Cash Madrid

So the end of month means one thing and one thing only: getting paid. Apart from for some of us lucky folks who have useless Spanish bosses who lack the organisation to pay anybody the correct amount of money at the correct time. The customary payment schedule for me is to hassle the 'Beard', as he is known, for my rent money on the 1st of the following month, which he normally gives over with a look of deep sadness and regret in his eye, exclaiming something in Spanish designed to make me guilty enough to work some extra hours. Then I receive the rest of my pay in 'instalments' of about €50 every 4/5 days after severe hassling on each occasion. Its less of a pay packet, more a way of life.

1st of June 2007 I go in to go through the usual routine. Beard is late in. I sit at a computer outside his office ready to pounce. He comes in. Sees me, looks worried. Tries to ignore me. I shout a loud 'Hola, que tal?' at him. He vaguely acknowledges me: I saw him the previous morning to let him know that I would be in this morning to collect money, but it wouldn't need to be as much as usual because I'm getting my deposit back in my rent this month as I leave at the end. I'm a nice guy like that. I enquire as to my status. "5 minutes" he drawls. 5 minutes up I go into his office. He hands me a cheque for my required amount and explains that I need to go to the bank and cash the cheque to get my money. OK this seems doable, if annoying, should only take 5 minutes.

So, I go. Caixa Madrid. I walk in, take a number (125) and sit and wait. I then notice the desk is only on 109 and there is only 1 guy working it. I start to stew over the fact that Beard made me come. I mean, the CHEEK of it. I work, he pays me. I shouldn't have to go through all this bullshit. Plus I'm starting to feel the beer I drank last night. Wanker wanker wanker. The guy is still on number 109, what are they doing, a fucking crossword??

After 10 minutes, a pikey looking woman comes in, makes a fuss. She takes a number, looks at it and sees she has a while to wait. Curses in Spanish. Then another customer, who had clearly taken a ticket and then decided against the need for the 'desk' puts his number on top of the ticket machine. ON TOP! Not in the bin, which would make sense and everyone could forget about it. Not on the floor, in a back pocket or into a plant pot. On top of the ticket machine. Pikey woman spots it, hurries over and looks. With an exclamation of joy she sees the next number change to 110, which it turns out is 'her' new number. She's been in the place 2 minutes and is already being served. Hangover worsens. Bitterness, hatred and loathing increase. Muttering under my breath "fucking Spanish, fucking Spanish, fucking Spanish". She walks out, looking triumphant. I'm fucking hungry now, stomach aching. I listen to 2 people having a conversation in English, strange pair: a 60 something woman, northern European I'd guess German, and a South American chap looking a bit dodgy. Although the words are familiar I can't quite work out what they're discussing. Head spinning.

30 minutes later number 125 comes up. 3 people have jumped up the queue as a result of misplaced number tickets. I am fuming, wondering what would have happened in the UK if the same thing had happened. Public lynching possibly. It's like they think its a message from 'God', a little pat on the back, a blessing or some shit. It's not. The machine is there for a reason - so that people get served in the order of how long they've been waiting. It's fairness, 'justo' as they say here. Normally inappropriately. I get my money, walk out with half a mind to go and see Beard and give him what for. But my stomach reminds me of its emptiness, I hurry to the Metro and go home.


For the purposes of balance I give some positivity of sorts. Saw a great violinist on the Metro this morning. Classical, lots of feeling. Normally I find Metro musicians to be tacky, untalented and clichéd, but this guy had something. That made me smile. Also, there was a bright 3 minutes in my waiting - the bank radio station played "Its a beautiful thing" by one of my old favourite bands, Ocean Colour Scene, which I've not heard for absolutely years. Download in progress.