Chapter 18: The Beast Before Me

Frantically flinging open the door, I reached into the darkened closet.  Extracting a camouflage jacket and a pair of black fingerless weight lifting gloves, I quickly put them on.  Buttoning up the jacket, I ducked into the bathroom to inspect my reflection.

“That’s more like it” I muttered proudly, satisfied with my vaguely militant appearance.

But this wasn’t the time to procrastinate – there was work to be done - difficult, bloody work.  Now starting to sweat, I rushed about my apartment, hastily collecting my car keys, wallet and phone.  There was just one last thing I needed.  Racing into the kitchen, I flung open the cutlery drawer and took out the blackened steak knife I had prepared months earlier.  I would soon need it for fighting.

“Who were you going to fight?”

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked who you were going to fight?”

The office of Doctor Charles Chaudhry unfolded before me, sterile, cold and utilitarian like the plastic chair on which I sat recounting my bizarre tale.  Doctor Chaudhry, seated opposite me, leaned forward waiting for my response.

“Reptilians.  Reptilian Humanoids” I replied matter of factly.

“Oh, of course, please continue”

Still frantically moving about my apartment, my thoughts began to grow panicked.  What if I had forgotten something?  I silently reviewed my mental checklist.

“Ah-ha!” I exclaimed as I returned to the kitchen carrying a brilliant idea. 

I gathered up all of the plastic containers I could find, stacking them on the kitchen counter in a neat pile.

“These’ll work perfectly” I thought, admiring the cleverness of my plan.

“What were you going to use the containers for?” Doctor Chaudhry asked, his brow now furrowed in confusion.

“Blood”.

“Your blood?”

“Yup.  You see, fighting reptilians is dangerous business.  There was a pretty good chance I’d be killed.  I was going to fill the containers with blood then store them in the freezer to provide genetic material for clones to be made later on”

“Clones?  Of yourself?”  Chaudhry’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Just think of it – hundreds of my clones – fighting reptilians for centuries.  If you think about it, it’s the perfect plan, or at least…it seemed that way at the time”

The doctor stared at me, his face surprisingly free from judgement.  In that moment, I was suddenly self-aware.  Spoken aloud, I realised what I had just told the doctor about the previous night.  It must have sounded insane, yet he seemed curiously nonplussed.

“Well it doesn’t look like you cut yourself” he said as he scanned my wrists for signs of damage.

“No”.

“What stopped you?”

I took a breath, and then hesitated.  What action would he take once I explained what II had seen?  Visions of being dragged away to a padded cell played out in my imagination.

“It’s pretty crazy, I mean really crazy”

Chaudhry sighed and sat back in his chair folding his arms.

“You just told me that you spent the night smoking marijuana, then for some reason, got dressed up like a paratrooper to fight aliens in your street”.

Touche.  He had a point, and besides, I had come this far.

I reached into my pocket and took out my knife.  Even darkened with black marker, its razor sharp edge gleamed as it caught the light.  Using the blade, I would cut into my arm and fill the plastic containers with the ensuring blood splatter.  It was going to be painful. I rolled up my sleeve, located a vein and steeled myself for the blood loss.

“This is gonna get messy” I thought as I took a deep breath and pressed the knife against my bare arm.

Then, a low rumbling.  I froze, knife still in hand.  My head spun around just in time to see the bricks of my kitchen wall disappearing before my eyes.  Not crumbling and tumbling to the floor, merely vanishing, one by one revealing a darkened void behind it.  Stunned, I dropped the knife, sending it sliding across the floor.  As more bricks began to vanish, I cautiously peered into the dark space beyond them.  Two yellow eyes stared back at me, snake like and burning with primitive fury.  A face - eyes, mouth, lips, but somehow perverted, its features twisted and grotesque.  In place of skin, the face was covered in a greenish brown coating like the scales of a serpent or a fish.

I staggered back in terror as I beheld the beast before me.  Like a giant lizard, it leered at me, emitting a low hissing sound indicating attack was imminent.  Upset that I had uncovered its hiding place, the creature looked as if it were about to leap out from his tiny manhole and violently tear my limbs from my torso.  Face to face with this angry demon, and in spite of my panic, I knew what I had found, or rather, what had found me.  A six foot tall reptilian humanoid.  Hiding in the wall of my apartment.  Hiding in my home.  Looking me in the eye this very moment. 

I can say quite confidently and unashamedly, that it was the most afraid I had ever been.  With a head full of esoteric lore, I knew what it would do to me.  My thoughts turned to accounts of reptilians inflicting brutal attacks on humans, blood drinking, camouflage and coma inducing rape.  Clutching my chest, I realised that I had stopped breathing.  My heart started racing, so I ran into the living room, screaming and half crazed - unsure of what to do next.  My hands shaking, I reached for my phone but only sent it skidding across the carpet.  With the dreadful hiss of the reptilian now growing louder, I dove for the phone, fumbling in my panic to call the only person who would believe me.  Several agonising seconds later, Mitch’s familiar voice appeared on the other end of the phone.

