I always thought fishing was the most dangerous peace-time job you could do, with construction, operation of heavy machinery and work on oil-rigs all in the top ten. Turns out teaching in a small language school in central Madrid is up there too - or at least if you happen to be pregnant.
I mentioned in an earlier post that my boss and I had been quite amazed by just how hazardous my teaching activities are judged to be by Spain's health and safety people. A report he commissioned ran into several pages and basically left us with the impression that danger lurks in every corner, from toxic chemicals (photocopier), radiation (computers), biological contamination (my students) to exhaustion and acute skeletal stress (from standing up for too long). Basically, the place is a death-trap and the sooner I get out of there, the better for me and my bump.
As previously stated, our family Dr, the genial (!) Dr Paniagua had pooh-poohed our request that I be signed off work because of risk and had demanded a second opinion on that. Because we can't see an obstetrician until Jan 19th at the earliest, that second opinion is proving hard to provide. But my boss needs me to stop work now (apart from stepping in to help cover classes because of snow-bound teachers on Thursday - three classes with a total of three students. Not too risky.) so at the very least I need a baja del medico so I can receive some money while we await the outcome of the embarazada del riesgo business.
So off we toddle to see dear Dr P again, this time without Marina, but with the health and safety report and its recommendations that I give the school a wide berth and presumably be wrapped in cotton wool somewhere out of harm's way until my contractions start. Seeing all this in black and white had the desired effect on Dr P, where no amount of impassioned pleading by Marina had produced results. She read the result of the assessment, asked us if therefore we needed a baja por embarazada del riesgo and at our assent, marched off to get the correct forms, signed, dated and stamped them, before giving us three copies with the instructions to take them to a special social security office to complete the process.
We were slightly thrown by how easily our goal had been achieved. I am now officially at risk and considering the dangerous nature of my employment, I reckon I've had a narrow escape. Phew.
Showing posts with label social security. Show all posts
Showing posts with label social security. Show all posts
Saturday, 9 January 2010
Saturday, 7 February 2009
The Business Empire Begins...
I am now officially self-employed. For the first time in my life, I am my own business. I quite like it so far - my home is my office and I don't have a boss telling me what time to come in and go home everyday.
That said, I have to keep my clients satisfied, my main one being the language organisation that sorts out my classes. Two of my classes involve an 0830 start on the other side of the city, which involves an 0630 get up time that is a good hour or so earlier than my natural preference. But it's also almost two hours later than the alarm-time for early shifts at my former job, so I console myself with that.
Despite my misgivings about doing the red tape thing at the Social Security office to complete my registration as a freelance English teacher, it was a breeze. I had correctly puzzled out the form, so didn't have to face any awkward questions beyond what I took to mean: "do you have a separate office address?" and "would you like to pay by direct debit?"
Being self-employed in Spain means you pay a base level (you can choose to pay more if you wish) of 244 Euros per month for your social security contributions and 15% income tax. Some of that could be refunded at the end of the year. With my current number of teaching hours it translates as working one week per month for the Social Security office and the other three for myself. I figure three out of four ain't bad.
That said, I have to keep my clients satisfied, my main one being the language organisation that sorts out my classes. Two of my classes involve an 0830 start on the other side of the city, which involves an 0630 get up time that is a good hour or so earlier than my natural preference. But it's also almost two hours later than the alarm-time for early shifts at my former job, so I console myself with that.
Despite my misgivings about doing the red tape thing at the Social Security office to complete my registration as a freelance English teacher, it was a breeze. I had correctly puzzled out the form, so didn't have to face any awkward questions beyond what I took to mean: "do you have a separate office address?" and "would you like to pay by direct debit?"
Being self-employed in Spain means you pay a base level (you can choose to pay more if you wish) of 244 Euros per month for your social security contributions and 15% income tax. Some of that could be refunded at the end of the year. With my current number of teaching hours it translates as working one week per month for the Social Security office and the other three for myself. I figure three out of four ain't bad.
Tuesday, 6 January 2009
The rigours of Spanish hospitality
The relief of knowing we wouldn't be consigned to the impersonality of a hotel or hostel with nowhere to cook and a big hole in our lifestyle leaking euros is hard to quantify. But it's big. Our rescue from that fate by Cesar and Belen dramatically improved our moods and outlook and even better than that, we got our revenge for the nocturnal phone-call by turning up at their flat while they were still in their dressing-gowns. Given that they are a handsome pair, we were pretty pleased about that. Apparently, if we'd turned up five minutes earlier we would have caught Cesar doing the vacuuming while in the nude, but you can't have everything.
After some restorative caffeine, we were back online busily pursuing the various website links friends had sent us for accommodation in Madrid. Being a dizzyingly efficient type, Theo had whacked off about thirty emails and phone-calls before I'd finished exchanging news with Belen and after a certain amount of faffing about with lost PIN numbers (Spanish mobile phone) and form-filling (Spanish social security) - untangled with the help of Cesar's Spanish - we were back in Sheena and on the way to a flat viewing.
Our first stop was the social security office at Delicias, but we were too late to go in and sort out our numbers for the Spanish system, so we resigned ourselves to returning first thing on Wednesday morning (Tuesday being los Reyes - the big Christmas present-giving holiday in Spain). Our next mission to recharge the Spanish mobile phone involved almost half an hour's queueing and an impossible conversation with the sales assistant (owing to the mutual non-existence of each other's languages). A helpful customer who could speak a little English took pity on us and it turned out we could have recharged the phone in two minutes flat using a machine by the door, which included instructions in English. Still, we know for next time.
