London riots, Monday, August 8, 2011.
"Hi, man! How was your job interview?" asked Mike. John was sitting in a kitchen and having his five o'clock tea.
"Another waste of time, and money," replied John sadly. “Three hours of my precious life and effort are spent for nothing.”
"Was it that bad, mate?"
"Well, thing is, they don't hire people at all. All they want is you to invest money in stock trading, and then you can either trade or appoint them to manage your account and trade on your behalf. Plus, there are no guarantees your money will be safe since it's a high risk business, and there is no fixed salary except commissions. Few years ago I worked as
a FOREX
trader so I know this shit. That's not what I am looking for."
Mike and John were roommates who shared a two-bed room flat in Tooting, a small town in South West London. Both were students - Mike was pursuing a Bachelors degree in Social Studies, and John was attending a business school for a Masters degree in Business Administration, or ‘MBA’ for short. They were good friends, who both loved football, and had many common topics to converse on.
“Hey, John, what the ‘MBA’ stands for? Managing the banks and accounts?” Mike asked him once.
“Nope, but you’re close. I’d say it stands for ‘Master of Being an Asshole’,” laughed John.
“How is that?” laughed Mike too.
“Well, they teach you how to make cuts if your company is struggling with finances, how to fire people, or hire only one of thousands to fire him in a month anyway and keep searching for better candidate, and so on. Plus they teach you how to make more profit, more dividends, to keep shareholders happy even if workers have to suffer.”
“Is that the case? I always suspected that!” smiled Mike.
“Yeah, Mikey, you know I’m kidding.”
“I know.”
Recently, John got his redundancy payment from his employer who was having a hard time, and it has been a couple of months since John started looking for a new job as he didn't like to ask for help from his parents, as usual. Moreover, despite his parents, it was his decision to pursue for MBA degree as he thought it would help him to find a better job than the dead-end career of microserf he undertook before entering the business school. Borrowing money from his parents would feel like a defeat.
"I have a friend who works in a cafe, and he says they always need cleaners," said Mike. "The job involves cleaning the cafe in the evening when it's closed. Not big money, but it's something you could be doing till you find something."
"Oh, thank you, Mikey, but they make only £400, maybe £500 per month. I can't even pay my rent with that. The minimum I'm willing to take is £900 or so. Is that too much to ask in this hopeless city?" A dejected John showed signs of despair. "Well, don't worry, Mike. I have money; I just didn't plan on being unemployed, that's all."
In fact, John was running out of money. He was already planning to move to a cheaper room, and also calculated the expenses a room change normally incurs. Now, every time he went to the grocery store, he spent some time reading ads on the shop windows. Some ads read, ‘Looking for a roommate’, ‘Philippino only’, "One room in a house for six" - the cheapest option he found was a room for two in a house for eight, only for £200 per month with no security deposit. He saved the phone number from the ad, just in case.
"I see these
FOREX ads everywhere. What is it, for God's sake? Please tell me!" Mike's voice brought John back to reality.
“Well, it is pretty simple, in fact. You just need to buy currency which is going to go up, i.e. increase in value.”
"So
how do you make money then? I heard some people got rich doing that."
"Okay, for example, let's say, one pound costs one dollar. You expect that tomorrow one dollar will cost two pounds. So today you borrow one million pounds from the bank, buy one million dollars, and tomorrow you buy one million pounds for half a million dollars, return one million pounds to the bank, and the half of million dollars is now yours."
"Sounds like a good deal for me!" Mike burst into laughter. "Five hundred grands! Why did you quit the job then? People should be doing great money out of it!"
"You see, it's not that simple to predict the future. If you predict right, then you
make money. If not, then you lose. Once I saw one guy made sixteen thousand pounds overnight trading a Japanese yen versus American dollar. I swear that's true! But when you work for commission, you don't really care of clients' money since you have constant pressure to make commissions money for yourself and for the company you work for..."
Mike's mobile rang suddenly. He picked it up and his face changed dramatically.
"You're kidding! Shit!!! Okay, we'll be there, man! Shit!!!"
"What... What happened?!" asked John.
"Somebody held up the bookie, Ladbrokes! People went on riots! Our guys are there. It was Santiago just now, he said shops are closed, but people break in and take anything they want! Let's go!!!"
In a moment Mike and John were running down Rectory Lane towards Ladbrokes betting shop. Different thoughts were in John's mind at that moment so he decided to talk to Mike.