“Dude, they’re in my fucking wall!!”  I gasped.

“So what happened next?” Doctor Chaudhry still seemed unfazed by my extraordinary tale.

I scratched my head as I tried to recall.

“I guess I talked with Mitch for a bit.  He managed to calm me down, though I’m not sure how”.

I explained to the Doctor how I had left my apartment, still struggling to catch my breath.  Mitch had encouraged me to go to a place of safety, and so, I sat by the roadside for what felt like an hour.  Eventually gathering enough courage to re-enter my home, I carefully examined the wall in my kitchen, running my hands up and down the smooth, unbroken surface. 

“And was there a reptilian in your kitchen wall?”

“Nope.  Not a scale in sight”.

My bizarre tale concluded, Doctor Chaudhry simply stared at me, great empathy in his eyes, and considered his next question.  I must have looked quite a sight – clothes dishevelled and eyes bloodshot.  It wasn’t every day a young man entered his office complaining of aliens in the wall.

“Can you tell me why you smoke marijuana?” he asked, his tone carefully measured.

It was such a simple question, one which I had never bothered to ask myself.

“I dunno.  I spose it just sorta happened.  Terrible things kept happening – life stuff, ordinary stuff.  Bills, my job, getting dumped.  I just needed a break from it all.  Before I knew it, I was smoking every night”

“Well, what you have just described to me today sounds like marijuana psychosis”

“Physchosis?!  That sounds so cool!”

“Trust me, it’s really not”

Chaudhry reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a sheet of paper and placed it in front of me.

“I want you to fill out this questionnaire; it’ll only take you a minute”

Grabbing a pen, I rapidly began answering the questions on the sheet.  Though fairly straightforward, their tone was decidedly grim.  How often do you think about death?  Do you often feel worthless and alone?  Do you use drugs or alcohol to cope with stressful situations?  I answered them all honestly.  Doctor Chaudhry took a quick look at my responses, and after a few seconds, offered his diagnosis.

This may come as a surprise, but you are suffering from depression”.

Depression.  There it was – a word imbued with so much power.  A word that finally described my persistent dis-ease with the world.  It landed in the room with a thud, like a stone thrown into a pond sending shockwaves through my brain.

“That’s a horrible thing to say – why would you say that to me?  Take it back!”  I demanded.

“I’m serious, and so should you be.  Just look at the pattern of your life over the last couple of years.  Look at how you’ve been feeling and behaving”.

Dammit.  Chaudhry was right - it all made sense.  Events of the last few years had conspired to make me this way, the cumulative effect of so many set back and losses.  It was why I smoked so much weed.  It was the reason people like Jesse and Amber simply didn’t understand.  It explained why I could uncover a conspiracy at a church picnic.  Something was wrong with me, and it had been, unacknowledged, for a long time.  I had depression.  I was depressed.  The condition carried such heavy connotation, yet the admission felt liberating, like a weighted vest removed, or a long held secret finally uncovered.

My consultation over, Doctor Chaudhry sent me home with a box of anti-depressants and a firm handshake.  He also made me promise that I would steer clear of the weed. I thanked him emphatically for not putting me in a straightjacket and made an appointment to visit him the following week.

I strode through the sliding doors of the medical clinic and onto the street a transformed man.  I had never imagined such an unfortunate diagnosis could bring such elation.  No longer simply a miserable cunt, I finally had an answer and tangible steps I could take to make myself feel better.  Excited, relived and a little scared, I breathed deeply, took out my phone and called the first person I wanted to share my news with.

“Avery I have depression!” I blurted out as soon as her voice appeared on the line.

A couple of hours later, Avery and I sat across a table at the convent, separated only by herbal tea.  She had evidently dropped whatever she was doing to be with me in my moment of revelation.  Against the leafy green surrounds, Avery offered reassurance and calmly answered the four thousand questions my mind had formulated since leaving the doctor’s office.

“Does it mean that I’m a bad person?” I asked earnestly as I thumbed the handle of my teacup.

“No of course not!”

“Will I have depression forever?”

“Maybe – that depends on you”

The excitement of my diagnosis was dampened by my awareness of the social stigma depression carried.  It was something that was not talked about, conveniently ignored by a society too afraid to grapple with the complications of mental illness.  For a young man, it was all but an admission of weakness.  I wondered what people would think of me, and I confided in Avery that I was scared of telling the other members of the group.

“Fuck other people”

Avery wasn’t having any of my rhetoric and assured me that Mitch and Owen would understand and wouldn’t treat me any differently.  She explained that depression was merely an illness, and the medication I had been prescribed was no different to a plaster cast for a broken leg.

