Carlo

Carlo

I whisper the name with squinted eyes and furrowed brow into the void of a lightless room. My head nods laterally, dense with disapproval for his entire being. “Scum,” I conclude, internally, “smug, swindling swine.” The simple thought of his name ties my lips into a terse line, leaving me no option but to mutter once again with a quite rage the two syllables that will forever recall this ceaseless loathing…

 

 

Carlo

 

 

October 24th. It was a day like any other. The Saturday sun made a serene assent into a celestial sky. Central Italy was green with Tuscan hillsides and my naiveté. Every decision I had ever made had brought me to Perugia that day, the day for which I had unwittingly been preparing for the entirety of my twenty-one years of life- Euro Chocolate 2015: International Chocolate Exhibition.

 

The town of Perugia had been converted into a mecca of chocolate and I was its eager disciple. Chocolate was everywhere; chocolate was everything. Chocolate was all there was and all there ever would be. Songs about chocolate melted through the air from chocolate-bar-shaped speakers. Sweet-tooth savages strolled the streets in search of their next confectionary conquest. The masses requested samples through cocoa-coated teeth. Melted, frozen, fudge, alcoholic, on fruit, drizzled over fried dough, by the piece, by the pound, as a giant moustache– Euro Chocolate had it all. It was a scene straight out of Willy Wonka’s wet dream and I was more than happy to Augustus Gloop my way to gleeful gluttony. I was completely and unquestionably chocolate-content.

 

But then…

Carlo

 

As I declined from my well deserved sugar high at the end of this saccharine Saturday I received a message from Carlo, the man who rented me a room via the website Air BnB for my stay in Perugia that night. Carlo was described by a reviewer named Miji on the Air BnB website as a “kind nice gentle and handsome guy.” Let me tell you something, friends, Miji is a bold-font liar. Carlo had “just realized” that it was Euro Chocolate, a week-long, annual festival, mind you, and said he could “no longer give [me] the room” for the price that had already been charged in full to my credit card three weeks before. Carlo wanted to double the price. Carlo is a bad man.

 

I was not about to let Carlo swindle me. I had no intention of paying more money for the room, but after a quick search revealed there were no more rooms available in Perugia it was clear it was Carlo’s or bust (bust being sleeping in the train station). I was not about to let a perfect chocolate day end on a bitter note caused by anything other than a good piece of 70% chocolate, so I launched into my best manipulation negotiation. The messages exchanged were laden with Carlo’s false remorse and made even more appalling by his frequent embellishments of “:(“ to messages that were in no way sad, only indicative of his true nature. (Coincidentally, Carlo’s true nature is the second syllable of the word indicative).

 

Carlo didn’t budge. I didn’t budge. Carlo threatened to cancel our room in the name of maintaining his precious 97% rating on Air BnB because a canceled reservation would remove my power to review him. I was livid. He knew it.

 

Angry is a new emotion for me. Happy, sure. Crying for a variety of reasons? All day. Angry? Angry took me by surprise. I’m a strong, independent woman, dammit, and I was not about to let some strange Italian man take advantage of me in any capacity. The hour and a half long exchange of messages resulted in me swearing around small, chocolate-covered children, requesting sympathy hugs from all of my traveling friends, and coming to the compelling realization that when I am incensed my pulse can be felt emitting from the top of my head. Neat.

 

In the end, we stayed at Carlo’s. He received five sets of scathing eye contact at the door and the farthest thing from “pleasantries” upon meeting what is normally a supremely pleasant group. In the morning, Carlo reconsidered taking the extra money we agreed to give him for the room. Good move, Carlo, good move. So, I guess you could say I succeeded. I didn’t sleep in a train station and I didn’t pay extra for my room. But something shattered in me that day. Carlo will forever be responsible for “the day Kayla was surrounded by chocolate and still managed to be the angriest she has ever been,” and for that, Carlo, I will never forgive you.

 

On a Carlo-free note, here’s a couple of pictures from the first part of fall break.

 

Carlo

Assisi
Assisi
Assisi
Assisi

_MG_5696

Courtesy of the Euro Chocolate website- you thought I was kidding.
Courtesy of the Euro Chocolate website- you thought I was kidding.
Milan
Milan

 

Modern sculpture on top of the Milan Cathedral
Modern sculpture on top of the Milan Cathedral


1 thought on “Carlo”

  • So young, so angry……damn that RAP music!

    Good dig on the inDICative Carlos. And once again, an award-winning photo of the modern sculpture for which you will eventually be famous, and I’ll get to say I know you. Funnest read yet! Keep at it.

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