The wait seems over.
the games begin, start dancing ....
Thursday morning around 10 o'clock. My boss looks in my room.
- Dome, 5 minutes of salts on the 5th floor and helps the director to save the data on the PC. Do you understand just why. Now they call me .... After a
Oretta in my mailbox an e-mail with subject: "Hello dear, I'm out. Good luck. M."
And his room is not my boss, there is a sad man, alone, preparing the boxes. Last day of work. From tomorrow at home.
Friday morning. Now that room is empty. On his computer desk, tore the card company. The basket full of paper. And in the corridors voltage is cut into slices. They began to call the staff. They began to communicate to employees that are out since Tuesday, are in layoffs. It 's a continuous ... "I have called?", "Not yet, but I expected", "Yes, I have called, are out." It is not difficult to see eyes full of tears. Among those who go away. Among those who remain.
I can not but think that while someone organizes dinners with entrepreneurs who publicly chiama patrioti, migliaia di famiglie vivranno un Natale più triste. Non posso non pensare che i veri artefici del fallimento sono ancora seduti in parlamento, dichiarano che il sindacato è il vero paladino di tutti i lavoratori, saranno riassunti senza problemi perchè senza piloti gli aerei non volano, si godono buonuscite milionarie come ex amministratori delegati.
Non posso non pensare che nei prossimi giorni potrei anch'io preparare i miei scatoloni e liberare la mia stanza. O anche no. Ma in ogni caso non mi sentirò certo di gioire.
Martedì si ricomincia: altro giro, altra corsa.