“I think I’m gonna have to stop smoking weed – at least for a while” I admitted fearfully.

“I know you are”

Avery’s knowing eyes revealed wisdom earned through the pain of travelling the same path I was about to embark upon.  Depression and anxiety had regularly intruded upon her, yet she had endured, emerging intelligent and compassionate.  Leaning forward, she placed her hand on mine offering a silent promise of support.  She knew that my journey ahead would be challenging – she knew that my life was about to change.

            

I arrived home and found the black marker I had used to blacken my blade.  I wondered if the last three years had been a dream, some kind of drug addled detour from ‘real life’.  And what of the conspiracies and sinister plots that filled my thoughts?  The secret cabal of investors running the world, the underground bases, reptilian leaders, debt slavery and the true holographic nature of all reality.  Had I experienced justified paranoia, or simply retreated into a realm of pseudo-scientific nonsense?

In the bathroom, I gazed at my reflection in the mirror and wondered if all my time wasted amounted to wasted time.  What had I been doing?  Over the last few years I had watched friends, family and co-workers make sweeping changes to their lives.  Babies had been born, houses purchased and money had earned.  Jesse and Amber even pissed off and went to China!  I remembered the longing, the yearning for something new that had been stirring in me for some time.  Though it would be difficult, deep down, I knew what I had to do.

            Staring at my silent apartment, I wondered how ordinary people spent their time.  Non-stoners.  What did they do all day?  An endless void of free time spread out before me begging to be filled with marijuana smoke.  But I couldn’t, lest the aliens in the wall returned prompting another lengthy freak out.  I needed to stay away from weed, and thirty days simply wouldn’t cut it.  I went to the cupboard where the plastic bong resided and carefully wrapped it in a tea towel.  Employing the hammer from my tool box, and without a moment’s hesitation, I smashed the bong into a thousand tiny pieces.

I would go one hundred days without weed.  The number seemed gargantuan, but filled me with the energy of new purpose and direction.  I uncapped the black marker and wrote a number of the back of my hand.

One.

I had no idea what would happen next, but I was only ninety nine days away from a whole new life.

Chapter 17: Nothing Lasts Forever

Jason 10 was gone.

I thought I had caught a break, thought something good had finally happened, but just as soon as he had arrived, he was gone leaving a deep, empty chasm in my chest.  We had talked at length about what each of us has wanted, sitting on a park bench for what felt like forever.  He had brought so much light into my existence and I wanted him to stick around – wanted him to be my boyfriend, properly and completely. 

Jason 10 did not concur.  In truth, I’m not sure that even he himself knew what he wanted.  In retrospect, I’m sure my pot smoking habit and stoner friends did nothing to increase my standing as a potential partner.  Wrongly, I thought he could have fixed all of that – his presence could have changed me for the better, but it simply wasn’t to be.  In a matter of weeks, my hopes had been raised and dashed expertly – a recurring pattern of my life that I was becoming accustomed to.

With one last kiss, Jason 10 disappeared into his motorcycle helmet and sped out of my life for good, leaving me dumbfounded, standing by the side of the road contemplating yet another romantic failure.  I stood there, frozen staring at my shoes, an enormity of emotions overwhelming me, washing over me like waves.  I had lost another one. 

Straightening my shirt, I composed myself and began a slow march back to my parked car.  I knew exactly what I had to do.  Inside my apartment, I sealed myself inside my bathroom and slumped down against the back of the door like a broken toy.  Loading my pipe, I smoked as much weed as I could, alone, in silence. 

I smoked until I could barely stand.  I wished I’d never met Jason 10 – wished the universe hadn’t gifted me something good only to take it away so quickly.  If there was a God, he was laughing at me, punishing me for thinking myself entitled to a happy relationship.  So I decided to be miserable, and smoked some more weed. 

I smoked until the sun came up. 

I smoked until my head hurt. 

I smoked until I forgot.

***

Avery’s new home was filled with light.  As the matriarch of the residence she had had borne the lion’s share of the domestic duties and transformed her new house in just a couple of weeks.  Gone were the car parts and bottle caps that had littered the floor upon our initial inspection.  Bright and confident, the new space symbolised new beginnings.  Avery soon filled the walls and fridges with drawings and photos of all of us – a tiny gesture that reminded us we were family.

The Heidelberg House, so named for its locality, soon became the central hub of the group’s activity with an unspoken open door policy that guaranteed a warm welcome.  With three bedrooms, a kitchen, living room and front yard veranda, it was a far cry from my small apartment.  Excited to have his first ‘live in girlfriend’, the place soon became Mitch’s defacto home too, with Owen following soon after.  After facing homelessness and the ravages of Nikki, he was glad to have a place to hang his hat.

