But let's get back to it.
The fifth floor.
I thought that by now, nothing in this building could surprise me anymore.
And yet, the fifth floor did. If the previous six floors seemed very strange to me, this one I simply do not understand.
As soon as I enter, I find myself in a large open-plan space, a sort of theater.
No, actually, perhaps it is a theater: there are many chairs facing a small stage, and next to it, I notice a service door with "EXIT" written on it. It all seems simple, however strange. At least, it seems easy to get out.
I am curious, though, about what goes on in here.
On the small stage, there is a person dressed normally, without a mask, who is performing a sort of monologue. There are quite a few people sitting in the chairs, listening with interest.
Seeing the exit door, I feel at ease and decide to stay for a moment.
The actor, if you can call him that, is simply delivering a monologue about some events from his life. Nothing special. It is neither particularly funny nor dramatic. It sounds like a story a friend of mine might tell at a pub.
He speaks, and everyone listens.
Then he finishes, and this is where the most absurd part begins: as soon as he stops speaking, what seems to be a sort of debate with the audience begins. The moment he falls silent, the audience starts to rail against him.
Not criticism. Not observations.
Insults. Vicious ones.
They offend him in every way possible, they humiliate him, they denigrate him without mercy. They scream at him, they mock him, they cover him in slurs. Even his mother and wife are targeted.
I feel uneasy. I don't understand.
He only shared something about himself. Why this reaction?
After at least five minutes of insults, the actor gets off the stage and sits in the front row. Another person gets on stage. And it starts all over again.
A new story.
Again, episodes of daily life, choices made, typical days. Nothing exciting, nothing memorable. A rather boring story.
And yet, when he finishes, the exact same thing happens: the audience explodes in a blind fury. They scream at him, they humiliate him. The same kind of verbal violence.
But the most bizarre thing is that the first actor—the one who just suffered the same fate—is now one of the most vicious in hurling insults.
I don't get it. He must have a shred of empathy, right? He experienced firsthand how humiliating it is. But no. He is the first to even throw objects at the person now on stage.
I am aghast.
Then a girl gets on stage. Young, pretty, with a gentle air about her. She's wearing a pair of slightly nerdy glasses.
She begins her monologue. She talks about how she's had no luck in her career, how her life has been a burden, how her children despised and eventually abandoned her. A sad story.
When she finishes speaking, I expect silence. Perhaps, for once, there will be compassion.
But no.
She too is engulfed by a storm of insults. Even more ferocious. Even more cruel.
I wonder what the point of it is. A fragile girl, who has already suffered, and they unleash on her with such ferocity?
I stay for another fifteen minutes, trying to understand.
But the most disturbing thing happens when the girl comes down from the stage: the one who just a moment before seemed meek and polite… becomes the worst harpy I have ever seen.
At that point, I understood. I don't want to be in here.
Now, you might have gathered that I'm not exactly a saint, but this place makes me deeply uncomfortable.
I stand up.
I head towards the door with "EXIT" written on it.
And I leave.