There I was, in Bangalore at about 2 in the morning, without an apartment, with all my luggage in a car parked in front of an office building while the driver and I are in an elevator going up to the ThoughtWorks office. It is a short ride, since ThoughtWorks' main office is on the second floor.
The elevator door opens and the place is almost pitch black except for a small night light across from the elevator. For a second or two, I think the office is deserted. It is also very hot. Bang! The driver slams his hand on a counter, a chair on wheels crashes into a file cabinet, and a security guard appears out of the darkness.
The driver says a few words to him, it doesn't sound like English to me, and the guard gives him a set of keys. The driver and the guard show the keys to me. I see that the tag says A-77 and sign for them. "Ok, Come on," the driver says to me and we get back in the elevator.
The apartment apparently is in the building across the service drive from the office so we get all of the luggage out of the car, walk past another security guard at an outdoor post, cross an open courtyard and get in another elevator. The luggage barely fits and the door closes on us about three times while we try to get everything in. We go up to the seventh floor and get hit about three times by the elevator door while we take the luggage out.
The nearest apartment says A-78 and over to my left at the end of the hall is an open door labeled A-77. Through that door is a little receiving area with rattan sofa and potted palm, a closed door and a flight of stairs going off to the left. Here it is at last, my apartment!
I try the keys in that second door. They don't work.
I tell the driver they don't work. "No, no. Try it again." I do that. They don't work. Rerun the previous sentences. This time there's a man's voice on the other side of the door. "Bruh-burh-burgh." I can't make out the words but it's a grumpy voice. I tell the driver, "Look, there's somebody in there. There's some kind of mistake. this is not my apartment." The driver says to ring the bell.
"I'm not going to ring the bell, there's somebody in there already. We've got the wrong apartment." The driver rings the bell about three times. Then he wants to try the keys again. Suddenly the door opens and an angry, naked Australian or English man wrapped in a sheet looks out and says something like, "If the bloody keys don't work, then you've got the effin' wrong apartment. Now leave me alone!"
"See, I told you." I said to the driver.
The driver gets an "Ah-ha!" look on his face and says," I know, come on." We haul all the luggage back to the elevator, struggle with the door to get it all in again, go down to the first floor and struggle to get it all out. The driver knocks on an apartment door and in a few seconds a guy appears with clothes on. He seems to be either a friend of the driver or an employee of the building or both. They talk a little. The guy looks at my keys. The tag says A-77-PH. He says something else to the driver and the driver gets another enlightened expression on his face.
"Come on," he says and we get back in the elevator. We go up to the seventh floor. We go through the door marked A-77 but this time we haul ourselves and all the luggage up that flight of stairs to the left.
It's actually a flight, a landing and another flight. At the top are two doors. Neither are marked but the driver points to one and tells me to try the keys. They work! I've found my room! Apparently, I've been given the penthouse suite.
To be continued: My first weekend in Bangalore.
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