Still enduring my nightmare job, the Heidelberg House became the bar where everyone knew my name.  I was always welcomed, any day of the week, glad to avail myself of having all my friends in one place.  Several times a week, I would enter through the unlocked back door to find Mitch hunched over a board game and Owen secreted away in his musky man cave.  Avery, ever the eccentric, could often be found lying spread eagle in the back yard stealing a slice of silent contemplation.

Needless to say, the house quickly became the new venue for our weed smoking, with Avery heartily partaking, leaving my apartment unoccupied and blissfully tidy.  Our sessions grew longer and more intense as we began using a bong.  A staple of stoners worldwide, the bong changed everything.  So far we had used joints or smoked pipes.  The bong represented full blown drug paraphernalia with its clear plastic mouth guard and filthy bubbling water.  Delivering a hit not unlike a small aircraft, the bong was a powerful new toy that sent our collective drug use into overdrive.

“Mid-weeker!”  Mitch would shout excitedly upon my arrival at the house on a Tuesday night. 

My stupid job had required me to work weekends, leaving Tuesday and Wednesday as my days off.  Relishing the rebellion of getting stoned in the middle of the week, we smoked on the balcony, yelling at passers-by and periodically fighting over the hammock Avery had installed.

On weekends our group swelled, readily including Jesse and Amber, Avery’s friends Brandy and Cooper and the other resident of the house, Zach.

Occupying the third bedroom, Zach was tall and scruffy with looks that fell somewhere between goofy and handsome.  His laconic nature concealed a subversive sense of humour and a sharp intellect.  A student of agriculture, I admired Zach, but soon became confused by his unpredictable behaviour.  One moment pensive, the next ecstatic, he was given to fits of emotion that left us all confused and unable to establish an easy rapport.  While the group gathered on the veranda, he spent his time alone, ensconced in his room watching arthouse films.  Following a few bizarre encounters with him, I discreetly enquired after his health.  Avery informed me of his silent sickness - Zach was an alcoholic.

I suppose it was no surprise – the Heidelberg House had in fact become a vessel for the mentally ill.  Whether formally diagnosed or not, all of us struggled with our personal demons and used weed to mask the pain.  Owen had emerged from his relationship with Nikki a changed man, now sullen and defeated.  For weeks he moped about the house, unsure of how to embark upon the next stage of his life. 

Though outwardly gregarious, Avery still experienced intense depression and anxiety.  Working full time, she seemed to take on the day to day responsibilities of running the house, not to mention three fully grown men who required counselling and comfort.  Once more, Avery’s open and casual approach to mental health proved an invaluable trait as she patiently cared for Mitch, Owen and even me.  She always encouraged us to talk about our feelings; no easy task for a bunch of thick headed manly men, and never failed to provide rational and reasoned advice.  I had come to trust her implicitly.

Losing Jason 10 had been a body blow, and in the weeks after I had become a truly miserable fuck, only taking pleasure in getting stoned.  Excluding all other friends, I spent time with the group because they were the only ones that could understand what I was feeling.  It wasn’t ordinary pain; it was different, more intense and inside my head.  My whole body ached with desperation as every waking thought catalogued the many failures of my life, played out in my mind’s eye like some terrible movie on a loop.  Mitch, Avery and Owen were the only ones who could console me – the only ones whose thoughts and emotions were as fucked up as mine.

A schism in the group was formed out of Amber’s desire to do something other than sit around getting stoned.  In all fairness, she had a valid point.  After a few months, the Heidelberg House had become a reliable crutch, a routine that none of us were eager to break.  Amber, supposedly a social butterfly, took it upon herself to organise a night out for the group.  It started off well enough, all of us gathered round a large wooden table at a city bar with a nautical theme.  After a few hours, the pub closed early and, caught unaware, Amber was left without a backup plan.

“Where to next?” I asked Amber, fully expecting her to guide us to another trendy establishment.

“I dunno – let’s just keep walking and see if we find something we like”

And walk we did – for almost ninety minutes, traversing the length of the entire city.  Intransigent yet paralysed with indecision, Amber stubbornly refused to accept any of my suggestions and our brilliant night out turned into an aimless metropolitan death march.

“Ummm…Dude, do you know what the fuck is happening?” asked Owen under his breath.

I shrugged my shoulders and kept walking.  The group’s restlessness had turned to rage at a night wasted at the behest of Amber’s arrogance.  As my feet grew sore I wondered if the group and Jesse and Amber were simply too different to co-exist.  Had they changed?  Had we?  Perhaps we had outgrown them, or simply fallen out of love as sometimes happens with people.

