Originally Posted by
Seekingasylum
In my hippie years, in the early 70s, I found myself working for an agency in Antwerp in various factory jobs and discovered, among many other things, that there was a significant local population of Moroccans. Good lads and would share their chicken and rice lunch packs if I hadnÂ’t time to sort my sardine sarnie out before shift start.
The thing was, the employment agency that found us work was run by a local crime syndicate and the office was staffed by thugs, particularly on paydays when we had to collect what was owed to us. The bastards would deduct imaginary costs from our hours worked but we took it on the chin not least because there was always a meathead or two standing around fixing the queue with lairy looks. I say we, but not the Moroccan lads. TheyÂ’d cuss and swear at the managers and stand their ground demanding a fair crack of whip. It didnÂ’t matter that they ended up getting thrown out into the street and threatened with a hammer every time, theyÂ’d still fight for their rights. Credit where credit was due.
And they play good football.