Liar
now with 17% more class
- Joined
- Dec 4, 2003
- Posts
- 43,715
Monday afternoon, dropped by at work to pick up some papers. Being a freelancing featurist is a pretty neat gig for a guy with a laptop and a time management probem. I work whenever and wherever I have a spare hour and a chair, and I only do swift flybys to the office if the editor in cheif wants a chat, or if there are deliveries to pick up. (One of the things I do is tech gadget reviews - our readers are perhaps the most geeky demograpic in the known universe. And I speak fluent geek.)
Today was one of those days. Some new cell phone headset crap that I had to write a review of as if I actually cared. I do care about the paychecks though, so I can fake it pretty well. So into work I went, a quick hiyah to the über cute receptionist, a cup of quality coffee and a chat with some remaining office slaves (This used to be my 9 to 5 job before I quit and started freelancing), and on to the mail room to collect the loot with my name on it.
Only I didn't get that far. I ran into the worst part of my life. Or rather, a reminder of it that I had promptly blocked out for over a decade. She, the reason that I spent most of junior high trying to figure out new ways to avoid going to school, the queen bee of arbitrary mobs and president of the Beat Up The Fat Kid club. It's been some twelve years since I last saw her, and the neat business suit and toned hair did a good job at that archetype career woman look. But it was her alright, right there in our lobby, no doubt about it. The only person I've ever wished could just get trampled by a rhino stampede or something.
Primal rage took a punch and hit me in the solar plexus. For a split second, I imagined myself striding up to her and emptying my fresh ground latte into her face, or maybe take an elbow swing to her ribs. I don't hate easily. But there it was. Pure and unadulterated hatred that I'd never really worked out properly, rising up to get me, urging me to take it out on Her. She who was, if not solely so at least partially responsible for my transformation into a sociophobic, self hating rageaholic.
No, I didn't flip a switch and go postal on her. I said a split second. Because just as fast as the rage rushed over me, it was gone, and I realized that I was past all that. It had taken a while, but those years were memories that I have chosen to not define me. So I walked on, brushed past as if I didn't recognize her, and headed off to my current destination. Pleased as punch with myself for being adult enough to let bygones be bygones. And that was that.
Or so I thought. Light steps behind my back, a hand on my shoulder, a familiar voice saying my name, stopped me before I could get ten steps down the hall. I spun and looked into a pair of eyes I had tried very hard to forget. I waited for another blow of anger. It didn't arrive.
"Joe Schmoe, is that you?" she said.
"Yes. And you are...?" Playing dumb seemed like the right thing to do.
"Jane, Jane Doe. We went to school together."
"Oh yes, that's right. Jane. So what are you doing here?"
"I just had a job interview. They're looking for sales people. Do you...um...work here?"
There was something in her voice, something that I couldn't quite place, and the way she looked at me...huh, what was that all about?
"You obviously haven't read much of our magazines," I said with a laugh. "I write articles for half of them."
"I guess not," she quipped nervously back. Then hesitated for a couple of seconds. "Look, is there somewhere we can go to...um...talk?"
The café two blocks down makes the best lemon pie north of Paris so that's where we went, grabbed two green tea and slices, and sat down. I still didn't know just what was on her mind, but that was soon revealed, as she didn't even get her fork into the pie before she broke down into a flash flood of apologies, verbal self flagellation, explanations and the occasional tear. She was obviously carrying the same baggage that I did. Only moreso, and of a different kind. I had dragged around unresolved external blame. Hers was internal and proably harder to let go of.
To call me dumbfounded by the turn of events would be a gross understatement. This kind of emotional display had never been on my horizon of what could happen would I ever run into some of my old tormentors from back in them days. So I had no idea how to react. It took me five minutes to get a word up, five minutes to know what the hell to say and another fifteen to convince her that it was OK, that I was OK and that I didn't just say that to get her to stop embarrassing me in public.
When that commotion settled down, we spent the rest of the afternoon catching up. Her story was pretty much as suspected. Crappy family situation that lead to a troubled teenage (that she took out on me and others within range), ending in having a child at nineteen with an idiot junkie boyfriend. Boyfriend jumped ship and turned into deadbeat dingbat and young mother was forced to get a grip, get a job and grow up fast. Fast forward to now, a still young-ish mother trying to upgrade her paycheck to provide for a son in school, soccer team and piano lessons. No monster, no wicked whitch, she actually never really was, just another human, victim of the maze of circimstances that we call life.
Eventually, we said our goodbyes, exchanged business cards (how's that for grownup, eh?
) and promised to stay in touch. Then I dropped by the office put in a good word for her with the sales manager and went home. Where I realized that I forgot to pick up that bloody package. So now I'll have to go back to work tomorrow again. 
