In November of 2009, I quit my
job.
It was a difficult decision, but one
that seemed inevitable in hindsight. My
pathway to corporate success long since obscured by the constant gnawing
emptiness I felt each day.
My co-workers had become mere ciphers
to me. Once upon a time, they would
enjoy speaking with me, offering humorous anecdotes and solidarity through
shared slavery. Now they had become
vaguely colored blobs existing at the periphery of my vision. The idea of interacting with them seemed far too
painful to me, having become quite sensitive to the comments of others. In truth, I was fearful that they would query
my long unexplained absences and months of silent, sullen behaviour.
I was also acutely aware of the
mounting political tensions at work, with a new supervisor employing ugly techniques
to gain political clout while he moved subordinates about like chess
pieces. The silent, seething hostility
of the office rumour mill spewed forth several unsavoury rumours about him and
his conduct. These included (but were not limited to) blatant drug use during
work functions and sexual liaisons in the toilets with select staff members
willing to do anything for a promotion.
As the year began to draw to a close,
I’d finally had enough. Though the work
itself was relatively easy, I felt unable to contend with the toxicity of the
environment. I hated waking up each
morning, the arrival of consciousness only bringing a deep despair as I dreaded
the day ahead. Smoking weed dominated my
every waking thought, with all other activities becoming inconvenient
intermissions performed with the least effort required. It had been a challenging year. My few pitiful attempts at intimate
relationship were hampered and ultimately sabotaged by my insecurity and
unpredictable mood swings. Money was
tight, and I was perpetually bothered by two partially shattered teeth that
desperately needed removing by way of a prohibitively expensive surgery.
Just a few months earlier, I had been
given a substantial pay rise. At the
time, it represented the largest number ever to grace my bank balance. Unenthusiastic about the bucket of cash I’d
been given, one of the truisms of life became suddenly and disgustingly
clear. Money can’t buy happiness. I had always heard this old chestnut
proffered by my elders, masquerading as hidden wisdom. It was true.
My pay rise amounted to thirty pieces of silver, and the kudos I
received tasted like ash. I began to
plan a jailbreak, squirrelling away small amounts of money at a time when
genuine saving seemed impossible. I was
getting out. One fateful day I broke the
news to my boss who seemed unsurprised.
Obviously my discontent had not gone unnoticed.
The obligatory four weeks’ notice
given, my last day finally arrived after what seemed like an intolerable
wait. Hands were shaken, and insincere
goodbyes exchanged as more than one colleague expressed their envy at what
seemed like parole. The only person
truly perturbed by my leaving was Isobel, whom I had come to trust and admire. Often a welcome addition to our smoking
sessions, Isobel always impressed me with her no nonsense attitude. She was not one to mince words and often
stated the obvious when others were too scared of committing a social faux pas
or appearing indelicate.
Eager to celebrate my impending
unemployment, I had planned a celebratory gathering at my apartment. Isobel was the first to arrive at my front
door, high heel shoes in hand and sporting a sexy red dress.
“You’re so fucken lucky” she remarked
bluntly as I filled my bathtub with a bag of service station ice. As the sun slowly flickered under the horizon,
guests started to filter through the door.
“Yo fucker!” came a familiar refrain.
Owen had let himself in. I emerged from the bathroom to see him
chatting with Isobel. She playfully
curled her blonde hair around her fingers and swooned at his every word. Ever on a manhunt, Isobel always responded
favourably to Owen’s musky scent and primal, bearded masculinity.
Soon after Keith arrived, sharing a
cigarette with us on the balcony. Intent
upon getting as inebriated as possible before his girlfriend arrived, he drank
ferociously. Jesse burst into the room,
his comedic afro of curly brown hair preceding him. Amber and Denise were in tow, apprehensively
surveying my action figures. Denise was
Amber’s long suffering sidekick. They
had spent very little time at my apartment, and I was glad to be able to offer
my hospitality as they had done on many occasions. Amber seemed quite taken with my level of
cleanliness, yet also threatened as though I had somehow outdone her. As she muttered disparaging remarks under her
breath, I put my arm around Denise and guided her into the kitchen. I offered her a drink and we began
chatting. She seemed more at ease once
removed from Amber’s powerful influence.
As Jesse and I began our customary
argument over whose penis was larger, I stole a moment to observe the situation
around me. For the first time in months
I was happy, or at the very least, unburdened.
Filled with music, laughter and the chatter of my stumbling friends, my
tiny home seemed vital and alive.
Like some hackneyed 80s sitcom, each
new guest was greeted with a cheer - poor Ramona startled by the attention as
she opened my front door.
Gigantic arms clamped across my chest
from behind, soon followed by a full handed grab of my left butt cheek. I turned to see Cram’s bristly face behind
me. He and Philip had come from his
apartment across the road. Philip wore a
faded Metallica t-shirt that seemed to suit him quite nicely. Cram smelled like an ash tray (which was
typical for him).
“Dude we gotta watch this!” he yelled
excitedly, brandishing a DVD mere inches from my face.
“Sure man, maybe a bit later” I
conceded. Cram had borrowed the DVD from
a friend, perhaps expecting a more subdued evening. I was certainly in no mood for watching
TV.
A drunken roar came from the balcony
as Mitch and Avery entered regally, arm in arm.
They had been at another party and had arrived later bringing much
needed weed which was quickly distributed.
I gratefully lit a joint, having restrained myself from any alcohol for
some time. Keith rushed over towards me,
his eyes ablaze with madness.
