Where they might be

“Excuse me, do you know where…” The gentleman in a black jacket ignored my pleading words, pretending not to hear. This was the third time when somebody refused to help me out—in two minutes. I only wanted to ask for directions. The sun was setting, and I wandered in streets unknown to me. People in all kinds of suits and colors rushed by, and they all seemed to clearly understand their way. I hated to confess that I, a well-educated scholar with numerous degrees and research achievements, was lost in a plain old city. Completely lost. The address on the business card indicated that my conference was to be held somewhere very near. I desperately tried to get somebody’s attention, but everybody concentrated on his or her own business, they even walked faster.
I stood right in front of a housewife, who was grasping bags of groceries: “Could you please tell me where Apartment 396 is?” She looked up from a messy bunch of reddish hair, and murmured: “ Over that corner, turn left.” The woman adjusted her hairclip and looked away. I nodded and headed towards the narrow angle made of thick brick walls. The road on the left was cleaner than other ones in sight. Maybe it was private…
I found a shiny metal gate, pressed the bell and waited. It was kind of a comfortable environment, surrounded with luxurious looking buildings. I examined the small garden behind me, and was totally surprised by a teenage boy riding a bicycle, staring intensely. “Sir,” he called, “Are you lost?” How very impolite, I thought, and shook my head. The boy stayed thinking for a moment, waved his arm and went. I watched his orange coat disappear in the distance, and then pressed the bell again. This time the gate opened smoothly, and the housewife I stopped on the streets appeared. She adjusted her hairclip with one hand, and studied me, obviously confused. “I, I thought this is Apartment 396?” She sighed, “Yes. What is it? Vacuum cleaners? I don’t want any noisy machinery here…”I blurted out uncontrollably: “No madam no. I’m here for a conference?” The vegetable scented woman rubbed her hands against her apron:” you asked for directions to…exactly, here. It must be figured out, then. What’s your name?” I wished she’d just leave me alone, but I said, “John Blue.” “And you were lost in the streets.” I quickly said, “No, no. I asked if somebody know where the apartment is.” The housewife stared impatiently and shook a finger: “Well, anyway you couldn’t find it, and you didn’t know the place. You are lost.” She, to my surprise, pulled a notepad out from somewhere behind the gate, and scribbled with a pen attached to it. “Come on in.” The woman put on her kitchen gloves again (she had taken them off for the writing, which I could not figure out how she managed it without me seeing), and motioned me to follow.
I was a bit overwhelmed with confusion, upset feelings, this strange rude woman and the missing conference…but I followed her. Where else could I go? We passed the doorway and entered a wide corridor. It looked like where a normal conference may be held. “Go in that blue door,” the woman yawned and opened a wooden door, pretty much the same with most kitchen doors.
I was left alone, but dare not disobey the flurry woman. The door opened easily, and the first thing I saw was a terribly untidy room, filled with opened files and lying papers, clocks, used pencils and something you would never expect in a good, high level conference. A young man in dirty but fashionable clothes was busy looking for something in a great red file. “Lost that again…”He rumbled, and suddenly noticed my arrival. “Oh.” He said in a half interested tone, studying my clean, neat suit. I looked at the nametag on his collar: “Bobby Smith. Manager.” I didn’t know that I was reading out loud, and he replied, “ Yeah. And you are the lost guy?” Before I could complain to everybody’s madness and impoliteness, and that I was NOT lost, he nodded and asked for my name again. “John Blue…”I said weakly, and tried to look at something else. A large brass plate on the wall behind him shouted “Lost And Found Inc.”
“I don’t know what you people are thinking about, but I’m really getting mad. I have a very important conference to attend. It is so important that none of you would understand. I was just asking for directions and I was misled to wherever this is. Now please get me out of here.” I exhaled deeply and was hit by a falling trophy from a wooden shelf above my head.
The young man shrugged, “It’s alright. You’re in the right place. You’d feel a bit strange at first, yeah. But it’s just fine.” I thought that was insane. “But I don’t even need to go here, I am going to Apartment 369, and obviously I’m in the wrong place. The wrong room, at least.” He smiled gently and said, “No sir, that is not happening. Be at home here. Sit somewhere.” “Am I waiting for someone?”
The handsome young man spoke tenderly, as if speaking to a crying child. “At last you will. Often people lost, but they sometimes find.”
I really wanted to cry out, but I whispered, “What is this?” He sighed comfortably and held out a hand: “I’m Bobby the manager. This is Lost And Found Inc.” I cared not to touch his hand, but simply turned and pushed the doorknob. As I half expected, it was locked. Bobby spoke again with his soft comforting tone, “I understand. I was once lost, too. Still waiting to be found again…now get yourself a chair and get some rest.” I weakly fell into the nearest wooden chair, and looked around. There were broken badminton rackets, dried flowers, golden coins, small marbles, blank looking dolls, letters, violins, lipsticks…All kinds of everything. Bobby the manager kindly looked at me and asked, “Can I help you?” I murmured: “What can I do?”
He fetched some papers and a pen, handed them to me and said. “You must be a well-educated man. Why don’t you write a story about all this?”