Friday, 30 August 2013

DAY 211: Salaries for Breadcrumbs

It’s the end of the month.  The optimistic tone which has mysteriously appeared in the office is largely due to the arrival of the long-awaited paycheck. 

For a brief moment, I was hopeful that the powers that be had finally figured out an exhilarating motivational plan which would encourage the team to fight for the company’s survival.  But the reality soon hits us in the face when one realises that it’s just another day in an abysmal working world, battling through the tedious hours of internet surfing, while an argument ensues over who will answer the telephone – unaware that it has been ringing for over a minute.

I take a break from my ‘overwhelming’ work schedule, and open my salary slip.  The amount highlighted at the bottom of the sheet conjures up feelings of anger, dissatisfaction and bitter revenge.  Since March 2013, the Cyprus banking catastrophe has forced management to seize a portion of my salary, justifying the cut due to the”economic crisis”.  The banks had willingly offered a breathing period on all personal loans, but now that the ‘honeymoon’ is over, I am forced to meet my commitments with a salary, sufficient to see me through the first week of the month.

The escalating costs of living combined with the annoying arrogance that “one needs to be greatful for one’s job – especially during these trying times,” has me walking barefoot on a bed of burning coal.  And, despite the advice of “muteness” received from a group of close friends, I feel the need to voice my annoyance in the form of a protest.  After all, one should never have to sweat, unless one is getting paid for it. In the non-prostitute sense, of course.

After the first week of mortgage payments, life insurances, school supplies, utility bills and the odd trip to the local McDonalds, I find myself home-bound with a surplus of cash enough to purchase a packet of breadcrumbs.  But for some strange reason, my weight manages to remain constant, unopposed by the lack of funds in the bank account.  The war brewing in the Middle East has my wife stocking on tinned foods, cleaning supplies and copious amounts of water bottles, in the event of a possible apocalyptic showdown. 

The news networks zone into Israel and the crowds of people lining the streets for their complimentary gas masks. As military build up continues ahead of a possible Western strike against Assad, the United Kingdom sends Typhoon fighter jets to Cyprus.  Russia has parked a fleet of warships in the Mediterranean, Turkey is backing the Syrian opposition and rebels, France and Germany are threatening punishment, and Cyprus is rejoicing over a local football team’s advancement into the group stages of the Europa League.

But that infamous paycheck is staring at me from beyond the torn envelope.  The appalling amount has warranted a series of threats, and if management does not comply, I see myself waging a different type of war.

Weight for me soon. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts. 
For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com

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