They reached the bar in a few short minutes and found a couple of open tables toward the back of the room. They all ordered a round of drinks ranging from beers to scotch to wine. Jason and Helen both ordered red wine – Jason because he was no longer on the track of drinking too much and enjoyed red wine, while Helen just plainly enjoyed red wine. She had most likely never lost control in her life and with her stylish, casual beauty was becoming more attractive to Jason with every passing minute.
They spent a few hours in the bar, and as the early evening was beginning to pass them by realized that most of their working crowd had dispersed. It was now just the two of them. They couldn’t remember anyone having left. They had been engaged so deeply in their conversation that they somehow had become engrossed in each other not keeping track of their surroundings.
They both laughed at the same time, as they realized what had happened and agreed to take a walk in the hopes of finding a bite to eat before heading home. They spent a couple more hours at a little Italian restaurant two blocks from the bar; and after finishing dinner, they walked back to Jason’s car. Helen normally took the bus to work, so Jason agreed to give her a ride back to her apartment on the north-west side of the city.
It was close to Golden Gate Park and the winding hilly drive took about 20 minutes. Helen invited Jason in, but he declined while emphatically stating he had a great time and would love to do this again. He didn’t feel comfortable, yet, having just recently ended his marriage. He hoped that she would understand. He did walk her to her door, and as she turned from getting her keys out of her purse, gently cupped her head kissing her lightly on the lips.
He had not expected to do this and felt his cheeks getting bright red as she lightly held his shoulder pausing as she looked into his eyes. She said what a wonderful time she had. She was looking forward to doing this again so he better not renege on his promise. She was going to hold him to it, so he better start making plans as soon as he left for home. He paused as she walked inside, closing the door behind her. He stood for a minute just staring at the oversized mahogany wood door that was almost archaic in its original form after years and years of use.
He finally left. During the drive to his apartment he mused over his unexpected outing and smiled for the first time in a long while. Jason was always a decent guy and had a good life, but he had not felt a genuine deep true smile in so long. He had forgotten what it made you feel like. He had a rumbling in his stomach and was giddy like a teenager, as he put himself on autopilot for the drive. Hopefully, this would be a routine he would be making many times in the future.
Lose Job
I sat in my favorite reclining leather chair in my small living room in the little two-bedroom house, wondering how the saying “it always happens to me” came about. We always tell teenagers they act like the world revolves around them. If we are honest with ourselves, the world revolves around each of us. Do we have any concept of what goes on when we are not here or there or wherever we happen to be? Everything we do revolves around us. We are all the center of our own story, as there would be no story if we were not here. We would not know it.
I looked at the flat-panel TV hanging above my painted white brick fireplace and tried to understand why anyone ever paints brick. Was it a fad at one time? Somebody suddenly said, “Let’s take some white paint and cover everything we possibly can?” Didn’t they even start to make paint for bricks? Why use brick if you are just going to cover it up? The TV was the symbol of my frivolous behavior. I had only bought it about 10 months ago; and although it was one of the cheaper, more affordable models, it was beyond my ability to afford at the time of purchase. Americans and their credit cards, right? I did not understand the concept of living within my means.
As I leaned back, staring at my belongings, I recalled on my day. It had only been less than a week ago that I celebrated my divorce, reveling in the release that I had sought for so long. I admired the fact that not only had my wife lost her job, but she had lost her marriage, as well, and the balance in society was finally becoming real. I know I shouldn’t be happy in her misery, but in the bitter battle of divorce, it is sometimes the only consolation prize you receive. Her losing her job also affected me, as well, since the kids kept us intertwined financially and emotionally through their upbringing.
The attorneys are really the ones who get all your money in a divorce. In today’s economic times there is not that much money to go around. We lost our home, as she was required to sell it. I was in jeopardy of losing the house in Twain Harte, but knew that somehow I could not allow that to happen with my special room so deeply embedded in my happiness. The kids were torn apart, and our friends were divided up, if even unequally.
The one thing that I could relish in was my wife falling so far so hard. I, at least, was still perched a few notches above her on the descent into the catechism of darkness. That is what made it so difficult when earlier today I had received the summons. Don’t you hate the summons? Your boss comes in and states that he needs to talk to you, and you say, “Sure, not a problem.” You walk with him as he passes his office, and you wonder why you would not be directed there as you so often have discussions in his or your office.
Why would he be going down the hallway? You follow blindly, assuming maybe you were making your way to one of the conference rooms? Oddly, there is no conversation during the long stroll, and he is not forthcoming about where you are going or what the purpose is. Just the silence as he walks slightly ahead of you so you are sure to follow him to the designated spot for the summons. Maybe there was a meeting that you had forgotten to attend, or maybe there was some office party that was quickly being thrown together for somebody’s birthday or a baby shower or anniversary that you had somehow overlooked.
Then, as you make your way further you see the human resources representative sitting in one of the smaller meeting rooms, and your boss enters, pausing for a minute, as you walk by, then, shuts the door behind you. You wonder if you did something wrong and start quickly reflecting over the past few weeks, trying to figure out if you said something inappropriate or directed a wrong e-mail as you forwarded a joke.