I pondered the same thoughts a few weeks later as we attended an exhibition of Amber’s artwork. A red letter day to be sure, she had rented out space at a small gallery and gathered friends and family to admire her works.  Excited by the attention, Amber weaved her way through the crowd, bestowing her guests with her beneficence.  I arrived with Owen, both of us resplendent in suit and tie. We slowly ambled about the gallery feigning interest in her numerous self-portraits.  The dubious merits of her artwork notwithstanding, Amber’s behaviour seemed odd.  As Owen and I rubbed shoulders with her extended family, she appeared cold, distant, barely speaking a word to either one of us.  When Mitch arrived without formal attire, Amber seemed embarrassed and refused to speak with him.

Personally, the only issue I had with both Jesse and Amber was that I felt I couldn’t be honest with them.  I could never tell them how difficult life was for me, or truly convey the depth of the sadness I sometimes felt.  Mitch had been my best friend since high school and I could tell him anything.  A frank and consistent dialogue on mental health had fostered trust with Owen and Avery who had thusly imprinted themselves upon my heart.  The three of them had become the most important people in my life and set a gold standard for friendship.

Though well meaning, Jesse proved utterly useless as a confidant, offering me cheery refrains of “Hang in there” and “You’ll be okay – just think positively”.  Arrogantly I wondered if my emotions were beyond Jesse’s comprehension.  Perhaps he had never experienced any real loss or despair.  He had all but married his very first girlfriend and together they lived a life that seemed cartoonish and plastic when compared with mine.  Amber was no better, with a gaping hole in place of a brain; her thoughts were only of herself.

“He just doesn’t get it” I lamented to Avery one night at the Heidelberg House. 

We talked quietly over mugs of steaming tea following a visit from Jesse.

“Some days…I just feel like I wanna die”

Avery wrapped her arms around me as I stared into my tea.

I could never be ‘real’ with Jesse, and though Amber had never personally wronged me I found her narcissism and snobbish manner difficult to digest.  Mitch and Owen felt similarly obliged to ‘perform’ when they were both around and we all began to sense a growing disapproval from Amber.  The odd remark here, a snide comment there.  Miserable stoners were a million miles removed from the emotional fakery and high society Amber aspired to.

Though he seemed to enjoy the stuff, Jesse rarely smoked weed – forbidden to do so by Amber whose sense of moral correctness prevailed.  Before long the two of them stopped visiting the house altogether.

Then one day, an announcement that caught us all by surprise – Jesse and Amber were travelling to China.  They would remain there for a year teaching English to Chinese students.

“But by the time they get back, we’ll all have new haircuts!” I protested upon hearing the news.

With work commitments preventing me from attending their farewell party I never saw Jesse and Amber again.  Their abrupt exit affected Mitch the most – hurt that Jesse would so casually abandon their friendship.  Outside of a couple of perfunctory emails from Amber, the group never heard from them again.  A year later, when Jesse and Amber were married, Mitch, Owen, Avery and I were conspicuously absent from the guest list.

The drama of Jesse and Amber’s departure now subsided; Brandy and Cooper ably filled their empty seats as we gathered for a smoke once more on the balcony.  Mitch and I stood side by side, smoking in silence.  Jesse and Amber had embarked upon a fantastic new chapter in their lives, a grand adventure.  I envied their pioneering spirit and the bravery required to make such a change.  I wondered how long I would live my life like this.  Unlucky in love, earning enough money to pay off debts and stoned - always stoned.  It had become my new normal.  I had tried quitting before, even with some success, but life’s little stresses left me desperate for the herb.

Behind me on the balcony I could hear the low bubbling sound of the bong as Brandy and Cooper set up their portable stereo, giggling loudly.  This was my life now – these good people and their weed.  All of them had become friends like no other, they liked me and made me feel like I belonged, but I knew this unhealthy life could not last forever and one day soon I would have to make a change.  I wanted something different for my life, a little bit of money perhaps and a taste of some success.  I wanted something more.

Chapter 16: Human Garbage

It started with simple need – a need for a job. 

Both Mitch and I were engaged in a search for employment, but for very different reasons.  With surprisingly few job prospects, my planned unemployment had lasted longer than expected, and after two months of sitting on my arse, money was starting to run low.  Underneath the sweltering January sun, I reluctantly donned my impeccable formal ensemble and hit the pavement looking for work.  With rent payments looming ominously close, the stakes were no less than my apartment and the independence it offered.  Frightened by the thought of impending eviction or having to co-habitate with housemates, I grew desperate.  My mission was clear – I would accept any job – anything – short of prostitution.

Mitch on the other hand had had his welfare payments temporarily suspended following the latest in a long line of conflicts with his job agency.  Tired of him storming into their offices with accusations of incompetence and government malfeasance they had punished him accordingly.  Now, with a steady girlfriend, Mitch felt that he needed money in order to keep her, and so his job hunting began too.

