You can’t explain bad luck

— I never pick the lucky number. Everything I try goes wrong. Everything I touch turns sour.
— How do you explain that?
— You can’t explain bad luck. It’s like… an ear for music. You have it or you don’t.
— What happened with the boy?
— Which one?
— The first one. The one you took off with. Didn’t it go all the way?
— Sure it went all the way.
— But you were disappointed.
— Not at all! That’s the problem. If I’d enjoyed it less, I might not be here now. Anyhow. Still, the first time wasn’t too comfortable.
— Of course. It never is. You were uncomfortable. Because you were both very young.
— No, we were in a gas station restroom. It’s not convenient. Have you ever tried it? It’s not convenient, especially on a highway. I wanted to hitchhike… I had this fantasy that love stories always happened at the beach… But hitchhiking was a bad idea. It’s not surprising, though. My ideas are almost always bad. It’s classic. I get carried away, I don’t think. If I hadn’t got picked up, I might’ve jumped in front of a truck.
— Who picked you up?
— I can’t name him since he’s married. A psychologist. He diagnosed I was depressed and bent over backward to cure me. So far backward, I thought I was half pregnant. Luckily, it was only appendicitis… if you can call it lucky. The anesthesiologist wasn’t my lucky break.
— You had trouble with the anesthesiologist?
— No, he was nice. He seemed so much in love, I’d have followed him to China. We got as far as Limoges. Funny, isn’t it, how people can seem madly in love when they’re not? It must be easy to fake. He said I went to his head like Cointreau. I guess he got tired of Cointreau, so he went to make a phone call.
— Phone who?
— I never found out. He never came back. The restaurant had a back door, which I didn’t know, so I waited for him till closing time. The manager lived upstairs. His room smelled greasy. But he had soft, gentle hands. Hands are tricky — they can make you believe anything. That’s how I got my first job, as a hostess at his place.
— What does a hostess do?
— At first, she welcomes people and smiles at everyone. As far as jobs go, it’s a no-brainer… but you know how smiles give people ideas and Limoges is so full of lonely men. You can’t imagine! The judge said it has the most depressed people in France.
— Which judge?
— He comforted me when they closed the place. Because of the hostesses. He was depressed, too. Not that he comforted me for long. Not even 15 minutes. In a hotel room with no pillows, TV or curtains. But he wasn’t that bad. When he saw I was crying, he gave me his hankie. Then he left.

Maybe it’s all I deserve. It must be the law of nature.

Some people are born to be happy — I get conned every day of my life. I believe every promise I hear. I’ve never achieved anything. I’ve never been useful or precious to anyone, or happy, or even really unhappy. I guess you’re unhappy when you lose something, but I’ve never had anything except bad luck.
— How do you see your future, Adele?
— I don’t know.
— When I was little, all I wanted to do was grow up. As fast as I could. But I can’t see the point of it all… Not anymore… Getting older.

I see my future like a waiting room, in a big train station, with benches and drafts. Outside, hordes of people run by without seeing me. They’re all in a rush, taking trains and cabs… they have somewhere to go, someone to meet…

And I sit there, waiting.

Așa începe o poveste frumoasă, un film noir cu iz de “Love Story” și de “Jeux d’Enfants”…

Guess the movie…
See the trailer (low quality)