The first great truth of my adult life was told to me by a friend when I was about twenty-five, I was at my third job, and none of those I attended in the evenings worked during the day. I asked how they all lived, people who took ten years to achieve very useful degrees as “the disciplines of the shows”. The friend told me: In Italy, you only pay the rent.
The other great truth of my adult life also ruled me out, and my boss told me when I was thirty and I complained that you never knew when the bills would be paid (today it would be called “precarious”, era the lack of a semantic design limited the complaints of freelancers). The boss told me something along the lines of: If this money does not come, more will come, the money goes around.
The boss and the girlfriend had many things in common: Owned houses, family money, never had the problem of paying the rent the next month. Owned houses are plural because not a few of them got their parents donated another apartment from which they could get their income by renting it. If you receive money without doing anything every month, then why should it take you less than ten years to graduate in anthropology?
(The endemic out-of-course, of course, also has to do with the Italian university paying the ordinary tax and not the donkey with academic ambitions. There are thousands of elements that make it clear that humanity is stupid and compulsory education is a failure , but my favorite is that if you write something like this on a social network, you get indignant answers “I paid for the university” from people who are convinced that the few hundred euros they pay every year to the entrance ” tuition fees “really correspond to the cost of producing donkeys with a diploma).
I think a lot about my friend (who in the meantime has become a ruling class at some level while I have remained the usual rogue) and my former boss during these months, where every other day someone writes about the great collective redundancies . People have realized that they can not work so hard and enjoy life so little. Mothers quit because there is not enough social status for their children. We need to change perspective.
Yesterday, I swear, someone showed up on Instagram and said that one should work four hours a day, and if that seems like a crazy goal, it’s because the abolition of slavery also seemed that long ago (stupid hyperbole is worth many hearts, on Instagram).
I would certainly not say that most of those who do any work have such low productivity in eight hours that it makes more sense to restore slavery than to halve working hours.
I certainly do not want to be the one to remember that anyone who lives in the present and knows at least two mothers or has spent at least two minutes in a theme group knows that mothers resign within the year their child lives because Italian law provides that in that case you are entitled to unemployment benefits; which means that you – between the certificate of a high-risk pregnancy (which no non-self-harming doctor will deny you), maternity leave and naspi – you are entitled to four pleasant years of life as a lock to the ordinary taxation, that is of us four who pay taxes (and rent).
I certainly do not want to be the one to say solo-in-Italy, firstly because it is a sloppy and ignorant formula, and secondly because the last thing I did before the pandemic was to tour in a Paris full of demonstrations of indignant Frenchmen because they wanted to delay the retirement age for locomotive drivers, which at the time I think was 52 years: there is always someone who is more rogue than us.
However, I would like to point out that in this annoying society bordering on slavery, where we work eight hours a day for five days a week, therefore forty out of one hundred and sixty-eight (minus holidays, permits, illness, and all the things that even the messengers now have of Glovo, and which I have never had, and in my time we had others with a VAT number not even Di Maio to defend us), in this time described as the mine of columnists who are apparently equipped with restaurant tickets and maternity leave, in this time here humanity is still so full of a surplus of free time and so lacks the means to fill it that it sees any scripted bullshit on any platform, posting its own result on Wordle every morning on social media, still has the mental space and temporal, in his Fordistic days, to get opinions about all the talk shows he has not seen, about all the headlines he does not read, about all the politicians’ meetings. who do not vote.
And it’s okay, for god’s sake, if you fill the social networks with your opinions on everything, then it’s me who should stop looking at them, not you who should stop airing your lack of inner life there (otherwise you end up beating family members), everything is fine and fine, even though the pandemic has made you understand that you only live once (which is an old Italian saying, but you say “yolo”, you live only once: why, of the two languages you speak poorly, English makes more out of the world).
I just did not understand: after you have given the Great Resignation, and even if you do not have the rent to pay, how do you do with the rest? How do you shop, pay for vacations, bills, subscriptions to platforms where you can see some bullshit to escape the panic of boredom, aperitifs? How do you live? Is it the big savings of Italian families that politicians always brag about? After how many generations of fancazzismo end, are the big Italian savings?