The sun was shining in through the westward facing window, reflecting off the tan table. I sat down in one of the four chairs, thinking that we only had three people in the room, and we didn’t have use of the extra metal chair with the seat that was wrapped in brown fabric. I saw the sheen of the light, as it jumped off the folder that was sitting on the table in front of the HR representative. With that final clue, I knew that, for whatever reason, my time as the Director of Finance was coming to a close quicker than I had anticipated.
My boss went into his rehearsed speech about how times are bad, and with the economy everyone is cutting back, blah, blah, blah. I lost track of what he was saying, as my mind wandered to bills and no savings account and the lost chances that I had squandered over the span of my 42 years. I had never liked my jobs and hated accounting, but it was a good-paying occupation. Where else can you make a large salary and sit in front of a computer, simply adding up numbers, subtracting them, and, then adding them up in a different way.
My self-esteem seemed to be getting sucked through the vent that was on the floor behind our HR person who was now rattling on about extra weeks and how with my almost five years on the job, I was eligible for blah, blah, blah. It was really hard to focus on the contents of what she or my supervisor was saying. My mind was flying in so many different directions at once; it was difficult keeping up.
How many times had I invited this same HR person for drinks, asked my boss out so he would feel included in the crowd, and organized events for our team? Companies are callous and unfeeling. In the end, it is all about the bottom line. There are some that are more compassionate than others, and none of this was personal. It was my time to go. I was the next expendable rung on the ladder of profitability and just a fixture that needed to now be discarded. It wasn’t that they didn’t need my services
, they just could no longer afford them.
When times were good, I had negotiated a substantial increase in salary. The extra money I had made over the last couple of years was a driving factor in my current demise. I was now priced out of the market place. Some of this is just an excuse. They didn’t ask me if I were willing to take a pay cut, or if I would renegotiate my current status. It was black and white with companies. You were either expendable or you were not expendable. I, unfortunately, had been labeled in the previous category.
I wondered what I would now do with my family in its current status – my ex-wife without a job, me without a job, and no savings to speak of between us. What little we had in our 401k’s had shriveled up like a dried prune left out in the blazing desert heat for several days. The economy had taken away my savings and now my job, as well. The first step in finding a solution to a problem, the first step in all celebrations, and the first step … well, in almost anything, was scotch.
I got up from my relaxing position of pent up anxiety and stress, grabbed a full bottle of McAllen 12, and filled a glass with ice. I ventured back to my familiar spot. I poured the soothing liquid, then, tipped it slowly back, sipping the beverage so I could savor the slightly biting warmth as it flowed through my lips, swirling around my tongue and inching its way down my throat spreading warmth the entire way. Scotch was one of the best discoveries by man. Who cares about going to the moon or cell phones or the ability to fly, scotch is the beginning and end of all aspects of life.
I flipped on the TV and navigated through to my DVR box and instinctively gravitated to my favorite movie P.S. I Love You. How many times had I watched that movie? I was not a big Hillary Swank fan, but she held her own in this romantic comedy. She was always a little too boyish for me after that one movie she did, pretending to be a boy who was a girl who thought she was a boy. In this movie, she seemed to come back to her feminine side and was perfectly cast. I admit to crying frequently when I watch this movie. It was the truth despite that fact that nobody believed me.
The opening scene alone with the perfect music and the passionate argument, followed up by the emotional embrace and obvious display of affection, was a glaring example in my belief that love is so closely entwined with hate. Two people who feel so deeply for one another can and do hurt their spouse, but they also feed their spouse with support and love. The trick in life, I guess, is to make sure that the support and love far outweigh the hurt or hope that your spouse is a person who is unnaturally patient.
I had been laid off once before in my career, and that was after I had moved to Chicago. I had a job at a trade show exhibit manufacturer that was privately owned and operated. I was living in an apartment with my future wife and had watched for two years as the company sank into oblivion. The owner was an elderly man in his late 80’s who was at the tail end of his life and had trouble walking to and from the car. His ability to run a company had long ago demised.
About 10 years prior, he had married a trade show hostess from Las Vegas, and she was now running the company with the official title of president. I am not sure that I have to continue the story as you can pretty much guess the outcome from here. She was your typical blonde hostess, and it was not that she was dumb; but let’s just say, she wasn’t bright either. She had managed to take the company that he had started from nothing and run it into the ground, mounting up huge sums of debt in the process.
Sadly, she had also used his personal funds and his home as collateral for business loans, so he not only lost his business, but he also lost his home and all his belongings. I would imagine he left the world pretty much the way he came – with very little to show for his endeavors. She, on the other hand, was still in her early 40’s at the time of the bankruptcy, so she most likely went after another old man whom she could entice to take care of her as she entered middle age. I don’t know the specifics of their outcomes, but I still remember how sad it was to watch the company collapse. One week after I had been let go, they closed the doors on the business for good.
