The sexual harassment was a total failure. Hunter didn’t even flinch. Jake keeps telling me I’m not doing it right. According to him, I’m taking it too easy on Chloe. “It’s 2010, you’re on some 1970s Animal House pranks, muthafucka.” I’m doing it my way. He’s going to have to deal with it. It’s my promotion, and I gotta earn it.
Eddie’s still doing a majority of my work . . . with flying colors too. He’s almost done training, and I’m going to have to get back to my original workload, which sucks. But his terrific output is helping me twofold. It makes me look like a great mentor, and it frees me up to think about new ploys to rid myself of the perfect nuisance that is Ms. Polly Perfect. I’ve only come up with that nickname recently, and it’s not even that good. But I’m still brainstorming as I get interrupted by Aida. I still don’t understand how she got to be a manager. Or what she does now that is managerial and different from what she was doing before. For my quarterly review she didn’t even come prepared, just came into the room with sugar-free hard candy and a calculator. She thought I was giving her a review, instead of the other way around.
Aida walks into my cubicle with a clipboard.
“What do you want now?” I say.
She never picks up any communication clues, thus cannot see I don’t have time for her foolishness. They must not have had subtext in the 1920s. “Our springtime office party is a potluck. I need to know what you’re bringing in,” she says.
I turn back around to my computer, away from her. “Napkins. Put me down for napkins.”
“Sorry”—she looks down at her clipboard—“you can’t do that again, Frank has taken napkins.”
I turn back around to her, even more upset. “But I always bring napkins. That’s my thing. My trademark.”
“Yes, we know. But he’s already on here.”
I get up and look at Frank. He notices me and smiles.
“And you always bring cheap ones too,” she says. “We’ve gotten complaints.”
“How do you know they’re cheap?”
“They have ‘McDonald’s’ printed on them.”
“But they work, right? That’s the point of a napkin, to work.”
My napkin debate with a geriatric is halted by a commotion. Aida would’ve heard it too, if it were 1974. I get up to see what’s going on. Two rows over, Hunter and Monta are standing up arguing. Monta is using excessive hand motions. All the employees are gathered around, looking to see what they’re arguing about. I get closer to hear. Monta’s wearing a neon-green sleeveless net shirt that is pretty transparent. You can see pretty much everything from the taco meat on his chest to his shiny nipple piercings. Really, it’s not much of a shirt at all. He’s also wearing jeans with rips in them, rolled up to his knees like he’s going to a trendy nightclub on a fly-fishing-themed night. I have a hunch, but I think this ensemble is the root of their disagreement.
“Why? Why? Why?” Monta shouts.
“Because I’m your boss, and I said so. You can’t wear that outfit in the office. I make the rules,” Hunter says.
“Don’t give me that. I know why you’re against my outfit. It’s because I suck cock,” Monta says.
Now, Hunter turns red in the face. He didn’t anticipate this conversation getting this far out of control, and the entire office is looking on. “That’s preposterous. I don’t know or care to know what you do in your social life.”
“You know what I do. And you’re holding it against me. A tight-ass redneck like you. It has to boil your blood that you have a bend-over boy working for you. A pole smoker. Or maybe it gets you going. You wonder what it’s like when I toot the skin flute, don’t you?” Monta inches closer to Hunter, making him more uncomfortable.
“Please back up, young man,” Hunter says.
“There’s no problem with my outfit.”
“Well, I can see your chest hairs popping through little holes in your shirt,” Barbara says from the crowd.
“Shut up, Barbara,” Monta says. “Go masturbate to your Christian Slater calendar.”
“I am warning you,” Hunter says.
“Warning? You threatening me? You hear that, y’all? He’s threatening me.”
“I’m doing nothing of the sort,” Hunter says.
Monta points to Chloe, who’s wearing a tight short skirt and a tank top. “Now, look at what she has on.”
“That’s tasteful,” Hunter says.
“Tasteful? You mean, you wanna taste her pussy. Her titties bouncing all around. Why don’t you tell her to put on a bra? And her skirt, if it rides up half an inch more I’ll see her vajayjay,” Monta says.
“We’re not talking about her clothing. We’re talking about yours. And those are the rules. I’m not going to debate them with you, and that’s that.”
“So I can wear the outfit she has on?” Monta says.
Now, Hunter is in a bind. “Sure, if it’s tasteful,” he says. He doesn’t mean it.
“Almost have my vajayjay on display?” Monta says.
“You don’t have a vajayjay.” I bet he never thought he’d say those words. “Or do you? Never mind, I don’t want to know. But her outfit is appropriate,” Hunter says. He has no idea how far Monta will go. They are now chest-to-chest in a showdown of wills, and Hunter is sweating profusely.
“See, you like me rubbing my nipples against your shirt. You’re happy I have this shirt on. Probably wondering how I get my chest so supple,” Monta says. “Baby oil.”
“You disgust me,” Hunter says.
