I HATE MY BOSS! #6
He’s thinking? Gosh, was I that wrong about his sexual orientation? If so, my gaydar is indeed totally off. But apparently, it’s not just mine, since half the female staff at the company drool at the sight of Jan. Meanwhile, he prefers dicks to chicks. Holy shit.
“And what are you thinking?” insists Artur, and I prick my ears, waiting for an answer.
A familiar murmur echoes through the earpiece, followed by words spoken in a slow and balanced tone, “I think you should tell Maria to show up at work on Monday at seven in the morning. With a box for her things. Good night.”
The connection dropped.
I sit paralyzed. I feel as if someone slapped me in the face with a wet rag.
Well, you really fucked up this time. Bravo, Maria, you craved puppyish foolishness and you got it. Now you’ll get sacked for sure.
*
It’s not awesome, but it’s not tragic, either.
And that’s thanks to Artur and Nina, who set their sights on making me feel better for the rest of the evening and dragged me to the club to dance.
After Toska went home (first taking a nap sitting down at a hundred and twenty decibels), the party got into full swing.
“Fuck the corporation. I’ve been saying all along that it’s not for you.
” Artur tops off my juice with the cold vodka he just bought at the bar.
“It was already clear from the job advert itself that they are pricks. It sounded like, ‘We are a super awesome corporation, we are looking for a thirty-year old na?ve woman with forty years of experience, who likes to dine at the computer, work thirteen hours a day, and read two hundred e-mails a day as a hobby.’ You’ll find another job, Maria. ”
“I know I’ll find one, but not as well paid.” I take a sip. “Although, honestly, I think I’d rather dig ditches than be an ass-kisser for my superiors’ corporate asses.”
“I would argue with your reasoning. I could do that kind of work for your boss. Of course, if I were unemployed.” Artur winks at me.
I burst out laughing. Dirty mouth.
“Maria, don’t be afraid. Every cloud has a silver lining,” says a tipsy Nina. “You wanted to change departments anyway, so you can change your job too. The head physician is preparing raises. I’ll lend you money to start up the workshop.”
“You know I don’t like to borrow money. Toska already offered it to me. Her Rados?aw is making a fortune in real estate development.”
“I know, but it’s just a backup plan . I’m sure you’ll quickly find some cool job in finance. After all, you are a mathematical genius, a diva of numbers.”
I snort. “These days, even the most outstanding algebraic mind is reduced to one thing: Excel sheets. If you want to use a title talking to me, call me Excel-lency. And let’s stop discussing work, okay?”
“Great. I’ll just have a drink, and we can go dance.” Nina takes a sip of her purple drink, and I twist my mouth in disgust.
“Is something wrong?” My friend glances at me from above a fancy-looking glass.
“What are you actually drinking? It looks like methylated alcohol.”
“This, my dear, is a Fabulous Dream . Silver tequila, Blue Curacao liqueur, Monin Grenadine syrup, plus lemon and orange juice. Yummy. Would you like to try it?” She pushes the drink toward me.
I look doubtfully at the purple liquid, which I associate with a glass bottle and a dark blue label with a skeleton and the word ‘poison’!
I remember my father once invited his old buddy from his previous job to join us.
He told us that during the communist era, due to lack of money for vodka, he would add methylated alcohol and honey to brewed tea, let it stand for twenty-four hours, then add powdered orangeade and he had ready-made alcohol.
The guy is still alive today, in great shape, and what’s more—he has a thriving business of his own and a lot of cash in hand.
“OK, let me try.” I pick up the goblet, take a sip and feel the pleasantly sweet and sour taste of tequila and orange on my tongue. “Hah, it’s actually good.” I wet my lips again.
Nina grins broadly. Her eyes are glazed, and her face and neckline are flushed red. I know this look: she will suffer tomorrow.
“It’s yours. To improve the mood.” She gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Drink up and let’s go dance, and then we’ll order another one each.”
Of course, it doesn’t end with one drink, and contrary to what its name might indicate, I don’t feel sleepy after it at all.
Quite the opposite. I’m bursting with energy.
I’m about to fly off into space. And it’s awesome because I’ve never been there before.
I bounce and strut on the dance floor with Nina and Artur until they each tango with a newly met guy, and a stranger joins me.
He dances right behind me, so close that I can feel the heat radiating from him.
He smells sexy, which makes a pleasant tingling sensation spread through my body.
Finally, he puts his hand on my waist and whispers in a sensual voice in my ear, “Wanna get out of here?” I’m overwhelmed by an ovulatory urge.
