Saturday, 23rd November 1985
It's two months now that I have been out of work. At the end of September all apprentices from the School of Tourism were fired from the hotel Carmen, me included. In overall, I can't say I had a bad time there, especially in comparison with the horrible experience of Samos. I have been looking for another job ever since, but I haven't found anything yet.
Aunt Penelope paid us a visit this morning. We were having a pleasant conversation about summer holidays, when suddenly she changed the subject:
“So, you don't work in the hotel Carmen anymore...”
“No, I don't; all apprentices were fired two months ago”
“Pity... Anyway, I've been informed that all those who served their apprenticeship in the hotel Galactic are still there, hired as permanent employees; and they've kept a beautiful, agreeable girl at the reception,” she said smiling. I was very disappointed at the news, but I didn't say anything; I only wondered: How does my aunt know all this?
Monday, 2nd December 1985
This morning I went to apply for a job in a big travel agency in Athens. They are looking for an office employee with good knowledge of English and German. I was optimistic about this job, because I also have the diploma from the School of Tourism.
Yet, soon my enthusiasm started to wane: Firstly, the personnel manager made me wait outside his office for an hour, although he wasn't doing any work. When he finally summoned me to his office, he seemed to be positive towards me -although he minced his words regarding the working hours: “This is a full time job, eight to ten hours per day” (“eight to ten hours” means “endless hours”) … “We offer the basic salary and we don't pay overtime” … “This is hard work, it demands intelligence and eloquence” etc.
I kept saying “yes” to everything, lest I should lose the ideal job.
“One of your duties will be to welcome tourists who come from abroad,” he went on.
I liked that, because I thought I would be doing this during my working hours.
“So, you must always be ready to receive a phone call telling you to go to the airport or the seaport, receive a group of tourists and take them to their hotel!”
“No problem!” I was beforehand in answering.
“This may happen any time, but it usually happens at night! For example, we might phone you at 3:00 a.m. and tell you that you must be at the airport in an hour!
After the first shock, I dared ask: “You mean, after having worked ten hours in the office, I will have to scour airports and harbours in the middle of the night, looking for certain groups of tourists?”
“Exactly, this is how we work here!”
“But I don't even have a car...”
I can't remember what was said afterwards; I was only looking forward to getting out of there as soon as possible.
Sunday, 8th December 1985
This evening we had an unexpected phone call: It was Mrs Daphne, an old friend of my mother, who hasn't shown up for seventeen years. “I am the one who must make the first step to revive the old friendship,” she said slowly, as soon as my mum picked up the receiver. After a few moments of surprise, the two women talked calmly for a while, they made it up again, and Mrs Daphne ended up: “Yvonne will help Persephone with her homework, too!”.
My mother didn't bear any objections to that, neither did I; anyway, I have plenty of time and no friends. So, we arranged for the eleven-year-old Persephone, Mrs Daphne's daughter, to visit me two or three times a week. She is in the sixth class of elementary school and she needs help with maths, physics and Greek language.
Tuesday, 28th January 1986
As months go by, I keep on searching high and low for any job. I have been to hundreds of companies, applying for any post, even that of a factory worker. However, no employer has been willing to hire me so far, despite my new qualifications: The diploma from the State School of Tourism, my four-month practice as an assistant receptionist in the hotel Carmen, my good knowledge of typing, plus my fluent Italian, English and German. The main problem is that in a society where backstairs influence is everything, my family is the only one which can pull no strings at all.
This morning I had a reason to believe that the miracle would happen: My father took me to a big company in Maroussi (a four-hour commuting), where an old friend of his works as a manager. “I will talk to him about you; maybe he will hire you as a secretary,” dad explained to me and I started to hope.
During their conversation, dad was all joy and smiles, but he didn't utter a word about me. Finally, five minutes before our leaving, he let drop the brick: “If possible, I would like my daughter to come here and help you, even without being paid! All I want, is that she gains some working experience! She can type fast, she can speak English, Italian and German...”
The manager agreed smiling, but I froze.
Conclusion: I will never be hired in that company, not even unpaid. Fortunately...
