Work

I discovered today that, in 1914, Lenin gave a lecture in the building where I work. Surely the opportunity for a damning indictment of something. Exactly what shall hopefully become clearer as we go.

I work in a bar which, though it still has some connections with its past, provides strong evidence that times have changed. The customers are young-ish and cool-ish, but take neither to extremes. There are quite a few English speakers, probably because they find other cafés in the area too dirty. And we get lots of EU workers, mostly the ambitious work-experience people who think they can change the world and achieve wealth and success at the same time. You know, those folks who believe in saving the children but who must hang on to their faith in western capitalist democracy because life's little luxuries aren't going to buy themselves.

My bar is on the right-hand row of buildings, second from the right

There's no better way to start a monday morning than to clear away herbal tea detritus from a table covered in graphs and notes about 'climate change' and 'policy', while watching the otherwise attractive men and women sitting there 'networking'. Lenin, I apologize on behalf of humanity. Scattered around the rest of the room will be various Mac users directing the revolution from afar. Why would you take your computer to a café? If you are tired of fantasizing about the other customers, we have a rather good selection of newspapers (selected for our bobo client-base, obviously: The Guardian, Libération, Le Monde, Süddeutsche Zeitung, La Repubblica, El Pais and, er, L'Équipe).

At the moment we have on the walls a number of photographs of little black children in Africa gambolling about and looking cute. They are for sale, for 150 Euros each. The interesting question is, if our customers want to buy these photos, what are they going to do with them? Certainly not hang them in the dining room to marvel at whilst eating their cornflakes every morning. How do I know this? Our bar is one of the few not to allow buskers or street salesmen anywhere near the customers: "Move along my Gypsy friend. Yes they love the poor but they don't want to have to look at them..."

Another reason for my dislike of the budding eurocrats is that, while they figure out how to make a unified Europe more like the United States, I have a black job with zero security. My fate rests solely on whether les patrons are good to me or not. And although I have been lucky, some of my colleagues have been let go without notice. What is unsurprising is that all three of them had somewhat recalcitrant personalities (amongst other things, Catherine Malabou's analysis of plasticity and passivity seems relevant on this issue).

So, What Is to Be Done? In my case, nothing. I will continue to cling to my job by displaying ever greater levels of unquestioning submissiveness, all the while thanking my benefactors heartily for the opportunity.