The Cloudflare office in Lisbon sits on the top floor of a building near the Tejo River. A large accounting firm occupies the bottom five floors. And apparently they need it. They have so many accountants. Just so many. Like quadruple what you’re thinking.
I have no idea how a world of computers and spreadsheets needs that many humans, but kudos to them - they show up in the office. In droves. I know this because they all seem to smoke, which for an American is peculiar. If you visit the office at any point in the day you’ll see dozens of them milling about in business casual at least two meters from the entrance.
Still, as a return-to-office radical myself, I love that they show up. Until last week when their commitment became an awkward problem.
I almost always walk to the office. I hate driving in Lisbon. The roads are tiny, the traffic is bad, and drivers treat all rules as suggestions. However, last week I had to run an errand at the end of the day where I needed my car so I made the trek.
The drive is very short. About halfway into the 15 minute trip I had to make a left turn on Avenida Infante Santo. The light switched to green, but the turn was not protected so I followed traffic laws and yielded to oncoming traffic.
However, this rule does not seem to apply if you are from Portugal and the driver behind me became frustrated. They made it clear with their horn that I should begin nudging my way into oncoming traffic (and the pedestrians in the crosswalk).
I disagreed. So they took the initiative and cut me off turning left on the inside. I was in a bad mood for other reasons and this really lit my fuse. I made my turn and pulled up next to them at the red light about 40 meters down the hill. They had saved no time, of course, but we had become rivals.
Important note: I am chirpy in Portugal when I go for a run or drive and get into some kind of traffic disagreement. I was not like this in Texas. Texans have guns.
I turned and looked at what kind of moron would pull that stunt and I saw a Portuguese woman, about my age, wearing sunglasses and a brown jacket. She was doing that thing you do when you refuse to turn your head at someone who happens to be giving you the middle finger and yapping. You could see the muscles in her neck straining to keep her gaze exactly straight ahead.
Eventually the light turned green and she continued her aggressive zig zagging. I happened to be going the same direction and watched her continue to run amok on the streets of Lisbon. I was curious about what this bozo would do next.
About three minutes later we started approaching the office. At this point I had made a lane change and was ahead of the other car. My grouchiness had been replaced by a running to do list of things at work that I needed to handle once I arrived. Still, I kept my eye on the rearview out of curiosity. I turned right towards the garage entrance. She also turned right. Ruh roh.
I pulled into the garage entrance where I got in the queue behind another car swiping their badge. I studied my rearview mirror. I held my breath as the offending driver drove towards the garage entrance but then kept rolling past. They turned right at the end of the street towards where some surface parking is available. I lost them as I entered the garage and found a parking spot a couple levels down.
I returned to my work thoughts as I took the elevator to the lobby. The garage elevator spits you out on the ground floor and you need to walk across the lobby to get to the elevator bank that takes you to the offices. I badged past the turnstile and stood there waiting for a lift.
And, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a woman in sunglasses and a brown jacket. She sheepishly pressed the up button and stood about two meters away. She took her sunglasses off and we made eye contact. She knew. I knew. I’m not sure she knew that I knew, though.
Which is a problem for me. I stand out in the non-touristy parts of Lisbon where I live and spend my time, which makes me overly cautious about what I do. In this case, I was wearing athleisure, my hair is blond according to the Portuguese, and I have blue eyes. She surely saw me pull into the garage. There is no way I wasn’t the guy.
A fellow number cruncher strolled into the elevator bank and she started chatting with them, continuing to glance over at me. We boarded and I wanted to say something. I started to open my mouth to ask “hey, um, do you drive a Peugeot” as the elevator chimed and she exited on her floor.
If I run into her again, which I almost definitely will, I’ll probably just let it be. The moment passed, but more will happen like it. Lisbon is small. Even when we include the seemingly infinite accountants, it’s more of a village than you’d think. Best to avoid making enemies.