After so many resumes, interviews and hard work I managed to find a job for the book fair. The fact that it was taken only because a friend of mine is doing an internship at a magazine that will be attending I further confirmed my belief of how things work in the world of work.
Friend: I was told that looking for people to work from eight in the morning until eleven at night.
Enlil: No problem. I will paste the foot to the floor and I will not leave even to go to the bathroom. Protect the stand at the cost of my own life!
Friend: They also said that the salary is ridiculously underpaid and poorly delivered at a date specified in the distant future.
Enlil: Perfect. What is a pittance compared to the salary as free passes to the fair and the opportunity to be submerged by the culture, getting lost, even affogarcisi?!
Friend: They also said to dress so tight.
Enlil: ... Here's what I
wrong in all my interviews, I did not never put skirts and necklines inguinal dizzy. And I thought the problem was my being not yet graduated or who have the annoying habit of sweating profusely under stress.
Apart from that I thought of going to work at the book fair and not a motorshow where tits, ass and legs are required attributes, the awareness that if you ever want to work I will be forced to undergo multiple cosmetic surgery has taken away every will to live. And even my mother seemed to be too happy about.
Enlil (on phone): So mom, I found this job in four or five days. But before I have to necessarily go to the beautician and hairdresser.
Mom: Sure honey.
Enlil: Then I will need money to buy mini-skirts and T-shirts members.
Mom: ...
Enlil: And cheats. Many tricks. I'll need it.
Mom: ... Where did you say you go to work?
In fact that could well result in misunderstandings about it. But even after I explained that no, I did not get hired because I was seduced by the boss and no, I stand where I worked did not deal with erotic literature, not much seemed to have calmed down.
Mom: You said that this exhibition there will be lectures.
Enlil: Yes mom, dozens of conferences, hundreds of lofty conferences on the most beautiful pages of world literature.
Mom: And then there are many writers?
Enlil (in ecstasy): Yes, tens, hundreds, thousands of writers, and I can breathe their own air, I can see them, even touch them!
Mom: Honey, please, this time not madly in love with no author ultra fifty. The neighbors start gossiping and your grandmother does not but wonder where we went wrong with you.
Enlil: I'm sorry mom, I'll try, but I can not promise anything.
1 - Do not spend all his salary (if I ever have before getting to the age of retirement) in books.
2 - Make me to recognize my professionalism and efficiency and not for some fool (I will never forget about what happened to me the first day I worked on the 2006 Olympics. I can still hear the laughter of those nasty echo in German ears).
3 - Revise my (disastrous) English to be ready in case an explanation should be given to a stranger, or when feel the urge to ask some international writer to be the father of my children.
4 - Do not stutter like an idiot nonsense and sick.
5 - Better not talk at all.
6 - Smiling, always and everywhere to me to be a risk of paralysis face.
7 - In the case of the collision over fifty writers did not go through, try to seduce some editors, in the end it is they who have the power.
8 - If you met my former boss (which you certainly will) do not take the first handful of books that I find handy to throw. The books could be damaging. The launch of the chairs instead is allowed.
For now I'll stop here. Looking back there are a lot of things that could go wrong in this job and I'm starting to get me to seriously panic. I know I should not, after all, is only a job for a national magazine where I write important scientists and critics, most half of my university professors and journalists ...
I think I need to prepare a cup of chamomile.
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