“Okay, see. There we have it. Everyone has heard your bigotry now.” Monta unzips his inappropriate jeans and pulls his scrotum out. Now, he’s parading around the office with his ball sac dangling out of his pants. “Hey, everyone, look at me. This is acceptable at STD, because Hunter says so.” He’s skipping around now and really enjoying himself.
“You’re fired. Get out of the office immediately.”
“Remove me yourself, so you can come and touch my balls,” Monta says as he releases three violent pelvic thrusts in Hunter’s direction.
“Security,” Hunter says. Now, the security guards corner Monta. They wrestle him down to the ground and remove him from the office.
I’ve never seen anything like this before. A few people have been recording the whole fiasco on their cellphones. Part of me is glad I’ve seen this, just for the sake of retelling the story. But Monta was my good friend. One of the few people I did talk to. Of course, he’d fly off the handle once in a while, but he’s a good guy.
Hunter follows the security guard as they remove Monta from the building. He then comes back and notices Monta left his computer on. I’m already back to my seat, but I wonder what he’s doing.
“He’s probably going through his computer and e-mails,” Jake says. “That sneaky little fucker.”
“Why? Why would he do that?” I say.
“I don’t know. That’s the sort of thing sneaky little fuckers do. Maybe he’s trying to find more evidence for letting Monta go. And he has to know nobody likes him. Trying to find proof of who doesn’t like him.”
I immediately think about the long ass-e-mail chains Monta and I would have, talking about how shitty this job is and talking about everyone in this place. We even had one as recent as yesterday, talking about Hunter.
“Me and Monta have e-mails.” Jake shakes his head. “He probably deleted them, though, right?”
“Yeah, of course he did. Or . . . he’s reading those right now.”
I’m frozen with fear. I think I’m going to be sick.
Hunter sits over there for a while, maybe five minutes or so. He taps a lot of keys. Then gets up. I think he’s pretty much done. He unplugs Monta’s computer and takes it with him into his office.
The next two days go as normal. I backed off my master plan against Chloe for a little bit. By no means was I giving up, but this is more of a regrouping, if anything. I knew I had to change my strategy. The harder I gunned for Chloe, the more Hunter favored he
r. Maybe he likes underdogs or favors fuckups. I could show him a really good fuckup if that’s what he wants. I also wanted to lay low fresh off Monta’s getting hauled outta here like a Vietnam War protestor. I’ll be damned if some shit backfires and that happens to me. I was also beginning to think Hunter hated me. He hasn’t come out and outright said it yet—well, at least not to my face. Just some mumbles here and there that I can’t make out. Rumor has it, in light of the entire dress-code debacle, Hunter is about to enforce a strict dress code. I decided to get out in front of the curve and started to wear bow ties to work. I was going to get the bolo tie like Hunter wears, but I didn’t want to make it too obvious. But my bow tie does make me look professional and takes things up a notch in terms of being dapper. I stand out. Even if it’s because I look like a “bean-pie enthusiast,” according to Jake. Still, Hunter hasn’t really paid me any mind.
Adding to my discomfort, I’m not feeling well today. Woke up with a headache, and it’s been throbbing ever since. I thought it’d go away by now, but it’s still kicking. I think it may be all of the stress I’m under. Working those long hours and trying to frame Chloe at the same time are taking a toll on my physical health. My mind and body need to recharge. But I can’t take a day off. I wonder how I’m gonna react when I become a manager. My responsibilities will be three times as much. But I’ll have the role already, and that’s when my true talent of delegation will take over. I’ll dole out work to my underlings like it ain’t shit. And they’ll love me for it, ’cuz I’ll tell them some funny jokes or buy them gifts from the dollar store. Might even take them to lunch. A fast-food lunch and give them spending limits. Underlings don’t know what being treated well is like, because they’re always treated like shit. So when they get something, anything, it’s a bonus. I know this firsthand, since I’ve been an underling all of my life.
This headache needs to vanish, and luckily Dolores always has medicine for any ailment. It’s a benefit of working around someone who’s in that stage of their life. Someone sprained their ankle during the last fire drill, and she had a splint. I have no idea why, but I try not to rationalize the mindset of my co-workers.
I stand up and lean over the cubicle wall. “Hey, I have a headache.”
“Maybe your bow tie is too tight, Mr. Redenbacher,” she says.
“Do you have any Advil or Tylenol? Maybe something for migraines.”
She looks at me, spooked. “Who, me? No. Why would I have that?” She starts looking around.
“Because you always do. Come on. Stop playing games, I’m serious.”
“Are you trying to get me fired?” she says.
I’m truly baffled by her response. “What are you talking about?”
Eddie overhears us, as he does all the time. He’s really fucking nosey, and decides to chime in: “All medications are illegal in the office unless you have a doctor’s note. Even over-the-counter meds. You need notes for them too. It’s all about Hunter’s Clean Living initiative. Do you read any of your memos?”
“You can’t be serious,” I say.
Eddie grabs a red piece of paper he has thumbtacked to his cubicle wall and hands it to me. I begin to read. I guess that dress-code thing did come true, and it wasn’t only a rumor.