Friday, 31st January 1986
This evening Persephone came round and I helped her do her maths and physics homework. It took us about two hours. When we finished, we talked about various subjects such as show business, school, and social problems -as usual. I am really impressed at Persephone's maturity and cleverness. She is an agreeable person, with long blond hair and big blue eyes. If she weren't so obese, she would be very beautiful. Of course, I don't care about her looks. I have a good time with her, I think we are ideologically compatible, and she thinks the same too. “I like chatting with Yvonne,” she says to her mother. Sometimes I get tired because her homework takes us hours, but at least I have got a friend now...
Wednesday, 5th February 1986
In response to an advertisement in the newspaper, regarding a vacancy for a typist, this morning I went to an office in Athens, which sends and receives telexes for other companies. It proved to be a poky, frowsty room without windows, full of big telex machines, piles of books and lots of dust. The boss was a plump, grim-looking, smarmy man, whom I didn't like at all. He gave me a minute examination in typing, English and Italian, he made many personal questions, he even asked me how often I get sick! The only thing he didn't examine was my knowledge of German, because he doesn't know this language. As he told me, he needs an employee because his permanent secretary is on a monthly leave of absence. This means that if he hires me, he will keep me for one month only. However, I wasn't daunted; even one month of working experience is better than nothing.
Friday, 7th February 1986
The bloke with the telexes called me this morning and told me to come to his office immediately. I was very happy because I thought he wanted me to start working at once. However, when I got there, I found out he was not alone: He was in the company of a middle-aged lady who proved to be German and started talking to me in German. I was a little embarrassed because I didn't expect an oral test, but I think I did quite well. “I will call you soon,” said the boss finally, but I know that he never will.
The fact is that relatives and neighbours have begun to wonder about my continuing failure in finding a job: “Such bad luck with work! Could it be Yvonne's fault?” wondered aunt Penelope this afternoon, when I told her about my recent adventures...
Monday, 17th February 1986
Some days ago a new hope for employment appeared unexpectedly: One of my father's friends has a nephew, who is a successful accountant with lots of public relations and he will certainly find a post for me, as he said.
This afternoon, at about 4:00 o'clock, that great nephew phoned me at last. He introduced himself as Mr Demis Dragonas and he told me to take a taxi at once and come to the hotel Lyra in Vouliagmeni. He said he would be waiting for me there till 4:30, and he insinuated I would be hired immediately as a restaurant cashier.
Twenty minutes later I arrived at the accounts department of the hotel Lyra, beaming with optimism. However, it didn't take me long to understand that Mr Dragonas didn't think very highly of me: “So, you only have a Certificate of Proficiency
in English? Haven't you studied abroad?” … “Besides, your diploma from the State School of Tourism is not a university degree” … “Moreover, you have no working experience” … “This job requires a lot of sprightliness, I'm not sure if you can do it; of course, I don't know how high your intelligence quotient is” etc, etc, etc...
Monday, 3rd March 1986
I had almost forgot the above case until today, when I received an unexpected phone call at 2:00 p.m.: I jumped for joy when I heard it was Mr Dragonas, asking me to take a taxi at once and come to his office in New Faliron, because he was in urgent need of an assistant in the exports department! I set out without a second of delay.
Right from the first moment, the mouse-faced Mr Dragonas and his scarlet wife, Lisa, showed their nasty characters: “You must know, Yvonne, that every move you make will be watched! Even how you hold the pen, shows who you are!” … “You must always do exactly what you are told; as soon as you make the first mistake, you will be fired on the spot!” … “You have a lot to learn here! For the first six months you will be an apprentice, so you will only get a symbolic salary!” … “And remember: There is a lot of unemployment out there!”. Not only did I say “yes” to everything, but I also felt extremely lucky that I had found a job at last...
Friday, 21st March 1986
Ever since I got hired by Mr Dragonas, I have been striving to meet the incredible demands of my job, as I am responsible not only for exports but for all kinds of errands as well. Every evening I return home exhausted and every morning I wake up tired, feeling that I haven't rested enough. Frankly, I don't know how I manage to pull through all that work, day in day out.
From 8:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m. I do office work or, most of the times, I run to all public services in the basin of Attiki so as to transact various bureaucratic formalities. Sometimes the boss gives me wrong instructions, so I toil in vain and then he gets mad at me. From 2:00 to 7:00 p.m. I run to various clients all around Attiki, to give or take documents. I usually arrive home at 9:00 in the evening, exhausted and exasperated.
More often than not, I have to wait in endless queues for hours. Again I get a blasting because, as they tell me, I'm not capable of getting the job done “cleverly”, that is out of turn: “It's time you learned how to move in those places! If you had gumption, you wouldn't get stuck in queues!” yelled Demis this morning because, according to him, I had wasted too much time in the Tax Office.
As about Lisa, she spends all the working hours painting her nails, fixing her make up and admiring herself in her mirror. She is quite attractive, 20 years younger than her husband, and madly in love with his money. It is her younger cousin, Mina, who carries through all the work and treats me more humanely. Without her, there would be no job done correctly in this office...
Tuesday, 15th April 1986
I'm sick and tired of this all: During all those endless hours I spend in the office, I am obliged to put up with all kinds of humiliating remarks, ironic comments or direct insults that often reach the limits of terrorism.
This morning I happened to make a wrong photocopy and the big boss flew off the handle: “I just can't believe it! You aren't capable of doing even the simplest job right! Do me a favour, Mina,” he turned to his sister-in-law, “You go and make the correct photocopy, otherwise we won't get that job done!” Then he turned to me again and groaned:
“Listen well: This is the first and the last time I have tolerated a mistake from you! At the second mistake you are out of here! Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” I stammered.
“And keep in mind: If you can't cope with this job, you will never be able to cope with any other job!”
Monday, 21st April 1986
This morning Mr Dragonas arrived at the office at ten o'clock. He was all nerves, as usual, and he ordered me to bring him some coffee at once. “Stir it!” he shouted as soon as I left the cup in front of him. I obeyed with trembling hands. “Again!” he yelled and I obeyed again.
An hour later, the big boss interrupted me from drawing up a client's balance (paradoxically, credit never equals debit in these balances; yet those great accountants I work for consider this normal) and summoned me to his office. Soon it became clear that all he wanted was to lecture me about productivity:
“All employees must be equally good and always excel in their work! A company is like a barrel full of wine: What happens, Yvonne, if any hoop is damaged?” he asked me with a cunning smile.
“All the wine will be spilled,” I replied in a low voice, like a schoolgirl saying the lesson to a strict teacher.
“Correct! That's why you should work even harder, so as not to be detrimental to our company!” he concluded triumphantly.
“Yes, sir!”
Anyway, now that I'm thinking better about it, I can see that if a “hoop” is damaged, not all the “wine” is always spilled. It depends on how high the damaged hoop is: If it is near the top, almost no wine will be wasted; however, if the bad hoop is low, then most of the wine will be wasted. Conclusion: It is the lower employees who actually run the companies. The higher ones are mostly decorative...
Tuesday, 6th May 1986
After nine hours of exhausting work in and out of the office, Mr Dragonas ordered me not to leave but wait for him until he finished some phone calls. I waited for more than an hour and then he kept me standing in his office for one more hour, bombarding me with all kinds of complaints: “You are not as hardworking as you should be” … “You don't take any initiatives” … “You are not sprightly enough” … “You are not quick on the uptake” etc.
When I protested that I work incessantly all day, always doing my best, he answered disdainfully:
“This is not enough! What you have been doing for us up to now is only a drop in the ocean, in comparison with what you should be doing! And don't forget! There is a lot of unemployment out there! I want you to promise me that from now on you will be working harder and faster!”
“I will, sir” I replied.
If I had disagreed to anything, he would have never let me go home...
Wednesday, 7th May 1986
Obviously, all that performance had only one purpose: to terrorize me, and it did: This morning I was feeling frightened just at the thought of going to the office.
“As soon as you came in, her blood ran cold!” I heard Lisa telling him.
“No kidding! She was scared stiff!” agreed the dragon malignantly.
The only thing that made me feel a little better, was the fact that a little later Demis called his wife in his office and hauled her over the coals! Only that she wasn't so submissive as I was: “If you don't like the way I work, you had better hire a qualified accountant! One who will ask for a salary!” she retorted, and that made him shut up for a while.
Friday, 9th May 1986
This is the last day for the submission of tax returns. From now on there won't be so much work to do, so I might calm down a little. So, I was unpleasantly surprised when Mr Dragonas summoned me to his office late in the afternoon, as I was getting ready to leave. Here comes another blowing-up, I feared. However, as soon as I got into his office, Demis started praising my qualifications and my efficiency, only to conclude that he was “unfortunately” obliged to fire me on the spot because he could no longer afford my tidy salary, which till then I had no idea how high (or low) it was.