My nipples momentarily stand at attention. My pulse accelerates.
All in all… I want it even though I know that if I cheated on Karol today, tomorrow I would be consumed by remorse. I don’t act like that.
I turn to face the man. I glide my eyes over his muscular figure, encounter full lips that could do me real good, and feel a twitch between my thighs. Damn, I feel sorry to get rid of him. Just today I could use such a noncommittal “hi and bye”. But I have my rules—I don’t cheat.
“Thanks, maybe some other time.” I wink at him and painfully give up an intoxicating night with a stranger. Which doesn’t change the fact that I’ve acquired such a desire for sex that I can feel the heat in my lower belly. And I intend to deal with it quickly.
Karol, I hope you’re awake.
I rush across the dance floor toward the bathroom.
I’m excited, I’m horny. I lock myself in the stall, pull up my T-shirt, unhook my bra, take out my phone and snap a topless selfie.
My titties look ampler than ever. And in high school I was as flat as a board.
Only a moron would refuse a quickie after getting such a nudie. I quickly send a message,
I’m buzzed up and horny. R U asleep or dreaming of titty fucking?
I send a text message and grin at the phone like a fool, waiting for a reply. My image is a bit blurry, but I still can see what’s on the screen, and once again I read the second part of my message.
I’m getting impatient. Well, what’s taking you so long? I guess you’re not sleeping, my boy? I click on the sent message to once again glance admiringly at my protruding titties, which are just asking to be fondled as soon as possible…
And I freeze.
I squint my eyes to get a better focus and read the letters.
Oh my gosh. What the hell did I do?! I slide down onto the toilet and stare with a pounding heart at the screen. No, that’s impossible.
Last message sent to: Jan the Stiff .
And my boobs just below it.
Shit. Fuck. Fuck!!!
My heart is pounding like crazy; I’m sweating, my mouth is dry.
UNDO SENDING!
I hold down the message balloon with my thumb. The menu expands… Where is the ‘undo’ option here!
Delete. Copy text. Forward. Share … There is no ‘undo’ or ‘delete for recipient’ or ‘return the message and burn it’!
God Almighty!!!
I’m getting weak, my heart rate is going crazy. Think, Maria, think, because this is the fuckup of the century.
I’m staring at a photo of my bare breasts with erect nipples that are screaming, “Suck us, bite us!” I follow the text with an explicit sexual proposal, and I’m one step away from sticking my head in the toilet and drowning myself in it.
Dear Jesus, I could send such a message to anyone (and in my current state of alcoholic intoxication I wouldn’t particularly care), but not to him.
Not to fucking Jan Engler! After all, he will immediately think that I want to jump into his bed to keep my job.
What an embarrassment! What a disgrace! What a nightmare! !!
I need to fix this as soon as possible. Maybe he hasn’t read the message yet? It’s after one o’clock, maybe he’s asleep.
In a drunken daze, I consider taking a ride-share to Szczyrk, sneaking into my boss’s room and deleting the embarrassing message.
The problem is that I have no idea where he’s staying.
If I knew which hotel he was staying at, I could offer the receptionist a bribe to lend me a spare key card for the door.
I wonder how much that would cost? Never mind.
I’ll give it all back! A kidney, a lung, bone marrow.
Mmm, I don’t think I can donate my lung while I’m still breathing.
Bummer. I’ll donate part of my liver. I have a functional liver like few others; the situation is much worse with my stomach.
In a fit of panic, I go on booking.com and start searching for hotels in Szczyrk that have more than four stars. I’m sure Jan wouldn’t stay in anything with a lower standard.
Twelve properties pop up, including hotels and apartments. What if he stayed in such an apartment? If it was on the first floor, I could sneak in through the window. And I wouldn’t have to donate a kidney or bone marrow or part of my liver to anyone… Geez, where is he staying in this damn Szczyrk!
I hear a feeble voice of reason trying to break through, but I feel totally hopeless,
This is absurd… What am I even considering?
It’s been a good few minutes since the message was sent. I slip my hand into my hair, sit helpless on the toilet and stare dully at my phone.
I wonder if Engler didn’t write back because he’s actually already asleep. Or maybe he had a stroke after receiving the text message? Or is he really gay and my bare boobs are of the same interest to him as bird food to a cat.
I contemplate, I think, I agonize. I have already bitten my lower lip with such anxiety that tomorrow I’ll look like a victim of a botched Botox injection.
In the end, I decide to write: