It’s 615 a.m… #2
“This is June. St. Dominic’s Fair is in July through August,” he replies as if we were really talking about a fucking fair.
“Besides…” He shows the cuff of his shirt and glances at his watch (another one from his antique collection) “It is 7:10, and you start work at 8:00 a.m. It’s a five-hour drive to Gdańsk.
You will not make it back to the office in time,” he adds quite seriously.
I’m completely dumbfounded. And that’s because I don’t know if the prick is mocking me or if there is something wrong with his head. What is he playing with me? I’m already tired of him.
“Mr. Engler.” I look him straight in the eye.
“Just so we’re clear. On Saturday, I drank a little and overdid it.
You had the right to be upset with me and fire me.
That phone call from my friend was an unsavory joke, for which I apologize.
I have no idea how you knew I was behind it, but that’s not relevant anymore.
As for my photo, on the other hand…” I’m breathing a sigh as my throat closes and I’m almost choking.
“Well, I sent it by accident, and I’m embarrassed.
I am, really. I purposely came to the office earlier today so as not to see you and save myself the humiliation.
I took my things, as you requested, and put my notice on your desk.
You got what you wanted, so please refrain from unnecessary comments that would further ridicule me.
I already feel bad enough anyway. I want to go home, sleep off the sleepless night and start looking for a new job.
Is there anything else I should do before I leave the company for good?
” I don’t take my eyes off him. I am confident, I am brave, I am prepared for the worst.
“I was not going to fire you,” Jan says, and I’m stumped.
Say what? My mouth gapes.
“I’m listening.” My voice is so hushed that I can barely hear it myself.
“I was not going to fire you,” he repeats in that poised tone of his.
“But… What do you mean?” I stare at him confused.
I try to read derision from the expression on his face, anything that would contradict his words.
But Engler is as serious as a judge handing down a sentence in a criminal court case.
However, it seems that I was not convicted.
I don’t understand anything. “But you said on the phone that I was to be at the company at seven o’clock today and bring a box for my things. ”
“That is what I said,” he replies with stoic calm.
God, he is driving me nuts. Why is it so hard for me to get along with him?
“If you didn’t want to let me go, why should I come early? And with a box, on top of that?”
“I promised you that I would take care of the air conditioning issue. The technicians do not see a problem with the device, so I have decided that you will change your place of work to a more convenient one. There is a free desk next to my office, you should be more comfortable there.”
My legs are buckling under me. I don’t believe it. Damn, I fucked it all up. For a mathematical genius, I have far too many significant defects in logical reasoning. I was sure Engler was going to fire me, meanwhile he wanted to move me to a ‘more convenient place’.
Suddenly, everything becomes clear. The box was intended to be for my stuff, which I would move to a new desk. And I was supposed to arrive at seven to start work at eight o’clock. But I’m a moron of all morons.
I need a smoke. But first I sit down because I’m about to fall over.
I put the box down, walk over to the chair, sink down hard on it and hide my face in my hands.
I feel stupid, very stupid. I hear Jan walk over to the desk and turn on the computer.
The room is silent, filled only with the hum of the laptop’s fan.
“I’m sorry,” I say in a choked voice. “I misunderstood you. I just…” I raise my eyes.
Engler is typing something on the keyboard.
“We are communicating on totally different wavelengths. I’ve been working here for a few months now, and there is still something jarring between us.
I don’t know what’s causing it…” I take a deep breath.
“A full-time position in the development department will be available in two months. I’ve already spoken to the manager, and she is willing to take me under her wing. ”
“You will not change departments.” Jan does not raise his eyes from above the computer.
“Why? They have a vacancy, and I feel that I’m not suitable to work in your department.”
“And why are you unsuitable?” Again, no eye contact.
“I’m not feeling the numbers, although I’m good at counting. Besides… Hmm, how should I put it? I get the impression that you are anything but fond of me.”
Gray-blue eyes hover from above the monitor, looking at me icily until I get cold for real.
“You got the wrong impression. Please stop analyzing, just unpack your things on your new desk and start working.” His gaze returns to the computer.
“So…? What is your decision?” I don’t know why I’m asking, when I can guess what his answer will be.
“You will stay in my department. I have just sent an e-mail to your inbox with a client statement. The deadline is 5 p.m.”
And so much for my brilliant idea of moving to another department. Jan is a nincompoop. But at least I have a job and a new workstation where I won’t be alternately sweating and freezing on the same day. Somehow I will survive. It is good. One can even say it’s very good.
God, what a relief that I won’t be unemployed.
I just have to put up with Jan somehow, these moods of his, his changing attitude, his grumpiness, his anti-socialness and his high demands.
But only until February (that’s according to my calculations).
Only eight more months of corporate office work and I’m starting my own company: ‘Maria Gabara—Furniture Restoration’.