Anyway, I can't say I wasn't expecting it at all: For days now I've suspected that Lisa wishes to take my position. It was only yesterday when I heard her say that she is usually in charge of the exports department and that she prefers running on errands to spending her hours in the office. Nevertheless, she certainly wouldn't fancy running here and there like crazy during the peak season (from the beginning of March till today), when there is so much frenzy with the tax returns. For that hectic period they hired me to pull the chestnuts from the fire.
Finally, I got half of the basic salary as a reward for my services. Not so bad; I thought that
the “symbolic salary” would be much lower. It goes without saying that I got no stamps at all. In the end, Demis assured me that he was very pleased with me and that if he ever needed an assistant in the future, he would hire no one else but me.
Monday, 9th June 1986
Miracles do happen: A week ago I finally managed to find a part time job (two days a week, three hours each time) as a correspondent in the company “Kyriakides Bros SA”, which imports auto spare parts from Italy.
For a couple of days I kept on looking for something better, but this morning I got a revolutionary idea: Quit searching for a full time job and make do with my part time job and the housework, which takes me hours every day. Frankly, I'm sick and tired of looking for work in the classified ads, begging the bosses to hire me as an underpaid slave. Besides, there is no real financial need, since my father gets a good pension as a retired captain and my personal expenses are pretty limited: I neither demand flashy clothes, nor go out to cafeterias, discos, clubs etc. As about stamps, I'll think about what I can do about it. In any case, there is no lack of money in our home. So, why worry? Anyway, what will be will be. As soon as I came up with that wonderful idea, I started feeling a lot better...
Monday, 16th June 1986
Last Friday I bought a newspaper on the spur of the moment. When I got home, I had a quick look at the classified ads and I immediately noticed the following advertisement: “Secretary needed urgently by an import company in New Smyrna. Candidates must be fast in typing and fluent in Italian and English. No working experience required”.
The phrase “no working experience required” was what made me answer to the above advertisement. I went there for an interview right away and despite my initial pessimism the boss, a polite man who introduced himself as Mr Lucas Zafirakis, finally agreed to hire me full time, starting from today! He offers the basic salary and stamps -I'm talking about luxury! I can hardly believe it!
The company is called Vinomec and imports wining machinery from Italy. I managed to get the position of secretary because I was the only candidate able and willing to listen to a text in Greek and simultaneously type it in English or Italian. According to the boss, all the other girls he had seen, most of them with university degrees from England or Italy, had either messed up everything or refused to do such a demanding test.
December 1986
The first months at work rolled on smoothly, without serious problems; those started to appear later. In general, Mr Zafirakis is a quiet and good-hearted person, but my job is extremely demanding: Apart from a typist and a telephone operator, I am also in charge of imports and I sub for the boss when he is absent. Besides, I am always under the watchful eye of Mrs Stasa: She is Lucas' mother-in-law, who first appeared in the office the next day I was hired -obviously to keep a discreet watch on me.
The job requires a great sense of responsibility, careful manipulations, risky initiatives and specialized knowledge not only of imports but of wine machinery as well. I'm not complaining though; I actually like this job because it is interesting and challenging. Moreover, I get a regular salary, stamps and social security -things once I couldn't even dream of...
December 1987
As time goes by, the boss becomes more and more demanding. While he is in the office, he never stops grumbling about my efficiency at work; when he is absent, that is often, I have to untangle the most complicated problems without any guidance.
Very often I find myself in the middle of uncontrollable situations with wayward customers and nonfunctional public services. If someone in Italy sends a fax too late, I am to blame. If I press them to send that fax, I am still to blame for getting obtrusive. Moreover, I often have to work overtime without getting any extra payment.
In the meanwhile, my friendship with Persephone is getting stronger and stronger. We meet two or three times a week and we chat about everything. Sometimes she is too exigent in her homework and she gets on my nerves. Yet, I always turn a blind eye, maybe because: “Yvonne should be in other circles now, but since she isn't, she may go out with Persa,” as Mrs Daphne said to my mother the other day.
The last time I visited Persephone, she had unexpected visitors: It was Mary, an eleven-year-old cousin of hers. The three of us talked pleasantly and listened to pop music for a few hours. At a moment, when the girl found out my age, she exclaimed in surprise: “You should be with a fiancé now, not here with Persa!”. I didn't say anything but deep inside I was agitated by the girl's spontaneous comment -for I knew she was right...
Chapter 19: Days of Hope