Karma fix

"I gather you still haven't found an actual job," my ex-girlfriend sneers at the entrance to a café. The evening before the owner of my usual hangout pleaded with me after his security guard didn¿t show up. "Do me a favor. Without a guard no one will come in. Stand there for a few hours and I'll give you free espresso all year." It was an offer I couldn't refuse, especially since I had nothing else planned. "Big deal," I thought. "One evening to help out a friend." Had I known half my friends would pass by the place just as I was checking handbags, I might have had second thoughts.

When I was a kid, I was taught there is no dishonorable work. It may be a cliché, but I believed it blindly for years. Of course I also never put it to the real test. As a student, any job was the coolest thing in the world. Service rep? Sure. Night watchman? Why not? Anything that works with the class schedule and provides reasonable income. Preferred jobs offered some chance of promotion, especially good money, or lots of women.

We moved up over the years. We became managers with more serious tasks. Material compensation grew from year to year. After a few years on the job, we found ourselves in really good positions. We were proud to talk about our professions, we felt important, we made good money. And then it all ended. The market is tough and we must compromise on the job, on the salary. Sometimes the only job we are offered is far from what we wanted, sometimes it involves a trip several years back in time.

And then I suddenly discover that yes, there is work that isn't for me. I'm not arguing that one cannot go back down the corporate ladder, or even return to waiting tables or shift work. That is not the only problem. The problem is the feeling you have lost something significant of yourself. Of what you built over years and at great effort. Suddenly I feel like Olga, who came to Israel with a doctorate in sales engineering and works as a cleaning lady in a technology company, since no one really needs her or what she ahs to offer. After thinking about it, I understood everything. This recession is Israeli¿s society¿s bad karma for everything we did to Russian immigrants. And I, ladies and gentlemen, am now cleaning up my personal karma.

I decided to play the security guard role to the hilt. "Bag, please," I order the one I once knew so well. She plays along and opens her handbag wide. I didn¿t pass on the body check either. Not for her (nice to remember), and not for her current boyfriend, on whom I was particularly conscientious. He simply appeared a little suspicious to me. Even after they had already entered and sat down (and gotten up and left after fifteen minutes), no doubts regarding their security check arose. I have a responsibility and I try to carry out any job as best I can. After all, I still remember what damage she can do.