I had been the last of 12 in the accounting department to be let go and had seen the writing on the wall for a long time. I had been searching for a job, but had just not found anything that was a good fit. I had prepped my ex-wife (girlfriend at the time), as well, so she understood the situation. She had actively helped me with my resume and in the job-hunting process.
This is why her reaction when I told her should have been my final red flag that sent me scurrying to safety, fleeing from her tyrannical grasp.
When I informed her that I had been laid off, she was angry at first, blaming me and asking me what I had done wrong. I tried to explain to her again the company situation, telling her that we had talked about this, knew it was coming, and it should not have been a surprise. She would not accept this, and I now realize that her reaction to being scared or unsure of her future or unsettled in any way was to react with anger. That anger, I would grow to learn, was very often directed at me. When you say for better or worse in the marriage vows, you are assuming the better times will outweigh the worse times, but that is not always the case. Never assume anything.
I realized I would not be able to get a job making near the money that I had been making; and since I was unable to keep up with my bills, for the first time in my life I had no idea how in the world I was going to move forward. Without winning the lottery I was screwed. Maybe this was my punishment for my recent sins. Most people would argue that losing your job does not equate to murdering several people, but it was devastating to me.
I decided tonight I would do nothing. I would drink my bottle of scotch, watch my movie several times, and once sufficiently inebriated would pass out either on the chair or stumble my way to bed. With my stocked-up vacation and my severance package, I was good for five to six months, so I was not destitute yet. I didn’t want to plan my self-inflicted death until I had exhausted all hope of finding my way back. I still had the kids to think about. The absolute worst-case scenario still had me better off than a lot of the people in today’s environment.
Killing Really Can Be Therapeutic
Waking up with a hangover is something that I will never get used to, no matter how experienced I am. The pounding beat of your skull like somebody is taking a hammer and playing Taps on your head from every side can be excruciatingly painful. I had fallen asleep in the chair, and it was now early in the morning, but still very dark outside. My guess was in the 4 a.m. range, as I stumbled into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water, and sucked half of it down on the first swig.
I managed to make it to the bathroom and dropped a couple of Advil down my throat as I swigged the rest of the water. I drained the bottle entirely. In a way, it was always better falling asleep in a chair or on a couch. You tend to wake up so very early, which enables you to drink water, take aspirin, and then head off to bed for more sleep. The only issue with alcohol, really, is the dehydration effect. It makes your body feel like you have been stranded in the blazing sun for several days, having forgotten your backpack of supplies.
I woke again at 7 a.m. the second time and, as hoped, felt much better. I still wasn’t operating on all cylinders, but I was definitely clawing my way out of the sand pit. I took a shower and grabbed another bottle of water, downing this one as I let the sprinkle from the showerhead flow down my face to my body which seemed to soak it up like a sponge. I stayed in the shower for close to 30 minutes and, admittedly, was feeling okay by the time the pain relievers began to work.
After watching a movie and spending the morning relaxing, my next step was to get dressed and drive to the city. I would hit a local bar and start the process over again without restraining myself to the confines of my living room. As helpful as the alcohol was, my hidden desire was hoping that luck would pass my way. I hoped to stumble into an opportunity to quench my other thirst, as the only thing more enticing than a drink was the fresh flow of blood from a new victim.
There is nothing like killing somebody
to renew your hope in life. Ironic, isn’t it? My hope and energy comes from watching somebody else lose their life. I am like a vampire in a way. I don’t have to actually suck the blood dry from the bodies of my victims, but somehow their death gives me the energy to focus and continue forward down my path. I would not be that picky tonight. I headed to a seedy part of town, close to the strip clubs, in the hopes of finding something that would appease my thirsting lust.
There is something to be said for hitting a bar and heading to the strip clubs in the latter part of the afternoon. Most do not even open until after 4 p.m., so you can’t spend the day, watching breasts flop around on an oily stage. You are regulated to the evening and night for this type of activity. It was still a little early, so I stopped in at a pub, ordered a beer and settled into camp, waiting for the real activities to begin later.
Local bars are so much more enticing than clubs and trendy establishments that encompass the younger generation of San Francisco. Everything has its place, and the overpriced, posh settings that attracted the hip crowds were appealing to a large portion of the population. For losers like me, the bar down the street with the torn seat cushions and an overweight bar-mate is like home--sit me down on a stool that hasn’t moved in 50 years where I can lean my arms on the sticky used bar top. Suddenly, I feel like this is where I grew up.
I sat at one end, admiring the square-box tube TV hanging on a platform at one corner perched above the bottles. I gazed on it as one would an antique. It was fast becoming extinct, with even the plasma TV now going by the wayside as the flat panel was taking control of the market. An East Coast NBA basketball game blared on the set with the Celtics up by a large margin. I was not a big basketball fan, but would watch a game if it were on. Football was my preferred choice of spectator sport, but I also enjoyed a good game of baseball.
Duncan's Diary Page 29