While the rest of the group contemplated the situation with Owen and Nikki, Mitch and I began our quest in earnest.  After yet another interview in the city, I serendipitously ran into him while he was waiting for Avery to finish work.  We roamed the streets for a bit as I complained about the interview I had just done.

”Yup.  Don’t think I’ll be holding my breath for a call back” I said, annoyed at having been forced to wear a three piece suit on a hot day. 

My interview had not gone well, and I had begun to suspect that employers could smell desperation through my cheap cologne.  As we casually ambled down Bourke Street, a large man blocked our path, waving crumpled flyers in our faces and talking excitedly.  Mitch engaged the man immediately while I stood beck, regarding him.  Sweating profusely, he was dressed in a black unironed shirt two sizes two small, its buttons stretched to capacity housing his sizeable pot belly.  His dark hair was glued down by powerful hair gel, giving him an oddly slimy appearance.  Yet he exuded an unusual swagger, a strange confidence that I found bizarre for someone handing out flyers for a living. 

“I’m Blade” he said, now addressing me.  I shook his clammy hand. 

Eliciting donations for some charity, Blade enquired as to the nature of our civic visit.  Intrigued to hear that we were both jobseekers, he quickly suggested we apply for his role.  The work was easy, and took place outdoors.  Still bothered by the heat, I politely declined.

“Jeez – can’t a man walk down the street without being offered a job?” I added wryly.

Mitch however, seemed genuinely interested, and left his details with Blade who promised to bring them to the attention of his supervisor.  Thinking nothing of our casual encounter, we left Blade to his work and wiled away the afternoon talking shit and drinking smoothies.

As it happened, Blade was true to his word- a week or so later Mitch began work for a streetwalking charity, bothering commuters and tourists as they passed through the city streets.  It was an opportunity that forced him out of his comfort zone – the very nature of the role itself hinged upon him being able to initiate a conversation with a total stranger. 

With stringent ‘sales’ targets put in place to ensure continued employment, Mitch found himself staring face to face with his social anxiety every day.  Working in pairs, these so-called charity workers would set up shop at a street corner, rain, hail or shine and attempt to meet their daily quota.  Imagine Mitch’s surprise when he was paired up with none other than Blade himself.  Over the next few weeks their enforced partnership would test the very limits of Mitch’s patience and good nature.

Almost simultaneously, I found myself a job working for a telecommunications company.  It was a pretty straightforward gig - answering phones and attending to other administrative nonsense.  Emotionally uninvested in my new venture, I was under no pretences that I had only taken this job in response to my dwindling bank balance.  In an unhappy coincidence, I started work on my birthday – a day when Melbourne experienced freak thunderstorms and intense flash flooding usually unheard of in the middle of summer.  As I reported for work under blackened skies, we began our first day by touring the office. 

My heart sank as I laid eyes on the filthy desks, drab stained walls and the ashen faced inmates who occupied this seemingly forgotten corporate space.  Accompanied by a slew of new starters, I navigated my way through the depressing office whose furnishings looked as if they were in a permanent state of decay.  I felt a hand tightly clasp around my arm.  My head spun around quickly to see a small man in his forties, hunched over his desk.  His eyes were bloodshot with dark circles beneath them.

“Get out – get out of here while you still can!!” he whispered urgently as his eyes anxiously darted around the room, fearful of being watched. 

I wrestled my arm away from the crazy man and joined the rest of the group just in time to hear a bloodcurdling scream.  It came from the nearby ‘employee lounge’ – a small closet like space housing an ailing coffee machine and a pile of black garbage bags.

“What have you done!?!” screamed a small Indian lady, as she stumbled out of the room clutching her hands in agony. 

Blood poured out of a large gash in her right hand, spraying the walls and carpet beneath her.

“Fuck of, ya silly bitch!” came the angry voice of a moustachioed man holding the pair of blood covered scissors he had stabbed her with. 

The woman continued screaming, tears now streaming down her face.  I glanced around the office to see co-workers nonplussed by the bloody occurrence - just as dead eyed as before.  No one rushed to get the first aid kit, or even looked up from their desks.  Evidently this type of incident was commonplace.  Later I learned that the poor woman was stabbed with scissors following a violent altercation over a white styrofoam cup.  As our group was quickly ushered away from the screaming, I caught sight of the grey Melbourne sky and wondered if this was the worst birthday ever.

Elsewhere, Mitch’s new job was yielding mixed results.  He soon found it easy to meet his established sales targets and drew confidence from being forced to talk to strangers all day.  Finishing his work early on one occasion, his absconded with two handsome Irishmen and spent the afternoon smoking weed on the beach.  His co-worker, Blade was another matter.  As the days wore on, his true colours began to show themselves, and a thoroughly reprehensible individual was revealed.