The flat in Mendez Alvaro left us slightly giddy with its purpose-built luxury - something many Spaniards take for granted, but they are much better organised when it comes to high-density living than us and our "Englishman's home is his castle..." approach. Fully detached isolation, preferably surrounded by a garden (with hedges) seems to be the apex of most British people's home-making ambitions. It's a right pain if you deliver the newspapers, I can tell you. In Spanish towns and cities, it's not uncommon to find large apartment blocks with underground parking, door security, a shared gym and swimming pool as part of the deal - and indeed, this is what we encountered here.
As well as the swimming pool etc., this particular flat came equipped with a tall Spanish IT specialist (Alex); a sporty Brazilian hotel-worker (Jorge) and an English-teaching DJ (Pete). The fact that it was also across the road from Estacion Mendez Alvaro (a hub for bus, metro and city rail links), two stops from the centre of town and within easy walking distance of the shops only increased its charms. You can get rooms in shared flats cheaper than €550 per month, but they rarely allow couples (this one did); often don't include all bills (this one did) and you'd be lucky to get all the parking and swimming pool stuff thrown in as well. We put on a major charm offensive and told Alex and Jorge we could move in immediately, if they thought they could live with us. We left with fingers crossed.
During the flat viewing, I got a phone-call summoning me to a job interview in an English academy. The chat seemed to go promisingly and the hours would tally well with Theo's timetable, so fingers crossed.
Back at San Sebastian de los Reyes with Cesar and Belen and they'd organised a los Reyes eve get-together with some Venezualan friends, Natalie and David, at a Chinese restaurant. This being Spain, the table was booked for ten pm. But if you think that's late, our friend Jero called to invite us to a party with him after he'd finished a meal with his friends. When our meal was finished at midnight, we rang him to see where he was. They were just sitting down to eat.
Instead, we were invited back to Natalie and David's apartment for drinks. As two a.m. came and went, Theo began to sink into a doze on the sofa. I don't think his internal clock is really cut out for Spanish-style socialising. Whether it will adapt remains to be seen. In the end, we were back at Belen and Cesar's and in bed just before three. Jero and his friends were probably only just on dessert.
After some restorative caffeine, we were back online busily pursuing the various website links friends had sent us for accommodation in Madrid. Being a dizzyingly efficient type, Theo had whacked off about thirty emails and phone-calls before I'd finished exchanging news with Belen and after a certain amount of faffing about with lost PIN numbers (Spanish mobile phone) and form-filling (Spanish social security) - untangled with the help of Cesar's Spanish - we were back in Sheena and on the way to a flat viewing.
Our first stop was the social security office at Delicias, but we were too late to go in and sort out our numbers for the Spanish system, so we resigned ourselves to returning first thing on Wednesday morning (Tuesday being los Reyes - the big Christmas present-giving holiday in Spain). Our next mission to recharge the Spanish mobile phone involved almost half an hour's queueing and an impossible conversation with the sales assistant (owing to the mutual non-existence of each other's languages). A helpful customer who could speak a little English took pity on us and it turned out we could have recharged the phone in two minutes flat using a machine by the door, which included instructions in English. Still, we know for next time.
The flat in Mendez Alvaro left us slightly giddy with its purpose-built luxury - something many Spaniards take for granted, but they are much better organised when it comes to high-density living than us and our "Englishman's home is his castle..." approach. Fully detached isolation, preferably surrounded by a garden (with hedges) seems to be the apex of most British people's home-making ambitions. It's a right pain if you deliver the newspapers, I can tell you. In Spanish towns and cities, it's not uncommon to find large apartment blocks with underground parking, door security, a shared gym and swimming pool as part of the deal - and indeed, this is what we encountered here.
As well as the swimming pool etc., this particular flat came equipped with a tall Spanish IT specialist (Alex); a sporty Brazilian hotel-worker (Jorge) and an English-teaching DJ (Pete). The fact that it was also across the road from Estacion Mendez Alvaro (a hub for bus, metro and city rail links), two stops from the centre of town and within easy walking distance of the shops only increased its charms. You can get rooms in shared flats cheaper than €550 per month, but they rarely allow couples (this one did); often don't include all bills (this one did) and you'd be lucky to get all the parking and swimming pool stuff thrown in as well. We put on a major charm offensive and told Alex and Jorge we could move in immediately, if they thought they could live with us. We left with fingers crossed.
During the flat viewing, I got a phone-call summoning me to a job interview in an English academy. The chat seemed to go promisingly and the hours would tally well with Theo's timetable, so fingers crossed.
Back at San Sebastian de los Reyes with Cesar and Belen and they'd organised a los Reyes eve get-together with some Venezualan friends, Natalie and David, at a Chinese restaurant. This being Spain, the table was booked for ten pm. But if you think that's late, our friend Jero called to invite us to a party with him after he'd finished a meal with his friends. When our meal was finished at midnight, we rang him to see where he was. They were just sitting down to eat.
Instead, we were invited back to Natalie and David's apartment for drinks. As two a.m. came and went, Theo began to sink into a doze on the sofa. I don't think his internal clock is really cut out for Spanish-style socialising. Whether it will adapt remains to be seen. In the end, we were back at Belen and Cesar's and in bed just before three. Jero and his friends were probably only just on dessert.
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