28/09/2024
To be a despicable employee!!!
means you live under the weight of waiting for the end of the month, eagerly anticipating that meager salary that barely satisfies the mouths of the rebels in your family. You buy pants for your son, shoes for your daughter, and clothing that reminds your wife that you still think of her. If you manage to steal a little money for yourself, you can change your faded tie and the white shirt that has been tortured by repeated ironing.
You stop at the market to buy vegetables, but you only stick to potatoes, onions, carrots, and tomatoes, as there's no way you can afford fruits. You convince yourself that the vitamins provided by oranges can be found in a chemical juice that costs less than a pound. You avoid passing by the butcher’s shop, fearing the sight of fresh meats proudly displayed.
You search for the cheapest cafés where you can cut a pound or two from the coffee price. There, the waiter might accept just one pound, or you pay only for what you drank without daring to look him in the eye. You can read a newspaper for free, even if it turns into a rag from being passed around so much that it becomes unfit even for wiping glass.
Your work starts at nine, but you might begin at ten. You kill time for half an hour before leaving and take advantage of lunch to enjoy a cup of tea and gossip with your colleagues. The state pays you for eight hours a day while you barely work for two. In the end, you curse the parliamentarians and ministers for their little work and generous salaries, and you participate in union protests demanding protection for the working class.
You become lazy in your office; no longer do you think about giving or producing as long as lethargy is a common trait shared with your esteemed colleagues. Any suspicious activity on your part could expose you to denunciation, making the boss look at you suspiciously as if you dream of sitting in his place. The simple citizen waiting for your service becomes the victim in this equation or that task for which the state established this administration.
You watch the sun slipping away, signaling the end of a tedious workday. You throw yourself into iron ovens called buses to return home. You smell the sweat of one, hear the chatter of another, and feel a hand searching your pockets for something to steal. You see the pants of one person bulging from the front, preparing for a sexual battle fed by the crowd and sudden stops of the bus. Occasionally, you have to endure the ascent of a beggar with a permanent disability, clinging to your suit and begging for the price of a loaf of bread.
You make “rent” your lifelong companion; if you're lucky, you might manage to pay it off before you leave for the grave, or you will leave your children a long debt for a miserable apartment that its walls can't even silence the voice of the neighbor's wife during her moments of passion. In a cramped apartment that forces you to host your friends in cafés to avoid their mockery of a living room stuck next to the bathroom and kitchen.
You spend your vacation at your grandmother's house in the village to save on expenses. You feel pain as you refuse your son's request to go camping with his friends, justifying that you fear for him while you can't afford the cost of his trip. You swallow the guilt, while your wife searches for someone to lend her a “caftan” to wear to her cousin’s wedding. You cry tears of blood as you push your daughter toward studying at universities of unemployment instead of sending her abroad due to lack of bank balance.
You envy that street vendor whose monthly earnings might surpass your salary. You regret believing one day that “this job is better” and with the saying “God bless the little and consistent,” while your friend who chose freelance work lives a much better life than you. You find yourself at the threshold of a miserable retirement that won’t cover even what has accumulated in the grocer's ledger. You prepare yourself in your last working years to learn another craft to shield you from asking for help or pray to God to guide your children to allocate a monthly amount for you so you can face life until “the custodian takes back his trust.”