Grossly overweight and perpetually covered in a sweaty sheen, Blade revelled in his overeating, hastily scoffing down all manner of pastries and donuts in the early hours of the morning, often leaving those around him nauseated.  His patchy, black facial hair often housed crumbs and other morsels of food and he made a habit of wiping his hands on his shirt rather than a napkin.  While Mitch found his personal habits disgusting, it was his personality that eventually aroused a deep abiding hatred.

For starters, Blade was sickeningly misogynistic, often referring to women as ‘things’ – a commodity to be bought and sold.  Employing all manner of offensive names, he frequently described them as ‘whores’, ‘sluts’ and ‘bitches’.  While feeling somehow entitled to female affection, he displayed an intense dislike of all women.  He openly admitted to using the services of prostitutes, bragging to Mitch about his regular visits and often referring to sex workers as nothing more than ‘human garbage’.

Initially Mitch was stunned by his remarks, regaling the group with tales of days spent with this detestable little man.  Mitch was forgiving, reasoning that Blade’s life outside work must have been a lonely one.  Being so disagreeable, it was indeed likely Blade was unable to get laid without money changing hands.  But his remarks continued, and the stress of spending time with Blade gradually began to wear Mitch down.

An advocate of slavery, and openly racist, Blade possessed a warped sense of his own self-importance.  In his mind, he was a wealthy aristocrat, bestowed with untold wealth, status and harem full of submissive bitches eager to gargle his privates. This attitude made him unbearable company, and soon, his interactions with Mitch were fraught with conflict.

This bizarre self-delusion stood in stark contrast to his outward appearance.  Often dishevelled, he was once accosted on the street by a homeless man who advised him to ‘smarten up’ if he hoped to achieve success.  Unfortunately, the irony was lost on Blade who still regarded himself God’s gift to womankind.

As bills continued to fill my mailbox, I gritted my teeth and accepted that I would have to keep my terrible job for at least some time, and so I endured the grim workspace, mentally willing myself to leave my body in a vain attempt to accelerate time.  After a soul draining day at work, and in dire need of consoling, I arranged to meet Mitch and Avery for a coffee.  Standing on the street outside Avery’s office, we shared a brief but unpleasant encounter with Blade who had arrived with Mitch, uninvited.  He proudly showed off his new belt buckle – a jewel encrusted dollar sign that sat oddly beneath his belly.  As soon as he appeared, Avery recoiled in revulsion as he leered at her, sweating and panting at the sight of her low cut blouse.

                

Blade’s presence had turned Mitch’s job into an ordeal.  Unable to cope with the never ending negativity he spewed, he angrily advised Blade that he would meet him in the morning when he arrived at work, but refused to spend the rest of the day with him.  Blade complied, but smiled arrogantly at his little victory - perversely pleased that he had managed to get under Mitch’s skin.

                

Still doggedly trying to climb out of the financial hole I had dug, I obediently reported to work each day.  I made myself a silent promise that I would get myself out of this job in under a month.  Indeed I lasted far longer than the twenty five new employees I had started with.  After the second week, only ten of us remained – after the third week – even fewer.

“Nooo!!!” came a scream from a nearby desk one morning, startling my pre-coffee mind to attention.  Another week – another employee breakdown. 

“No more – I can’t take this place anymore!  No!  No!!” the poor woman exclaimed, her voice cracking.

I watched silently as the tearful lady hastily collected her belongings and quickly made for the elevator, never to be seen again.

With my spirits low, I hit the weed hard, now smoking every night after work simply to make myself forget what a fine mess I had made of my life.  Had I made the wrong move quitting my previous job?  It would have been a bleak time had it not been for Jason 10.  So named for the rating out of ten I had assigned him, Jason 10 emerged from the online dating profile that I had long thought dormant.  Disgustingly handsome, our first date provided me with a wonderful distraction from my problems. 

Thankful for the diversion, I planned the perfect date, selecting a dimly lit hipster restaurant followed by a ride on the ferris wheel.  I’ve often been told that my taste in men is unconventional.  I prefer scruffy, nerdy types to the muscular ideal.  Jason 10 certainly delivered in spades.  Bespectacled and pasty, he shared a passion for writing and science fiction.  My heart skipped a beat when he mentioned Battlestar Galactica.  Our first date went off without a hitch – no mean feat considering how nervous I was.  Despite his nerdish leanings, Jason 10 was out of my league with striking blue eyes and chiselled features.  Sitting across a romantic table, I wondered what the hell he was doing with me.

Evidently, I had made a good enough impression and Jason 10 readily accepted an invitation to my place for spaghetti and hot sex.  While our dinner grew cold, the two of us excitedly thrashed about my apartment, forcefully tearing off each other’s clothes, slamming into walls, shelves and furniture as we rolled around the carpet with gay abandon.  To my surprise, Jason 10 liked it rough, and I was only too happy to oblige, happily pounding him into the following week like a horny jackhammer.  While I was glad my gym workouts were finally paying off, for a moment I thought I was going to kill him!

