Another 13 days for my second week off, I'd deserved.
When editors are taken on holiday in a year like this when interns are not in July and August, but only, in May and June (and we just are not coming), the poor employee is precarious Submerged work.
between culture and the record, with the addition the wonderful pages of the coast, the poor employee is to sign, August 13, even 10. It's all him: the feast of potatoes Vattelapesca, salaries of managers on sites with Brunetta, a political scientist at the interview and the inevitable short on museums open at night. Everything. A person almost essential, that the chief duty never takes a holiday: why should it?
return to normal rates in September, and especially back to the editors are allocated to various sectors in which the employee had to get by in search of phone numbers (with this character for fuck's boat in Portofino), everything returns to silenced. And everything is as always: and not propose a piece enthusiastic, and do not suggest you say that you are not proactive, go through the newspapers in the newsroom and is a miracle that someone greeting.
The hard life of the employee insecure, you know. Inshallah, I will soon be made a replacement from somewhere, so since August 1 this must be done in the city, which is paid at least the way God intended.
In all, Bologna is deserted. Room to the south? Closed until 23. The Chalet Giardini Margherita? Not specified. Bolognetti? He pretends to be open until 2 am but actually closes at 23. The bar of Mambo? Closed. Villa Serena? They threw away the key of the gate.
How horrible. E 'incivility.
Long live the Sardinia. Long live Aunt Francheschini between 13giorni that I welcome you to Levanzo!
