Elevator operator

The Spanish economy blows. It's not as bad as Greece's or Portugal's, but it blows. The government introduced a bunch of austerity measures and people got mad. In elections last month they voted the Socialist party out of power. It may have been the right move economically, but I doubt the people who are mad about shrinking entitlement programs will be any happier under the more right-wing Partido Popular. Anyway, Spain has some kind of law against organized protests in the 24 hours before an election and people got mad about that as well and decided to protest their inability to protest by camping out in public spaces all over the country. Here in Bilbao there are still about 20 tents' worth of people living camped out by the river. One of them is a grumpy beer-drinking Moroccan who just wants a job and a wife, but there are no jobs and things keep not working out with his Spanish girlfriends. He works when he can as some kind of elevator mechanic and has a woman who lets him use her shower. He claims that life in Morocco is really good right now, but his preference for living in a tent by the river in a place with mucho racismo where he can't find a job or a wife isn't very convincing.

At the other end of the bad Spanish economy is my new roommate/landlord, a seller (for some stupid stubborn reason I don't want to use the word salesperson or saleswoman) of Italian tile and other fancy bathroom products. Her apartment is huge and nice and my bathroom has two showers, three shower heads, and the trendiest, designer-y-est toilet and bidet I've ever seen outside of a trendy designer-y restaurant. She's traveled all over the world and has nice art on her walls. But she's not selling enough these days so she rents out her daughter's old bedroom to make ends meet. She's friendly and took me out for tapas and I can mostly understand her if I pay attention, but speaking a language you don't quite speak for a few hours is as exhausting as any physical activity. Joder, I'm tired.