By the time we were done, my usually pristine apartment looked like a war zone with clothes, shoes and action figures all littering the floor.  Still in silent awe of his handsomeness and my good fortune, we both settled in to watch Star Trek II The Wrath Of Khan and ate cold spaghetti.  Exhausted, Jason 10 fell asleep on my leg, drooling and snoring loudly.  It was an amazing night – and without a doubt - the best sex of my life.

Meanwhile, Mitch and Blade’s relationship had deteriorated further.  Weary of Blade’s constant stream of offensive and racist remarks, Mitch was could no longer stand to be in the same room as him.  He had been quite patient, choosing to take the high road and ignore most of what he said.  Now no longer meeting their daily targets, the both of them were given an ultimatum from their supervisor – they had one more week to achieve their targets or they would be summarily dismissed.

Though still technically a team, the two went their separate ways, aware their jobs were on the line should this final week prove unsuccessful.  Though anxious about the pressure suddenly put upon him, Mitch made a valiant effort, trying to retain a positive approach now that he no longer had to deal with Blade so much. 

His time elapsed; Mitch arrived at the office, bravely fronting his supervisor on Friday evening – his quota unmet.  Blade entered the meeting room shortly after, somewhat sheepish and revealed that he too had failed to accomplish his task.  Side by side they stood before the boss as she apologetically delivered the inevitable bad news – the both of them were fired.  Filing away her papers, she left the room, leaving Blade and Mitch to what would be their final explosive confrontation.

                

“Oh well” said Blade, smirking at their shared misfortune. 

The loss of a job was of no consequence to him – he would make his millions elsewhere.  Mitch however, was less forgiving.  Forced to deal with Blade’s odious nature for weeks, his saintly patience had finally eroded.  Still stinging from being fired, he turned to leave the room, determined to maintain his dignity in the face of defeat - but Blade had one parting shot.  That was the moment he crossed the line – finally uttering the unforgiveable – words which Mitch could not possibly ignore, and that sent his blood boiling. 

Blade insulted Avery.

His exact words – which do not bear repeating – were obscene, degrading and steeped in the loathsome misogyny we had all come to expect from him. 

Biding his time through an awkwardly silent elevator ride out of the office, Mitch waited until he and Blade were clear of the premises before hurling his backpack to the floor.  Stunned, Blade’s spun around to see Mitch rushing towards him, his eyes overflowing with rage.  Blade stepped back at the sight of this raging bull, but found himself cornered up against a wall.

“What the fuck did you say about my girlfriend cunt?!!” he seethed, mere inches from Blade’s quivering lip.

Rarely (if ever) a man of physical confrontation, Mitch’s sudden outburst had caught Blade by unaware.  He was no longer Mitch’s co-worker – with no obligation to behave in a civil manner, he was now unencumbered and ready for a confrontation that had been brewing for some time.

“Apologise!!!” spat Mitch, as he grabbed a handful of Blade’s shirt front with one hand and bunched it up in his fist.

“But…what…now just wait a…” still reeling from the sudden attack, Blade began babbling incoherently. 

“Fucking apologise!!” he screamed again.  Mitch’s heart was racing.

“…N…Never” managed Blade, now trembling at the prospect of the beating he was about to receive. 

He had clearly underestimated Mitch, thinking him a good natured door mat.  Not so now.  Standing a foot taller than Blade, and unburdened by a diet of fatty foods, Mitch could inflict significant damage if he wanted to.

Even outgunned and cornered, Blade’s arrogance did not fail him.  Mitch could see it on his face, his impish features defiant - daring him to punch him square in the face.  Mitch’s urge was irresistible – he knew it would feel amazing – a satisfying punctuation mark to their time together.  He slowly formed a fist and prepared to collect his reward.

Then – a moment of clarity – one so rare that Mitch had no choice but to take notice.  As he looked down upon the fat, quivering troll before him he finally saw Blade as he truly was.  Lonely.  Pathetic.  Unloved. 

Taking a deep breath, Mitch released his grip and calmly collected his fallen backpack. 

“Y’know, you’re not fucking worth it – go to hell you piece of shit”

Still wide eyed and sweaty, Blade stood frozen as he watched Mitch leave.  It was just as well – had Mitch succumbed to his primal urges, Blade would have likely scuttled off to the nearest police station like a child running to go tell teacher.

Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, Mitch turned to take one last look at Blade, still crumpled in the corner.  He stood proud, shoulders back and eyes resolute.  With his index finger pointed sharply, he issued a final warning.

“If I ever see you again, I’ll fucking kill you”.