Part of who knows how many.
Before resigning from the publisher, I recall that I mentioned in a firm way to my buddy Abi (who works looking for people to hire in Chamba from the widest variety) who was willing to radically change work:
(Dramatization )
"So be it in a call center, but I never want to publish books for a while.
"Do not imagine a job like this," said Abi with all the common sense that has distinguished it from teenagers.
"You'll see that yes," answered the stupid pride ... with some dark fear.
was true, I do not imagine me doing what I hate as much or more than most politicians in this country: poor telephone call to hoodwink unsuspecting credit card, aphorisms, and other crap that only increase the already overloaded loans.
more than a week passed that officially no longer belonged to the editorial, but I still called to attend meetings (the latter does not let down on all of fools and cowards) and there was no alternative source of income for any side. So: ad that appeared on the network, it was miserable pay, the clicked (is that how you write it?) immediately fell expecting anything. I think it was funny Nateras (?) Who said playing "Caro" Quintero: "For a desperate, any hole is lifesaving." Although, on reflection, the Ayatollah of the many statements made Mota shit (like that of foreign debt payments if they left it open), it is likely that if it were hers.
One day before the Dylan concert called me to arrange an interview. I do not remember if it was raw, asleep, awake or a mixture of all three, but only if coordinate work to write down the address and time of the above. Until the next day I realized I never asked what it was called or what the company would post the interview. And here I go: at 8 am way Olivar de los Padres (St. Jerome and beyond!), Looking for a street that until more tusked taxi drivers were unaware of their existence. Fortunately, the GPS service tamagochi (Tamagotchi want you, we love you!) Told me that Avenida Toluca could access the dimensional hole that did not appear either in the Guia Roji (the holy book has responded promptly to all my existential doubts since childhood) and how it would appear if the street was literally "wiped off the map", to accommodate the bike path that egg inserted between streets, parks and even homes (soon I will put pictures, I swear).
As in all Guadalajara (especially Mariano Otero), Avenida Vallejo and every street that you talk about the chaos, the numbering was not continuous, so from 4320, the following "building, lot, cellar ...? I played the 312, and the next "school, factory, home ...? held a painted nearly 528 madrasas.
finally found the 427 y. .. What is the first thing that catches my attention?: A big sign which announces that hire "Telemarketing executive" full time.
"Take for hocicón" I said quietly. The taxi driver asked me with concern (we took almost two hours looking for dirt direction and the taximeter already marked almost 200 bucks): "Nor is it, sir?" (Long since ceased to say "young", but I trauma ; least since I bring a cane.) I was about to say that we returned, but I also said, "You are here (late, but finally came), and what can you lose except swallowing a bit of shit that the vague chance has seasoned especially for you? "
