Page 25 of My Boss

“You can’t do that!” I raise my voice.

“I can. It’s an important banquet.”

“But my being there is not necessary. This is not an emergency situation, the property and goodwill of the company aren’t at stake. I don’t know why you are picking on me. I try as much as I can to be a good employee, I stay after hours almost every day, I bust my hump, I do everything on time, but it is still not enough.” My emotions begin to take over. I hear my voice trembling and edgy, from feeling stressed out or impotent? “You might as well take any other employee in the department with you, but no. You prefer to abuse me and to bring me down, even though I don’t deserve it. You want to screw up my weekend with some pompous banquet and talks with boring businessmen. But you know what, I won’t agree to that. I’m not going. I’m taking a leave of absence on demand, whether you like it or not. I have every right to do so. I’m not your slave, I’m a free person employed under a contract of employment, who has rights, has a life of her own and wants to enjoy it, not just sit in an office and follow the orders of a boss who treats me like nothing.” I’m already rushing forward like a speedboat that can’t stop. “I need this job. I have a life goal and a dream that I intend to come true. This may be hard to understand for someone who doesn’t see the world beyond numbers, tables and reports, but believe me, unlike you, for me to be a ‘corpo-rat’ is the last thing I want. You have no grounds to dismiss me. I perform my duties conscientiously, with diligence and always on time. I don’t intend to let myself be taken advantage of. Your visit today shows that you disregard me not only as an employee, but also as a human being. This is my opinion, and you can do what you want with it. Today. No. I’m not going. Anywhere.” I spit it out sharply and firmly. I’m breathing fast; the blood is bubbling in my veins.

Jan is facing me, looking me straight in the eye, and I can’t read any emotion from his face. However, if I had to guess what he’s thinking, I’d bet that he’s about to fire me. And what’smore, there is a vertical wrinkle on his forehead, and I’m already certain that he’s going to sack me outright—with no credentials, and therefore no chance of finding a job as well-paying as the one I currently have.

I feel increasing panic. Fuck, I think I’ve gone a little overboard with this monologue, but I’m not going to act against myself. I feel a familiar pressure in my stomach, exactly the same pressure I had as a teenager—when I lived in discord with myself under pressure from my parents. Math class in high school, competitions, studies in economics—finance and banking, an internship in a bank, constant work with numbers… Enough to slash your wrists. Not surprisingly, I got stomach ulcers.

And I definitely don’t want to go through it again. I’ve been recovering from a peptic ulcer for over a year, where I felt like I was going to digest my own body. Pain, as if someone fried the walls of my stomach with a flamethrower from the inside. And so after a stressful week at work, my stomach is groaning and begging me not to repeat the mistakes of the past and live my life my way, just as my heart tells me so.

Jan gets up slowly from his chair, sets it evenly at the table, then turns toward me and pierces me with a firm gaze.

“Maria…” His voice is cold and toned-down.

He stands confidently, commandingly, towering over me. His facial expression is so serious and his posture so dominant that you don’t need to have completed any corporate training courses in body language to guess what he’s about to do.

I’m going to get fired from my job.

Unless I don’t give him the opportunity to do so.

Without even thinking for a second, I make a backward turn and run out of the apartment, slamming the door behind me.

I run down the stairs as if I were being chased by the devil himself (which, in fact, in this case, is not so much a metaphorical statement), into the fresh air, rush as quick asI can, feel the pain in my side, go for the record—I beat the Jamaican with a score of 9.57 seconds in the 100-meter race and only when, out of breath and sweaty, I come upon the pond, does it occur to me what I have done.

I ran out of my own apartment, leaving my boss in it.

Bravo, Maria. You may be a mathematical genius (and apparently you also have the makings of a sprinter), but you’re a first-rate coward and a Godforsaken diplomat.

I try to calm my breathing. I correct my bra and panties, which cut painfully into my ass, then fall to the grass.

I have such chaos in my head that a new myth about the origin of the world is about to be born. Take it easy, one step at a time. I ran away—it happened. I left Engler in my apartment—epic fail. But what was I supposed to do? To wait idly for him to fire me from my job?

I reach for the phone (Jan hasn’t called or texted so far, it’s fine). I dial Ms. Ala’s landline number. One ring, second, third and fourth…

“Hello,” she answers breathlessly.

“It’s me.”

“Oh, Maria. I’m just coming back from your place. I heard your raised voice, then a slamming door. I went out to check if everything was okay, and met your friend. He claimed that you popped out to the DIY store because you had a screw loose… I didn’t see that you were doing any mechanical work in your apartment. By the way, he’s a handsome young man. Is he your new boyfriend?” She winds up, clearly enchanted by the devilish charm of this putz.

I had a screw loose, right? Seriously, Jan, it was beyond embarrassing. You could have made more of an effort. But it’s just further proof that your creativity is at the same level as a just-emptied cesspit. Not only can you see the bottom, but it also smells like shit. Be that as it may, you scored a point—youused a phraseological compound. However trivial, it’s always something. You’re such a smartass, no question.

“He is my boss. And he’s not a young man at all. He’s a mean old coot who forces me to work on the weekend.”

“Really? And he seemed so kind to me. And he doesn’t look old. Gosh, the times we are living in.” She sighs. “These capitalists will destroy our youth.”

“It’s been a long time since I was a youth, but I actually feel destroyed right now,” I reply, lying down on the grass. My breathing calms down, although I can still feel the heat on my face and the pulse beating erratically in my temples. “I have a huge request for you, Ms. Ala. For the time being, I don’t feel like going back there, and I hope that any minute my boss will get out of there.” He has to leave, after all he has that fucking banquet in Szczyrk in the evening. “Do you still have the spare key I gave you when I went on vacation?”

“Of course.”

“Great. When this…” Sonofabitch, pain in the ass… “When my boss leaves, will you lock the door? I’m not rich, but it would be a shame if someone unauthorized appropriated my grinder or TV.” I don’t suspect Engler of theft because my entire apartment is worth less than his watch. And he probably has a hundred of them. Today he was wearing yet another different one, again some kind of antique, silver, on a black strap, with Roman numerals and a big OMEGA inscription.

“It’s OK, Maria. Don’t worry about a thing.”

“Thank you. I’ll be back in about three hours.” Or not, as I’m currently tempted to take a dip in the pond and lead the carefree life of an aquatic riffraff until later in the fall.

“Sure…” I hear hesitation in her voice. “Are you OK? You sound a bit off.”

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