It's a cushy little number, not at all lucrative, but the work is interesting. I've been offered my old job back, part time, on call, as an academic editor for a Chinese company. (Let's face it, the Chinese are more serious about doing academic work than any British firm is!) I like it. I don't care that my boss is hooning it around in a red Lambo' with a Fender Strat' shaped swimming pool, jet-setting off to health farm retreats and island parties while all her staff subsist on bowl of noodles or rice, drinking tepid paddy water. (I edited the text for their website so I know how much they earn).
Tonight at that... place, was an absolute nightmare. These people do not handle stress well: they are not philosophers. They are children, really. These kids (which is what they are, for not one of them is over 21, except for the thug of a boss) throw things, smash pieces of metal loudly and are dictatorial. If I am honest, I prefer the polite style of tyranny and exploitation the Chinese have rather than these... people. I very nearly quit tonight. Having little teenaged brats breathing down my neck the entire time, yelling, throwing things and issuing orders, often in a strung out and curt manner, is too much. I've had enough, truth be told.
It will not be long until I leave there, you can be absolutely goddamn sure of that. I'm not digging it, at all. They are juvenile, uneducated, they crack under the slightest pressure, and when one gets stressed out, it has a knock on effect. There will come a time, soon, when I won't be putting up with that s- any longer. Hell, I'll subsist on rice and paddy water. I'll put up with being on call all hours for the exploitative Chinese academic establishment. Besides, I can focus on my career as a wine taster and literary type. Translation, poetry, reading and writing (namely publication) is where it's at. I can't wait to get shot of this slavery.
Max.
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