"Listen, Mikey, it is not good idea. The Police station is just a couple of blocks from here. CCTV is everywhere, you know this. I don't know if it's the right idea, bro. They'll find us before we even get back home!"
"Come on! I'm not saying we are going to hold up some shop or break in, let's just take a look and leave. By the way, Santiago said he already got nine or ten smartphones and PlayStations!" Mike looked really excited about things happening. "And he also said that Derek got a gun so we'll be safe, innit!"
"Gun?!!! Is he crazy?! ****, they can shoot him if they see a piece of weapon in his hand! Remember that guy shot dead in Tottenham, Mark sumthin'?"
Mike slowed down a little. "Yeah, you might be right... Okay, we'll just go and see. **** me; I never saw anything like this in my life! We'll be careful, okay? But some day we will pay back to those rotten cops!"
"Oh, come on, chillax, Mikey! You don't really mean it, right?"
They arrived at Ladbrokes shop. Windows were broken, all office equipment was gone, and mess was everywhere. On the floor there was a calendar with a date 'August 8, 2011' and a bill board saying 'Bet on Man City - Swansea match correct score 4-0! Odd is 15.0!’
“4-0?! Do you think we're idiots?!” John smiled skeptically. "No wonder they broke in your shop, guys."
"Cool, let's go!" said Mike. "There's nothing left in here. Let me talk to Santiago, let's find him. He should be around."
They went out the shop and walked down the street. Sounds of sirens were in the air but they seemed to be far away. All small shops were closed with their steel shutters locked, but one shop remained open. Young guys were looting the shop while a lame old woman with a walking stick in her hand was shouting at them:
"That's disgusting! Shame on you! Is this what Martin Luther King was fighting for?! Shame on you! You don't deserve to have proper human rights, you're just plain old scum! You hear me?! Animals! Vandals!"
Some youngsters who were approaching the shop, started to hesitate. The old woman stood near the door and looked straight into the eyes if anyone who was trying to enter the shop. Some guys were recording her in video with their smart phones and having fun.
"Well, you know, she might be right" said John. He continued, "Why rob somebody's shop if you have a problem with police? Shop owners aren't responsible for shooting that poor lad dead. I hope the shop owner has insurance."
"Insurance?!" exclaimed Mike. "**** sake, what insurance you talking about, man? I am sure the guy can't afford insurance because they can't even pay minimal wage to the men that slave in their shops! This guy is really fucked up now, and there's nothing he can do about it! ****, they have to get some supermarkets like Tesco, not the poor Indian man's shop! Now rich people will get richer again, and poor people will get poorer. This country is really fucked up, that's what I think!"
There lingered a short silence. "Look, it's Santiago!" Mike pointed out to the other side of the street and they ran towards each other.
"What's up, bro! What a fucking day, erh!" Mike smiled to Santiago and his mates. "We just saw that bookie, it's totally empty. Nothing left except chairs and tables!"
"Do you see this?" Santiago wasn't listening. He looked high and overexcited. There was a gun in his hand.
"Where'd you get that?" asked Mike, but at that very moment the siren of an approaching police car could be heard. Santiago turned his head like a hunting cat.
"C'mon, let's **** it! I'll shoot those fucking bastards! Eye for an eye! Let's have some fun!" Santiago was shaking his gun in the air. John pounced to him and caught his hand with the gun, trying to put it down and cover it from the sight of the oncoming police car.
"For God sake, hide it!!! What are you doing?! Santiago, hide it!!! Are you in a fucking movie?! You'll be safer if you don't show them your gun, believe me! You're not John Wayne. This is South London, not a bloody Western movie! Hide your gun and let's **** off from here!"
Santiago calmed down a little. Police car stopped at the guys, and policeman asked:
"Everything’s alright, guys?"
"Yes, sir, we're just watching why there's so much noise around here", said Mike, pretending to look like a good schoolboy.
The policeman looked over the guys thoroughly. "Come on, they have nothing in their hands, let's go, Tom!" said a voice inside the car.
"You better go home, guys," said the policemen and drove to the Indian's small shop.
"I'm going home, Mikey. I've had enough for today," said John. "Shit, this is only a Monday. See you, guys!"
“Okay, see you, bro!”
John left the “scene” and headed towards the flat. He did not want to stay with the armed guys as you never know what is going to happen next, and he thought the best decision in this situation is to come back home.
"****, if somebody had told me about it a week ago, I'd have never believed..."
