All Posts Tagged ‘Job


Tired Lesson


Getting up each morning was a heroic act. She wasn’t entirely conscious of what was going on. She felt terribly tired, and any effort seemed unbearable. But she had a family to take care of and a job to keep, so she dragged herself each morning to perform her duties. Days were long and dark like endless tunnels. She only wanted to disappear. She constantly was thinking that everything she was doing was wrong. That her life was not worthy. But the love for her family made her go on and on working and trying to disguise her tiredness. She didn’t know if her boss had noticed that she was falling into a deep depression. She didn’t want to recognise that it was a depression. Her best friend had noticed and had saved her from many tricky situations offering her help or taking her out of the office for a quick walk when she was about to burst in tears in public.

One day she had to give a lecture to a group of young students. She had her notes and her presentation careful prepared, as always. But she couldn’t resist any more. She gave the entire lecture perfectly, but tears were rolling down her cheeks constantly. She couldn’t help herself. There was dead silence in the classroom. everyone was hanging on her words. She cleared her voice and continued despite the tears, till the end of the presentation. Her lecture was brilliant. There was an ovation. The students were impressed by that unusual lesson. She couldn’t even smile at them. She was exhausted. She only wanted to find a hidden spot to cry alone with her weakness.

It was the end. Or the beginning. She finally asked for a leave of absence and accepted she needed professional help. She learned from that tired lesson she gave, that she couldn’t go on like that any more. It was for the good of her family. It was for her good.

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Proud Paper


When I arrived at the newsroom in the morning, usually there were many people already working. But that particular day the room was almost empty. A lot of my colleagues were working out, in a building just a block away. A princess had come to preside the inauguration of a hospital. A big social event for our city. several journalists and photo reporters were there taking notes and pictures to fill several pages for the next day. I wasn’t among the chosen ones for the big news. So I was there guarding, just in case something else happened, knowing that whatever I would write, would remain hidden under tons of information about the social event of the day.

Suddenly, one of the photo reporters came hurriedly and entered the editor’s office without knocking the door. He told him something and the editor called me nervously and simply told me: Go with Xavier. He will explain.

I grabbed my pad and my recorder and followed him. We climbed in his car and he began to drive as fast as he could.

– I was in the ceremony with the princess, next to the Governor taking photos – he told me – and I overheard a secret policeman telling him that there has been a terrorist attack in a canyon near a village some 30 kilometres from here and it seems there is someone dead.

So there we went. We were the first ones on the scene. The police had a car with their radio very loud, so I could take notes of all the operation live. They didn’t let us pass into the canyon at first. It was too dangerous.

The terrorists were on the loose. They have killed one policeman and wounded another and fled running by the banks of the river. The police immediately had closed both exits of the canyon and had they trapped. Later they let us go into the canyon to take photos of the scene of the crime. The story was really terrible. The terrorists, four of them, decided to commit suicide rather than let themselves be caught.

I was deeply impressed because the policeman’s widow was my age: 28. I only could think about her, losing a husband so young, so suddenly, and so tragically.

My story made front page instead of the one about the princess and her inauguration ceremony, but I certainly would preferred a quiet day.

My newspaper was proud of me. I had done a good job. But I wasn’t feeling well. I was sad and angry.





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Draft a post with three parts, each unrelated to the other, but create a common thread between them by including the same item — an object, a symbol, a place — in each part.

A man was reading the newspaper while waiting at the door of the district attorney. I noticed he was reading my piece about a corruption scandal I was investigating. I was there hoping to find more information. I knew that the man with the newspaper was the police officer in charge of the investigation, but he didn’t know me. So I asked him casually: Is it true what it says the newspaper?. He said: Absolutely true. Everything. I wonder how they knew all this. I knew my sources were good. I’d checked and re checked every bit of data before publishing. I liked his reply. Then I introduced myself. That morning I got another valuable source.

The little office was cold and humid. I had a desk and a panel with a chart of the parking they were building right in the opposite side of the street. My job was to sell parking places. I was 19. I had found that job through a friend because I needed the money to live. I wanted to work for a newspaper and I was an intern in a newsroom in Bilbao, but they didn’t pay me enough. So I spent the mornings selling parking places to live and the evenings doing journalism. What I didn’t know was that the parking business would become pretty dangerous. I learned too late that my boss was involved in something suspicious. One day when I was alone at the office with the door open, two thugs came in looking for him. They threatened me and made me promise not to tell him they were around if he showed up. I was so scared I closed and locked the door as soon as they left. I didn’t care about what the customers would think. I didn’t  dare to venture out with those two characters around either. The boss came, I told him about the thugs and I quit right away. Well, as soon as I gathered enough courage to leave that awful place alone to go home.

As a reporter for everything in Pamplona, Spain, I had to write a lot about the San Fermin Festival. During eight consecutive years, my boss gave me the assignment of write about the wounded on the Running of the Bulls. So, when everybody was going towards the old city to watch the run, I drove in the opposite direction towards the hospital, to wait at the entrance of the ER the arrival of the ambulances with the wounded. Many traditional runners run with a rolled newspaper in their hand. With it, they measure the distance between them and the bull, and if it is too close, they can move it in front of the face of the bull to distract its attention and save precious seconds to escape. It was usual that when a wounded arrived in an ambulance, he still had his hand tightening hard the rolled newspaper.