“This is some bullshit,” I say. “These rules are getting out of hand. He’s treating us like we’re children. I held my tongue last week when they told us each row can have only one person in the bathroom at a time because lav passes are now mandatory.”
“Well, that was mainly because of your incident,” Dolores says.
“That water fight was over three years ago.”
“People got injured, though,” Eddie says.
“You didn’t even work here.”
“But I heard about it, sounded gruesome,” he says, with his face that has gone from naive in the first few months to a smug know-it-all now.
“Then, they began confiscating our cellphones every morning and not returning them until we leave at the end of the day,” I say. “You know how demoralizing it is for a grown man to have to put his cellphone in a locked plastic bin for the day? And we only have a community phone for employees who aren’t customer service to use in the office? What about work-related calls?”
“We have to wait our turn,” Dolores says. She’s already submitted to the overpowering fascism of Hunter. You can see it in her defeated eyes.
“Makes sense to me,” Eddie says. And he doesn’t know any better.
“If it really does, then you’re a fucking idiot. And he took the Internet away. How can we function when all non-work-related websites are blocked?”
“They didn’t have the Internet in the seventies, and they did fine,” he says. “Now, we can completely focus on our work. I think it’s best for everyone here. Limited distractions lead to increased productivity.”
“You sound exactly like him,” I say. “Did you take that right from the memo?” I pick up the red piece of paper and spot the same words, verbatim. “See, it’s right here.”
Eddie and Dolores both look at me like I’m a madman.
“He took away my free lunch.”
“That was a perk,” Eddie says.
“I earned that. Now, I’m a grown-ass man with a lunchbox.”
Eddie has nothing to say.
“Floyd is gone. Nobody has anything to say about him. Just rumors of him in Venezuela or Budapest. Something ain’t right. You know I think Hunter had him killed, right? And you know those phone calls on the community phone are tapped, right? Before he fired Monta, he made him change his ‘It’s Raining Men’ screen saver. Well, I’m glad he did that, but Monta should have the freedom to have half-naked men shooting across his computer screen when it’s idle. And I’m positive they were tracing our Internet use and e-mails before they blocked everything. Now, I’m cut off from the world for nine hours a day—”
“Pardon. Pardon,” Aida says as she stands right at my cube with her clipboard. “We are collecting money for a gift card for Jessica. It’s her last day.”
“Who the fuck is Jessica?” I say.
Aida points to a young girl. I thought she was someone’s daughter here for take-your-kid-to-work day. “She’s got a new job,” Aida says.
How did she get a new job? She couldn’t have been here more than a few months. Everyone except me uses this place as a stepping stone to better things. All my stepping stones sink.
“I don’t give money towards gifts. I’m on a fixed income,” I say.
“I hope you never need a gift for anything,” Aida says.
“I’ll tell you what, when I go apeshit because one too many people asked me to donate money to a gift for someone I don’t know or care about, you can organize the donations and get everyone to contribute to my bail.”
A shocked Aida walks away. She had to know I wasn’t going to give her money. I never do. I can’t pay my bills. I have student-loan people stalking me. And I’m gonna give five dollars for a gift card for some chick who’s leaving for greener pastures? Yeah, right.
I turn my attention back to Eddie and Dolores. “This shit right here is unlawful. We are free people who can’t be treated like this,” I continue as I hold up the memo.
“Is there a problem?” Hunter says as he appears right behind me. Eddie could’ve given me the heads-up that he was there during my rant . . . a wink or something? I wonder what Hunter heard.
“No, not at all. Going over some of the finer points of the great policies you’ve put into effect recently. Making sure my mentee is abreast of the situation,” I say.
“I’m glad you’re finally getting onboard. Would hate to have to throw you off the boat,” Hunter says.
“Finally? I’ve been onboard since the beginning. Of course, I didn’t agree with the testing at first, because I didn’t see it coming. But since then, I’ve been like the pied piper of STD. No need to throw me off the boat. I can’t swim.”
Hunter looks me up and down. I think I might’ve
laid it on too thickly. “Well . . . either way, I’m glad. I came over here to grab you. Would you mind stepping into my office for a moment?”
“Me? Why?”
“I want to talk to you about something extremely important, and do it privately. No need to be nervous,” he says.
Oh shit. This is it for me. Nobody says “no need to be nervous” unless there’s something to be nervous about. And he came in like it was a mob hit, quiet and stealthy. An unexpected job. I find myself continually giving it up to him as I follow him back to his office. I also have thoughts of running out of the office. I would save myself the humiliation and take with me the satisfaction of firing me, but my legs aren’t moving in that direction. They keep following. I’m being led to my execution. I won’t go as far as saying I’m in a concentration camp, but it’s something along those lines. But I will say Hunter does have many personality traits of a Nazi.
He opens up the door to his office, and I walk in. Then, there’s a knock on the door. “Come in,” Hunter says.
It’s Chloe. “You needed me, sir?” she says.
Great. It’s a tandem job. My arch-nemesis and my boss offing me like a fucking soap opera. The only ones missing from this party are Alexis, Robbie, and my mom and dad. Then, we’d have the ultimate fuck-you double cross going on.
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