6:30 AM, the capital. We’re heading to set up and turn on the refrigeration unit. It’s a three-day job. Behind the van, there’s a trailer with sandwich panels, a hermetic door, an evaporator, and a refrigeration system. Plus some materials—just the little things. We’ve arrived. We woke up some homeless people. In the capital, there’s a place for the homeless—there’s a metro where they can spend the night in winter. But right now, they’re sleeping outside. The concert hall. The entrance to the foyer is through a row of metal detectors. The foyer is decorated in dark tones, like a nightclub. There are stands where you can put your drink, but they’re oddly small. That’s because they host parties here. A large screen on the wall displays the noise level. There are also vending machines on the wall selling tokens—local “currency.” Tokens can only be purchased with a card. There’s no cash in the hall at all. The tokens can be exchanged for drinks at the bar or used for purchases in the vending machines also mounted on the wall. You can measure your blood alcohol level. You can buy earplugs. Right above the vending machine, there’s a notice that earplugs are always available for free at the bar counter. Other ones. But free. I can’t stand loud noises and always avoid nightclubs for that reason. But here—there’s a humane touch. You can go to a nightclub and not have to suffer through the noise.
Half an hour for unloading. That’s what the road sign says. So, we need to unload and move the car away from the facade. We start unloading. One of the homeless guys, speaking in a language only he understands, is actively offering advice and commenting on the process. A couple of other homeless people are just watching the free show—other people are working. As we unload, more spectators gather. Almost all of them are hungover and already have a drink in hand. The refrigerator will be in the kitchen. The kitchen is on the minus first floor. That is, without windows. Savages. The kitchen is large. Hmm, I’ll need to walk around the space to understand why they need such a big kitchen. I notice how the administration has elegantly addressed the issue of bilingualism. To avoid offending anyone, all the signs are in English. This includes the warning about whose pocket will pay for the elevator repairs if someone decides to stop the doors with their hands instead of using the designated button.
We unloaded. They offered us to park the car in the back yard of the theater. There was space, but the alley was narrow and cluttered, plus there were construction scaffolds, so we would have to drag the trailer by hand. We parked. On the walls, there was graffiti promoting homosexuality. Or rather, promoting tolerance towards homosexuality. For some reason, it was in English. I liked a poster (or rather, a mural) featuring a lesbian who tells the viewer that porn is not real. Lesbians don’t have sex like that. In porn, girls have sex the way men would. There was also a poster about gay adoption. Two guys holding a baby, with the caption: “If children raised in a gay family are more likely to become homosexuals, then where do homosexuals born in heterosexual families come from?” There was also a bearded man saying that he’s not gay, he just had sexual relationships with men. There were about 15 such pieces. Around us, there was a smell of urine. Yet, there was a sandbox for dogs. Interestingly, dogs weren’t allowed near the sandbox, but people were. There was also a cool graffiti of pigs. Big pigs, the size of half a house, lying on top of each other.
In the backyard, a few more homeless people had settled in, complete with mattresses and cardboard boxes from a refrigerator. One of them, seeing the commotion, quickly took off. The second one, who turned out to be a woman, simply covered herself with whatever she had as a blanket and continued sleeping on her mattress.
We are assembling the freezer. Next to it is a computer, probably the chef’s. And indeed, the chef has arrived. Oh wow… he speaks English. A foreigner. The chef is wearing a black uniform and a black hat that, for some reason, looks like it’s inflated and tilted back on his head. Later, it turned out that the hat was full of dreadlocks, which, when let down, reach his waist. We are carrying tools. Backstage, everything is decorated with portraits of performers, well-made portraits from the meeting that took place on stage. Dynamic figures in emotional poses. Oh… Natasha Koroleva… No, I must have mistaken her. Or… Lolita? No, that’s someone else too. Backstage, there are all sorts of supplies — from lights to champagne and from extra chairs to empty bottles.
The freezer is assembled like Lego or Ikea. But that’s not the hardest part. It’s just the most fun. After all, there’s also the filling and the components, and the actual system startup. All of this is a whole different story.
I managed to walk around the concert hall. It’s a cool recording studio. There’s no cloakroom, but there are lockers with keys for your belongings. The concert hall has a parterre that can be set up with either seats or a dance floor, and it can also have tables — that’s what the restaurant is for. Oh, and there’s a café-restaurant at one of the entrances. Above the parterre, there’s a tier similar to the second level of stadiums. On both sides, left and right of the parterre, there are six levels of balconies. Just regular theater balconies, where instead of a front wall, there are ordinary steel railings. It’s a well-type theater. There are no seats on the balconies. The crowd watches, leaning over the railings. I should check out the repertoire, especially since they hand out earplugs.
We assembled the chamber. We hung the evaporator, found a spot, and secured the condenser with the compressor. The rest will be done tomorrow and the day after. While working inside the assembled chamber, you start to sweat. After all, it has good insulation, so even with the door open, it begins to heat you up. It’s already 4 PM, let’s head home. We step outside… and it’s sweltering. Good thing we were working in the basement, after all.