Ten

Jack Kerouac wrote his masterpiece, On the Road, in three weeks. In that same time all I’ve done is gain ten pounds. Though I have no friggen’ clue how that’s possible considering that ever since my little fuck-up I haven’t had much of an appetite- which sucks because I really want to eat.

        I still don’t give a fuck about anything- least of all, work. That’s why I’m quitting. No, I don’t have anything better lined up. Yes, it’s irresponsible. You know what? I don’t give a fuck. My whole life has been about being responsible and look where it’s got me. I’m a model of fucking success.

        I was going to stick it out- the job – but then my shitdick boss had this grand idea about making me write and sign a “personal conduct” contract. What the fuck is that, I ask you. I’m sure it’s in a business book somewhere. What a douche.

        I promise to not slouch in my chair.

        I promise to only wear jeans on Friday.

        I will only take one hour for lunch.

        I will only view Internet sites related to our business.

        I will not wear noise-cancelling headphones while at work.

        I promise to not read the paper in the restroom.

        I will stop fucking Jen in the supply closet.

        The last one I put in the contract to see if he’d notice. He didn’t find it humorous. Probably because he has a crush on Jen.

        Too bad she wants nothing to do with him. I think she likes me though. And I am newly single. Remind me that I need to flirt with her.

 

        I haven’t decided when I’ll quit. I’m trying to sort that out. Do I want to just up and quit on a Monday? Should I do the responsible thing and put in my two weeks? Or should I wait for things to get real busy and tell him to fuck off? Such tough decisions. I need a Magic 8-ball.

 

        ”Morning Will.”

        I decided to be responsible, so I’m still at work. “Hi, Jen,” I reply.

        She has nothing to do with it.

        ”I had a really good time last night.”

        ”Yeah?”

        Actually she has everything to do with it.

        ”What are you doing for lunch,” she asks.

        ”Nada.”

        ”Wanna grab a bite?”

        She’s standing right outside my cubicle, and between the fact that she is hot and her tits are pretty much resting on the top of the cube wall, I’m finding it difficult to pay attention to what she’s saying.

        ”Who’s going,” I ask.

        ”I was thinking just you and I.”

        I hope she didn’t notice my pants move.

        ”Isn’t Wednesday girl’s day?”

        ”Yeah,” she says, biting her lip, “they’ll be fine without me.”

        I thought chicks only bit their lips on TV.

        ”Swing by my cube at noon, kay?” She offers me a smile, which I think is genuine and turns to leave, then stops. ”Say, can you help me carry a few boxes to the storage room?”

         ”Now?”

         ”If you don’t mind,” she says.

         And because I don’t want to say, sure, just give me a second to let this boner die down, I say, “sure…just let me finish up what I’m doing here.”

         ”Meet me in like five minutes,” she says, flashing me a mischievous smile.

         ”Will,” my boss shouts.

         I should have seen this coming. I swivel around to face Dwayne’s office. “Yeah?”

         ”I got a project I need you to finish for me.”

         He saw us talking. Did he hear her ask me to lunch?

         ”I need it for my one o’clock.”

         Fucker.

         “When you’re finished helping Jen, come in here so I can appraise you on the deliverables.” He looks at my waist and then quickly looks up. We make eye contact and I smile. ”You’ll..ahh…you’ll have to skip lunch.”

         To fuck with him even more, I stand up and stretch with great exaggeration and make a pointed attempt to arch my back, which of course thrusts my boner forward- deeper into an indelible memory that I hope scars him forever.

        ”No worries, boss!” I say with a smile.

 

        After banging the shit out of Jen in the storage room, we went and enjoyed a nice lunch at Subway, where she picked at a turkey wrap and I took down a 12″ meatball sub.

        ”Weren’t you supposed to skip lunch?”         

        ”Yep.”

        ”Don’t ya think Dwayne will get mad?”

        ”Probably.”

        ”And you don’t care?”

        ”Not really.”

        ”Say, thanks again for helping me with those boxes.” She smiled. “I hate having to put stuff away back there. It’s such a mess.”

        I should mention that when I said “banging the shit out of Jen,” I mean to say I helped her put boxes away.

        ”No worries.” I smiled back. We were both doing the whole overly-polite thing. I hated when I did this. 

        ”You want to catch a movie tonight,” I asked.

        ”Sure,” she said. “Oh wait, I can’t. I forgot I’ve got this thing tonight.”

        Que insecurity. “Hot date?”

        ”Totally. And he’s super hot and super cool.”

        I knew she was too good for me. ”Oh, well maybe some other time then,” I said, putting on my most genuine, self-assured fake smile.

        ”You’re such a dork, Will,” she said, then started laughing.

        I smiled and nervously laughed at a joke I didn’t get.

        She grabbed my arm and did the whole innocent, hot-girl head tilt thing. “Of course I want to do something with you.”

        

       For the first time in weeks, I was happy I woke up. I blame Jen for that. And I blame her for what I did after lunch.

 

        When I got back to my cube Dwayne was sitting in my chair, going through my e-mails.

        ”Something you need Dwayne.”

        He spun around. “Where the hell have you been?”

        ”Lunch,” I said. “With Jen.”

        I hated dragging her into this, but I knew she’d appreciate helping me piss him off.

        ”I thought I told you you had to skip lunch.”

        ”Yeah well, I was hungry.”

        My candor was confusing the shit out of him.

        ”And what the fuck are you doing going through my e-mails?”

        He stood up and got in my face. “I want you. In my office. Now.”

        ”Your breath smells like ass, Dwayne.”

        ”What’d you say to me?”

        ”Ever hear of a toothbrush?”

        By this time heads were starting to peek up above their cube walls.

        ”Listen, you little shit,” he started to say.

        ”We’re the same size,” I interrupted. “Actually, I think I’m bigger.” I turned to Jen, who was now standing near Dwayne’s office. “Who’s taller? Me or Dwayne,” I said as I turned my back to him. “Here, turn around and let’s measure.”

        Now, Jen told me I hit my file cabinet with my face and then my shoulder, but I’m pretty sure it was all face. Then next thing I knew Dwayne was standing above me shaking and yelling uncontrollably.

        ”I told you no fucking lunch! You hear me asshole, no fucking lunch! No fucking lunch!” 

        ”Dwayne,” a voice shouted. We all turned as the VP of Operations came barreling into the room. He looked at Dwayne, then at me, then back to Dwayne.

        ”Ted,” he says to the person standing closest to me, “help him up.”

        ”Will, you okay,” he asked.

        I nodded.

        Then he looked at my boss. “Dwayne?”

        Dwayne didn’t do anything but kept on shaking.

        Jen was beside me, dabbing blood from my forehead with a Kleenex. All of us except Dwayne were watching the VP to see what he’d do. I figured I was pretty much fired.

        He looked at both of us, then at the crowd of people standing around my cube, then back to us. Then he cleared his throat and said, “You’re both fired.”

        I had just enough time to flash a huge grin at Dwayne before his fist came crashing into my face. 

Nine

         Think of the most emasculating job a guy could ever have. Got it? Now muliply that times a shitload and carry the one. Now you have an idea of why my attitude has gone to hell since moving out here. My actual title is Assistant Operations Associate. It sounds bloated and official and important, but if you peel back all the hype, I’m nothing more than a male secretary.

         On any given day I surf the Internet for about six hours. As for the two hours of work I actually do, I have to draw them out just to make it last that long. I could probably come in for a half-hour and get my shit done, but I don’t think my boss Dwayne would be too open to that idea. If you could imagine the most boring, uninspired douchebag on the face of the planet you still wouldn’t have any idea of how truely pathetic my boss is. The man is incapable of original thought. I shit you not, if it doesn’t come out of a business book he doesn’t know how to say it. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’d go gay for Stephen Covey. He also happens to be my age, so I hate him even more. Apparently, you have to be a sycophantic fuck to make it in corporate America.

        I should also mention that I hate my co-workers. They’re secretaries too. But they freak out when I call them that.

        ”Assistant Operations Associates, asshole,” they say.

        But I know what we really are. We make travel arrangements and schedule meetings. We put presentations together and run really important errands. Yesterday, Phil, the gay one, had to go pick up a new cell phone for his boss. Now they tell us that our jobs entail much more than that, and if we want, we can move up the ladder. That’s a crock of shit though. I’ve been here almost a year and I’m no closer to getting a promotion than Phil is to getting approval for gender reassignment surgery.

         Sometimes I think that if it wasn’t for the parties and random sex, college would have been a waste. I’m certainly not using my degree here. In fact, I don’t even think you need one for this job. Some of the other secretaries just have Associates Degrees.

        Did I mention how good I feel about my job?

        I think I was so excited by the prospect of getting out of Minneapolis that I heard only what I wanted to, and jumped at this job because it was the first thing to come up. Plus it was near the mountains, so I could do all sorts of sweet shit. Was I a fucking idiot or what?

         So why not get a new job?

         Liz asked me that all the time.

         ”It’ll get better,” I’d say, “Dwayne and I are having a sit down tomorrow.”

         And after each meeting I’d be flush with the optimism that things would in fact get better.

         ”Let’s draft a time horizon for these actionable items,” he’d say.

         ”Once this re-org is complete we’ll look at promotions,” he’d promise.

         ”I think we need to work on your attitude,” he’d suggest.

         And each time I’d agree like the naive twat that I am.

         Nothing changed but my attitude.

        

        After my incident and Liz leaving, my head hasn’t really been into work, so I’ve been calling in sick. For the last week-and-a-half I’ve had the same conversation with my boss each morning.

        ”When you coming in,” asks Dwayne.

        ”When I’m better,” I reply.

        ”You don’t sound sick.”

        ”Yeah well,” I say, ”diahreah ain’t no chest cold,”

        ”Mmmmkay, but I want you near your phone in case I need anything.”

        ”You got it boss.”

        

        With Liz gone, I’m starting to get really bored. I mean, there’s only so much drinking, masturbation and Price is Right a guy can take. Maybe I’ll go back to work on Monday.

 

        I talked to Liz today. She called me. She wanted to check in to see how I was doing.

        I wanted to shout, “how the fuck do you think I am,” but I must have grown a vagina in the middle of the night.

        ”I’ve been thinking a lot about you,” she said.

        ”Yeah,” I replied. “What have you been thinking about?”

        ”I was thinking how hard this must be for you.”

        ”I’m great Liz, why should you worry?”

        ”Are you Will?” Dramatic pause.

        ”Of course. How’s Minneapolis?”        

        ”It’s good.”

        ”Just good?” I knew there was more.

        ”Yeah.”

        ”How’s Heath?”

        ”Don’t do this to yourself, Will.”

        ”Don’t do what?”

        ”You know exactly what,” she said. “How’s your mom?”

        ”Great.”

        ”Be serious.”

        ”I am, she’s doing great. Doctor’s say the tumors are shrinking.”

        ”Are you coming back to visit anytime soon?”

        The subject needed changing.

        ”I think I might quit my job.”

        ”Okay.”

        She’d heard this too many times before.

        ”Don’t know what I’ll do, but I”ll figure it out.”

        “That’s great, Will. Good luck with that.”

        And to think I thought I was making headway.

        ”You need to visit your mom,” she said, changing the subject.

        ”And you don’t need to stop being a nagging bitch.”

        Of course Liz was too mature to bite.

        ”She called me the other day. She wanted to know how you were doing.”

        ”And?”

        ”I didn’t tell her what you did.”

        ”You tell her we broke up,” I asked.

        ”I didn’t want to upset her.”

        ”How considerate.”

         ”She’s very sick, Will.”

         I was suddenly too tired to have this conversation.

         ”Will?”

         ”Nice talking to you Liz. Tell Heath I say, fuck off.”

         Then I hung up.

 

         In hindsight, that wasn’t the most mature thing to do. Good thing then, I never considered myself the most mature guy. Yes, she had some valid points. I knew that I threatened to quit my job one too many times, and I sure as shit knew that I needed to visit the folks. Of course mom was sick, that’s what cancer does. But she wasn’t on the verge of death or anything. As for Heath, well, fuck maturity. It felt good.

         When I told her that she deserved better, I was telling the truth. When I told her I was happy for her, I was full of shit. Fuck her and her happiness. We were happy. We had some great times. Blame everything on me? Fuck that. Relationships are a two way street. So my job affected my emotional state, so we were in a rut, it’s not like she was always a bowl of goddamn sunshine and happy thoughts. She thinks I never knew about her and Heath. But I did. I knew something was up the moment she started working out and being all chipper and shit.

         ”What’s up with the jogging,” I asked. “You’re not fat.”

         ”That’s great, Will.”

         ”I’m just saying you look good.”

         And here is when I knew she was cheating.

         ”Well I want to look better,” she said.

         How did I know she was cheating? Because not once when I ever suggested we get in shape did she do anything about it. But now she does? After not showing any interest in sex or physical activity for the last six months does she finally decide she wants to look good for me? Bullshit.

         So I checked her e-mails. Yeah, I’m a bastard, deal with it. She apparently didn’t know the rules of illicit surfing. Clear Content, Clear Forms, Erase History. Pretty friggen easy to remember. I’m glad she trusted me.

         In my defense, this was the first time I ever did such a thing and I did suspect her of cheating. I’d expect her to do the same thing. Of course, that’s why I always remember to clear content, clear forms, and erase history.

         If you’ve never read the private correspondence of a loved one, I highly recommend it. It can be very enlightening. For example, I learned that Liz always loved him, never really loved me, thought I was boring in bed, fantasized about fucking him, fantasized about sucking him off, fantasized about fucking him in public, and fantasized about fucking him in front of me to piss me off. I also learned that she’d been planning on breaking up with me for some time, lacked the courage to do so, wanted to move back to Minneapolis, never wanted to move in the first place, never thought she and him would get a chance to be together, and planned on spending the weekend together soon.

        When I think about it, it’s kind of amazing her computer is still in one piece. Though her being out of town that weekend was convenient.

        I scolded myself for not using the shotgun. That bitch deserved to see brains all over the place.         

        Oh yeah, I also learned a few things about him.

        I did not know that he always loved Liz but was too big of a pussy to tell her. Nor did I know that he wasn’t satisfied with his marriage and that his wife wasn’t satisfying his needs. No shit. It’s called marriage, dumbass. I learned that the most common thing he jerked off to was the memory of the time in high-school when he gave her a massage and she let him touch her tit. But the best thing I learned was that he never thought I was the right guy for her; that she deserved better.

        I thought I was pretty goddamn witty when I told her that.