Tonight I’m feeling trapped. Mostly by work. On Friday the boss called me in and gave me a right good talking to. In my head I’m giving her a right good talking to back – but only in my head! This woman bugs me. They all bug me. I hate managers. I’m a psycho-employee, I may well go in with an assault rifle and shoot all managers (let’s hope no one puts on a stocking cap one day when I’m sick and does it, otherwise I’m up for it). The only reason a boss can reprimand you for writing inadequate briefs, and you can’t reprimand her for sitting on a measly piece of work for two months while a certain important foreign government thinks we’re all idiots, is that she’s the boss and you’re not. The same reason accounts for why you get ‘reminded’ to hurry up with your ministerials before they are even due, and when you politely ask where something’s at, she has a hissy fit and tells you she’s too busy to read her emails. The only reason a boss can tell you that your direct supervisor is ‘a good leader’ with a straight face is that she can’t possibly have read his 360 degree feedback forms. I fantasise about a fatal trip to some cliff top beauty spot – for her, not me – where tragically she falls to her death on a scenic needle of granite, strategically placed.
In short, I have to get out of there, and fast, before I turn into the mad muttering employee decorating their keyboard with paperclip chains and furtively swallowing fistfuls of pills from the desk drawer. But this plan relies on someone having something nice to say about me to the next prospective manager, and I can’t exactly rely on that. Anyway it’ll only be exchanging one boss for another – to hell with all bosses!
So I’m thinking self-employment. There are two things I can do well. One is be nice to men, and the other is to write. Can I make a living out of writing nice things to men? Hmm. I tried being a working girl and I didn’t like it, so that’s out (though it’d be easy enough to make a solid living at it). There’s always the hostess idea, but as I said before, I’m getting too old for all that. I mean, if a fifty year old guy is going to pay for a hostess, he might as well hire a beautiful twenty year old. Even if she can’t talk like me.
Then there’s the ‘writing’ idea. I have a vague idea of spruiking my talents to small businessmen/women who need to put something together and can’t come up with the goods due to having left school at fifteen to make money. But how exactly do you do this – put an ad up? Ads cost money and if they don’t get you any money, you’ve wasted your dough. It’d want to be a good ad, but I have no idea what the real market for this is. I could write love letters for the illiterate/semi-literate…but then semi-literate people will want to say gooey, tasteless things to each other, and it will end up feeling much like being a prostitute, without the condom.
Anyway, on the subject of condoms, I rang my ex-boyfriend today (one of them). His answering machine was on, and for the first time in about eight months I heard his slow, deep voice and the way he pauses to take a breath before he starts speaking (which was always a dead give away when he called me before, even if I didn’t see who it was first). I don’t know why I called him. I’m trying to tell myself it’s because I”m immune to his charms as a lover now and just want to say hello, as a friend. I miss him. I don’t give up my friends easily, at least not the male ones, though I seem to get rid of the female ones more readily.
But perhaps it’s because I’m thinking of settling down with the hairy chested one, and before I do, I want to hear my beloved’s voice just once more. Hairy and N were acquaintances, and one of the sore points in our split was that I had been sleeping with both Hairy and N, and N knew it. At that time I said that I loved N ‘deeply and passionately, with all my heart’ – but as soon as I’d said it, I thought, well, maybe that’s putting things a bit too strongly. He said that he didn’t call that love, and that people he knew wouldn’t even let me over their righteous thresholds, if they knew of my disgraceful conduct. Then I was overcome by pride and anger, and wrote that I didn’t ever want to see him again. Neither I did…but I did love him at the time and still kind of do, or think I do. I can’t believe that he really didn’t love me. He loved me a little once, and then decided I wasn’t worth it. Perhaps. Never again. He wasn’t suitable – for a start he watched far too much tv and liked women with brazilians. Anyway I’m steeling myself to hear that he’s taken a bride, or at least got a permanent girlfriend, by now, and to say ‘well, that’s really nice, I’m happy to hear that.” Since I’ve effectively taken up again with Hairy Chest, that’s all I’m in a position to say.