“Gimme
that quickly! My girlfriend’s gonna be
here in ten minutes!” he said as he snatched the lit joint from out of my hand.
Mitch seemed to walk taller with a
woman on his arm, and Avery, resplendent with elfin beauty clearly looked at him
with great affection. It had only been a
couple of weeks since World Vegan Day, and we had only really spoken a couple
of times. Despite the brevity of their
new union, the change in Mitch seemed nothing short of a transformation.
“I’m so fucken glad he’s finally got himself
a woman” whispered Isobel, sidling up next to me with her beer, her high heel
shoes long since abandoned.
“They look so cute together”
As I watched the two of them
canoodling on my sofa, giggling at the private jokes new couples only have, I
was forced to agree.
In the bathroom, Denise was busy
decorating my mirror with her lip gloss while on the balcony Amber scolded Jesse
for drinking too much. A thick, bound
volume of high class pornography – a truly exceptional farewell gift from a
colleague – drew a small huddled crowd. Ramona
recoiled in faux horror at the many male members on display while Jesse was
quietly curious.
Stuck mediating a small disagreement
between Philip and Isobel, I spied Avery crouching unattended, thumbing through
my Futurama DVDs.
“He’s a personal space invader!”
accused Isobel, as I excused myself politely and headed over to Avery.
“Come along, it’s time we had a chat”
I said, half stoned and with undue gravitas.
Avery sat up, suddenly attentive and
followed me to the kitchen like a student being called to the principal’s
office. We both lit cigarettes and
perched up on my kitchen sink side by side.
For the first (and only) time living in my apartment I had relaxed the
rules around indoor smoking. A gentle
breeze wafted into the room, sending snow white ash raining down upon Avery’s
wavy dark hair. Her eyes were bright and
attentive, and I got the distinct impression that she was more prepared for
this conversation than I.
“So…looks
like you’re Mitch’s girlfriend now” I offered awkwardly with mock confidence.
“Yup”
she replied, clearly pleased at my casual use of the term.
“I’ve
heard quite a lot about you”
“Probably
not as much as I’ve heard about you”
And so, our discussion began. Uninterrupted by others, we verbally danced
like two civilised gentlemen meeting at the theatre. Avery told me about her incredible weight
loss journey, even showing me a photo of herself, triumphantly standing inside
gigantic pants. I explained that I had
born the burden of being Mitch’s surrogate girlfriend for the last decade, and
was elated by her presence. This girl
was deeply in love with Mitch, and as I continued to listen to her speak, I
began to realise that I was a little bit in love with her too.
After what seemed like an hour
talking, and several cigarettes later, we alighted from the sink. I cast my arms around Avery and welcomed her
into the family. Her hair smelled like
apples.
Later, as I smoked on the balcony with
Owen, we both listened as Mitch expressed his indescribable joy at having his
first real girlfriend. Owen and I shared
knowing glances, concealing a deep jealously at his lack of cynicism. Cram appeared on the balcony.
“Dude seriously, when are we gonna
watch this DVD?” He really was intent
upon putting on his movie.
2am came and went, as did most of my
guests. Ignoring the post party
shambles, I collapsed onto my bed, exhausted.
My thoughts were awash with weed and the possibilities that lay
ahead. I was now unemployed. I had nothing to do tomorrow. Nothing at all. It was wonderful.
The next morning, I emerged from my
bedroom bleary eyed to see Philip and Cram wide awake and watching cartoons. The two of them had slept in my living room. Philip thoughtfully activated the kettle and
began making coffee. I sat down on the
sofa next to Cram.
“So…are we gonna watch this DVD or
what?”
I groaned in disbelief and hastily
consumed the black coffee Philip had presented.
That damn DVD had not left Cram’s hands from the moment he arrived.
The two of them stayed and assisted
with the clean-up, Philip even dragging a giant green bin to my balcony in
order to dispose of the many abandoned bottles around my place. Suitably caffeinated, and morning small talk
satisfied, the two of them left as soon as etiquette allowed, leaving me to
properly commence my unemployment.
Unshaven, and un-showered, I reached
for the remote control and switched on the TV.
ONE DAY LATER
The quickly fading afternoon sun
disappeared through the lush green foliage of the Collingwood Convent. I sat, crossed legged, at a wobbly table,
slowly nursing a superlative soy chai latte creation. The clinking noises of dishes and the muted
chatter of hipsters and vegans formed a pleasing ambient soundtrack – one that
was becoming a familiar accompaniment to our afternoons at Lentils.
Avery and Mitch sat across the table
from me as Owen clumsily excused himself to procure his third helping of
socially conscious Dahl. Squeezing past
the other diners, he promptly made his way to the buffet like a man on a
mission. My plate clean, I leaned across
the sticky table and lit a cigarette.
“So you remember Mitch and I are gonna
be doing some house sitting?” said Avery, clasping her full teacup with near
religious reverence.
“Oh yeah?” I replied, half remembering her mentioning it
to me.
“The house belongs to this lovely
lesbian couple from work. You should see
it – it’s gorgeous” her eyes were wide with enthusiasm.
“You and Owen should come over and
hang with us”
Owen returned, jostling the table as
he sat down. His plate now possessed of
a voluminous amount of food.
“What’s happening?” he asked casually,
seemingly more interested in his pile of pesto pasta.
“Mitch and Avery are house sitting –
you want in?”
Owen took a mouth full of food.
“Fuck yeah”.
No comments:
Post a Comment