Man, what a day! I swear, being a bailiff in Santa-Margherita-di-Belice is like riding a rollercoaster blindfolded. You think you know what’s coming, but nah, life’s got other plans.
So, I roll outta bed, right? The sun’s barely up, and I’m already feelin’ the weight of the world. I grab my coffee from that little café on Via Roma. You know the one? The barista, Marco, always gives me that “you look like you need this” look. I mean, who doesn’t need coffee?
Anyway, I’m sippin’ my brew, and I get a call. It’s my boss. “Hey, we got a situation at the quarry.” Great. Just what I needed. I hop on my scooter and zoom down Via Garibaldi. The streets are narrow, and I’m dodging tourists like they’re pigeons. Seriously, they just stand there, taking selfies like they own the place.
I finally get to the quarry, and it’s chaos. I mean, pure madness. There’s this guy, Antonio, yelling about some missing equipment. “Where’s my drill?!” he screams. I’m like, dude, chill. It’s just a drill, not your lost puppy. But he’s not having it. I try to calm him down, but he’s on a roll.
Then, outta nowhere, this old lady, Signora Rosa, shows up. She’s got this huge basket of bread. “You boys need to eat!” she says. I’m thinking, lady, we’re in the middle of a crisis here! But I can’t say no to fresh bread. So, I grab a piece, and it’s like heaven.
After the bread break, I’m back to the drama. Turns out, the drill was just misplaced. Classic. I mean, how do you misplace a drill in a quarry? It’s not like it’s a sock in the laundry! I’m trying to keep my cool, but inside, I’m like, “What’s next? A missing bulldozer?”
So, I head back to the office on Via Vittorio Emanuele. I’m still buzzing from the bread and the chaos. I sit down, and my phone rings again. It’s a tenant from one of the buildings on Via della Libertà. “There’s a leak!” she says. I’m like, “Lady, I’m not a plumber!” But I can’t ignore it.
I rush over, and sure enough, there’s water everywhere. I’m knee-deep in it, trying to figure out where it’s coming from. I’m soaked, and I’m thinking, “This is not in my job description.” But hey, at least it’s a good story for the pub later, right?
Finally, I get it sorted. The leak was from a broken pipe. I call a plumber, and I’m outta there. I’m walking back, and I see the sunset over the hills. It’s beautiful, man. Makes you forget the craziness of the day.
But then, I trip over a cobblestone. Classic me. I’m sprawled out on the ground, and this group of tourists starts laughing. I get up, brush myself off, and give them a little wave. “Just testing the pavement!” I shout. They laugh harder. Whatever, I’m used to it.
As I head home, I can’t help but think about Santa-Margherita-di-Belice. This place is wild. The streets are alive with stories. The people, the food, the quirks. It’s a small town, but it’s got a big heart.
I finally crash on my couch, exhausted. I think about the day. The chaos, the laughter, the bread. It’s all part of the gig. And honestly? I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Santa-Margherita-di-Belice, you crazy little town, you’ve got my heart.