How much am I worth to you?

I was contacted today by an agency that is applying for translation jobs at the EU. In February this budding agency sent me a French translation exam that I passed with flying colours (wasn’t asked to take an English test) and today I was asked to supply them with additional documents about my professional experience as a translator and evidence of translation projects I worked on for the past well 20 or so years (even though I sent them my CV and all the effing certificates and diploma copies months ago) for a supposed part-time assignment that I would lend with them that pays not more than €6 per page of expert technical translation. To translate it for you it is the worth of about an hour and half of work (depending on the complexity of text) for a slice of pizza.
There was a time in past years that I was desperate enough to think that I would do it, that I would do any kind of job from fear that the government will sell or bankrupt the company I work for, even though I learned from the yellow pages that ironing job pays twice as much. Too bad that I have never learned to iron well.
Well, it may be the fact that in my adult life I was never paid so little for a translation job or that my fear of loosing my regular job has worn out, or most probably the reason is that I have realised that doing things one hates only puts one’s life and health at risk, and most of all my bad hand that made me absent for a week from my blog, but I finally said “No” to this person who is trying to make a profitable company using other’s intellectual labour. Don’t be surprised with so much elaborating, explaining and justifying on my part – this was the first time in my life that I said “no” to a job within my professional capacities.
The EC forecasts for Croatia are disastrous, but does this mean that I should ruin my health and what little has left of my peace of mind for a possibility of a part-time commitment to something that would not even pay for my monthly commuting?
There, it does not matter if you read it or not. Who cares will read it and maybe you will understand what is going on in my distracted mind at the moment.

Never send a man in to do a donkey’s job


“And then one time I ate some rotten berries. Man, there were some strong gases seepin’ outta my butt that day!”