Weaving the Threads.


Slow down

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Fill in the blank: “Life is too short to _____.” Now, write a post telling us how you’ve come to that conclusion.

Life is too short to live it too fast.

Our society pushes us to do many things in a short time and live in a constant rush, so we can lost sight of the important things in life.

I have worked for thirty years intensely, without schedules, with a lot of stress, thinking I was doing the right thing, untill I suddenly found myself in my fifties, sick and exhausted having lost important moments with my family. It was like awakening from a long dream.

I don’t regret of my entire professional life, but I certainly would like it would’ve been less intense, with more time to dedicate to my family and the things that are important to me. Now there is no way back. I lived too fast. And life is too short. Those years of youth with my family are gone. I have to take advantage of the present moment and the years to come to enjoy life with my loved ones at a slower pace.

No Time to Waste.



Unequal Terms

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Did you know today is Blog Action Day? Join bloggers from around the world and write a post about what inequality means to you. Have you ever encountered it in your daily life?

When I was a young reporter seeking for a good job, I worked for a while without contract for a newspaper hoping they would hire me. After two years there was a job opening in the newsroom perfect for my profile. We were two candidates. The boss called me one day and explained me plainly that they were not going to hire me, in spite I was better and had more merits than the other one, because I was a woman. He said the newsroom had too many women (four) and they needed more men. So I lost a job opportunity simply because I was a woman. Later I got a job in another newspaper. In my new newsroom being a woman was no problem to work hard, but for some reason there was almost no way of promotion. Only one of us made her way up to the top. Nothing for the rest. All the other bosses were men.
When I was first diagnosed with a deep depression and I had to take a leave of absence, my boss didn’t understand it, and asked me, annoyed, how the doctors would know for how long I would be unable to work. I’m sure that if I had had a broken leg, there would be no questions.

Unequal Terms.


Perfect job


Marty stuffed the money in a bag and left unnoticed. Perfect job.

The police showed at his home in an hour.

– How did you know?

– You fool left an envelope in the safe with your doctor’s bill and your address on it!

Strange as it seems it’s a true story!

Weekly Writing Challenge: Fifty.

Links to other fifty word stories on the next page:




How do you feel about your job? Do you spring out of bed, looking forward to work? Or, is your job a soul-destroying monotony of pure drudgery, or somewhere in between?

I was enthusiastic about my job. Journalism is a wonderful, demanding and absorbing job. It gave me unforgettable experiences. It marked deeply my life. I’ve shared great sufferings and big joys. I’ve known all kind of people. Common people. Heroes and villains. I’ve known places in peace and in war. I’ve learned a lot about human kind. I’ve tried to don’t be cynical despite what I have seen during my career. I believe there is a space for hope in this world, despite its horrors.

Daily Prompt: Sixteen Tons.


My brief American dream


What giant step did you take where you hoped your leg wouldn’t break? Was it worth it, were you successful in walking on the moon, or did your leg break?

My job was hurting my health seriously. My doctor recommended to change and put some distance between me and my old job. So I packed my things and caught a plane in Madrid to New York. There I went with my limited English knowledge to improve the language and work as a stringer and a correspondent. I left my secure job In a solvent company, said goodby to my friends and my family and went alone to the adventure of an insecure job In a new country across the ocean, by myself, and suffering a depression. I focused my first months in New York in improving my English, helping my boss in a report and enjoying the city. I learned to be in a New York state of mind. At the beginning it was not easy. Being depressed in Manhattan it’s not the best way to enjoy the city. You are alone in the middle of the multitude. Feeling that nobody cares about you. But the city has its suppressive caresses. I found unexpected help in the streets, in the metro. I found great friends. Even today I used to sing with nostalgia and good humor the song of the old musical “Anything Goes”:

The more I travel, Across the gravel,
The more I sail the sea.
The more I feel convinced to the fact,
New York’s the town for me.
That crazy skyline
Is right in my line,
And when I’m far away,
I’m able to bear it for several hours
Then I brake down and say.

Take me back to Manhattan,
Take me back to New York.
I’m just longing to see once more
My little home on the hundredth floor!
Can you wonder I’m gloomy?
Can you smile when i frown?
I miss the east side, the west side ,
the north side, and the south side.
So take me back to Manhattan,
That dear old dirty town!

But I couldn’t find a job in New York and I have to move to San Francisco, CA, where I had better possibilities. I immediately fell in love with the city by the bay . With the my work as a stringer for a news agency from Spain a correspondent for a Spanish magazine and others I found I ended earning more than what was earning in my old job in Spain. And I was working from my home office, organizing my schedule, without the old stresses. One of my bosses was in Washington DC and other in Spain. I was free to do whatever I wanted as soon as they had my reports on schedule.  I discovered the wonders of  working by myself without the constant pressure of the bosses In the newsroom. The city had a lot of possibilities to have fun and rest. Again I found wonderful people. Great friends. My health was improving . I was having a great time.

My big step fleeing from Pamplona to look for my particular American Dream was successful but brief. Two years after I took another big step and crossed the Ocean again, this time to come back to my family because they needed me. I recovered my old job and continued working until a year ago when I left definitively. And here I am happy with my loved ones.

Daily Prompt: Walking on the Moon.

Links to big steps posts by other bloggers on the next page: