do sometimes looks bad, unkempt, dirty. It's not the way to behave. Respect yourself and others will respect you. This too was my grandfather to say. I never go to talk to a customer looking like a bum. I have a suitable wardrobe. Tailored suits. I have them made by a professional tailor, a family friend who took over the business from his father, and his father from his grandfather. Serious people. A nice suit, a handkerchief in the breast pocket, and grease-slicked shoes. This is for bargaining. Then comes the actual work, and that's a whole other story.
It is a risky and delicate phase: all the chances of success of your work are at stake in the negotiation. I assume this is the case in any trading exchange, but in my industry it is even more so.
It must be said that the opportunities are not lacking. My sector is not suffering the effects of the crisis. You can't even imagine how many DSTR requests I get. And how many is forced to refuse. I do my research, I check, I try to verify the customer's reliability first of all. Economic, but not only. And when in doubt, I give up even before meeting him. Having reached my level, I can also afford the luxury of choosing. Sometimes I understand that the thing is not to continue. Certainly I cannot afford to be told that halfway through the work, or even shortly after I have started the preliminary stages of the demolition, they have reconsidered it, that perhaps they will reevaluate the matter later, that it is too important a step, that they owe us think again. Also because once I start, it's impossible to go back.
He doesn't know how much I had to study to get to the current level of professionalism. Mountains of books. Whole days spent with his back bent over the tables in the library. More than a library, to tell the truth, just so as not to arouse too much attention, or even just because I like changing places, meeting different people.
Peace for my grandfather, you can't demolish anything without having specific knowledge about the object you intend to demolish. Not only in relation to the subsequent disposal process. It must always be kept in mind that any complex object consists of interconnected parts that cannot be disassembled without criteria. It is necessary to proceed respecting the rules of subjection and structural progression. The Japanese, who are masters in these things, devote a lot of attention (and a lot of literature) to the concepts of subjection and progression. To demolish you need an absolute mastery of the morphology of the object to be demolished. Internal and external. Never reverse the order of the process. Never anticipate the low at the expense of the high. The short for the long. Full for emptiness. Here, in particular this: the void must be the first step to face. The first step. Or, as they would say in the land of the rising sun, the first horizon.
Empty. The object must be cleared of any internal parts. The better you do it, the fewer problems you will have in the subsequent stages of disposal and cleaning. Empty without damaging. Once, one of the first, I happened to break a wrapper containing several liquids. It was a disaster - it took me a full day just to tidy up and get rid of any residue.
Here, one of the most complicated parts of my training was precisely the study of the chemicals necessary for cleaning and disinfection. There are dozens of them, you risk getting lost among labels and formulas. A different product must be used for each type of dirt, otherwise all the particles are not eliminated and sooner or later they will come back out. It's not easy to get them either. Both the chemicals and the containers. Finding the right containers is one of the things that drove me crazy the most. Handling acids without doing or harming me is really a feat. Many of my colleagues (I've known many), prefer other techniques. I am very happy with acids. Fire or otherwise, it's not for me. Acid is fast, clean and safe. Of course I can't take it with me. I do that part of the work in my laboratory. This is why the disassembly phase is so important. It is evident that this obliges me to multiply the trips. But not as much as one might think. This is also why I organized myself. I learned the art of disguise.
Moving or cleaning. These are the activities I simulate most frequently. They allow me to use means of transport, tools and containers of adequate dimensions for my purposes. Which then are the ones that raise the least questions from the neighborhood. The demolition can take place in complete calm, leaving the van or pick-up in front of the house for as long as necessary. For the disassembly I don't use anything I find inside the house. No objects, no exhaust systems. Every waste product is carefully placed inside my containers. I myself take care not to leave any biological traces. Earlier I said an inaccuracy about fire. In the event of unforeseen events, in fact, I activate the emergency procedure. It's part of the contract with the customer, but I want to clarify that it only happened once. To avoid trouble, I start a fire in the house. I make sure there's nothing left of it.
Going back to the disassembly, I'd say that it's a job of extreme precision, painstaking. No mistakes are allowed. The blades must always be sharpened to perfection. I bought a professional knife sharpener. As can be understood, as far as possible and human, I try not to leave anything to chance. The pieces must be small, but not too much, of the right size. These are things you learn with experience. There is another thing that experience teaches: you have to put up an ever higher and thicker wall between you and the life that still hovers around the object you are disassembling. They can be images, sounds, emotions that in different and unexpected ways try to distract you from your work. The object is loaded with them like a magnet: stopping to contemplate them would be a fatal mistake.
How many clients have I had, you ask me? I would not know. For some things I don't have much memory. That's why I keep records. I keep them at home, in a special closet, but I can't tell you where, you'll let me have some little secrets.
If one day they discover me, you say? Difficult. And in any case, I doubt that it will be possible to recover anything from my past assignments. I wouldn't be a DSTR master if they could do that. It's true that I'm going through a period of low energy level, that I'm suffering from fluctuating enthusiasm. That's why I'm taking a break. But I assure you that I am still able to best satisfy my clients and eliminate the victims assigned to me without leaving any trace.
Why did I decide to let you interview me? Let's say it's the last job I allow myself before going on vacation. I guess her wife didn't say anything to her, right?
The author
Samuel Giorgi was born in Milan in 1968. His debut novel, The Headeater, was published in 2013 by Piemme. He collaborates with various literary magazines and in life he deals with adult education and social planning. He lives with his family in a small town in the Ticino Park. This story is taken from the collection, published by goWare, Everything in its place.
