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”.