But kind of worth it. I didn't even know I had an ounce of that old rage in my system, but it feels ever so good to flush it out. Made some peace with my past, helped someone make peace with herself, made a friend out of an enemy and had a kickass piece of lemon pie.
All in all, one of the better days.
Today was one of those days. Some new cell phone headset crap that I had to write a review of as if I actually cared. I do care about the paychecks though, so I can fake it pretty well. So into work I went, a quick hiyah to the über cute receptionist, a cup of quality coffee and a chat with some remaining office slaves (This used to be my 9 to 5 job before I quit and started freelancing), and on to the mail room to collect the loot with my name on it.
Only I didn't get that far. I ran into the worst part of my life. Or rather, a reminder of it that I had promptly blocked out for over a decade. She, the reason that I spent most of junior high trying to figure out new ways to avoid going to school, the queen bee of arbitrary mobs and president of the Beat Up The Fat Kid club. It's been some twelve years since I last saw her, and the neat business suit and toned hair did a good job at that archetype career woman look. But it was her alright, right there in our lobby, no doubt about it. The only person I've ever wished could just get trampled by a rhino stampede or something.
Primal rage took a punch and hit me in the solar plexus. For a split second, I imagined myself striding up to her and emptying my fresh ground latte into her face, or maybe take an elbow swing to her ribs. I don't hate easily. But there it was. Pure and unadulterated hatred that I'd never really worked out properly, rising up to get me, urging me to take it out on Her. She who was, if not solely so at least partially responsible for my transformation into a sociophobic, self hating rageaholic.
No, I didn't flip a switch and go postal on her. I said a split second. Because just as fast as the rage rushed over me, it was gone, and I realized that I was past all that. It had taken a while, but those years were memories that I have chosen to not define me. So I walked on, brushed past as if I didn't recognize her, and headed off to my current destination. Pleased as punch with myself for being adult enough to let bygones be bygones. And that was that.
Or so I thought. Light steps behind my back, a hand on my shoulder, a familiar voice saying my name, stopped me before I could get ten steps down the hall. I spun and looked into a pair of eyes I had tried very hard to forget. I waited for another blow of anger. It didn't arrive.
"Joe Schmoe, is that you?" she said.
"Yes. And you are...?" Playing dumb seemed like the right thing to do.
"Jane, Jane Doe. We went to school together."
"Oh yes, that's right. Jane. So what are you doing here?"
"I just had a job interview. They're looking for sales people. Do you...um...work here?"
There was something in her voice, something that I couldn't quite place, and the way she looked at me...huh, what was that all about?
"You obviously haven't read much of our magazines," I said with a laugh. "I write articles for half of them."
"I guess not," she quipped nervously back. Then hesitated for a couple of seconds. "Look, is there somewhere we can go to...um...talk?"
The café two blocks down makes the best lemon pie north of Paris so that's where we went, grabbed two green tea and slices, and sat down. I still didn't know just what was on her mind, but that was soon revealed, as she didn't even get her fork into the pie before she broke down into a flash flood of apologies, verbal self flagellation, explanations and the occasional tear. She was obviously carrying the same baggage that I did. Only moreso, and of a different kind. I had dragged around unresolved external blame. Hers was internal and proably harder to let go of.
To call me dumbfounded by the turn of events would be a gross understatement. This kind of emotional display had never been on my horizon of what could happen would I ever run into some of my old tormentors from back in them days. So I had no idea how to react. It took me five minutes to get a word up, five minutes to know what the hell to say and another fifteen to convince her that it was OK, that I was OK and that I didn't just say that to get her to stop embarrassing me in public.
When that commotion settled down, we spent the rest of the afternoon catching up. Her story was pretty much as suspected. Crappy family situation that lead to a troubled teenage (that she took out on me and others within range), ending in having a child at nineteen with an idiot junkie boyfriend. Boyfriend jumped ship and turned into deadbeat dingbat and young mother was forced to get a grip, get a job and grow up fast. Fast forward to now, a still young-ish mother trying to upgrade her paycheck to provide for a son in school, soccer team and piano lessons. No monster, no wicked whitch, she actually never really was, just another human, victim of the maze of circimstances that we call life.
Eventually, we said our goodbyes, exchanged business cards (how's that for grownup, eh?
) and promised to stay in touch. Then I dropped by the office put in a good word for her with the sales manager and went home. Where I realized that I forgot to pick up that bloody package. So now I'll have to go back to work tomorrow again. But kind of worth it. I didn't even know I had an ounce of that old rage in my system, but it feels ever so good to flush it out. Made some peace with my past, helped someone make peace with herself, made a friend out of an enemy and had a kickass piece of lemon pie.
All in all, one of the better days.
