The Office

[verbal violence, sexual content]

I need a change. I’m growing old of all this noise. Screaming, shouting, deadlines, and pressure. I’m tired of it all. My brain fries each time I come to work. I’m always aware of the oven I’m about to step into, and it’s frustrating. Why do we work anyway? Why do we wake each morning and meet a boss of a man who cannot distinguish the four Ps in marketing? Where did he even get his degree from? Does he, have it?

Sometimes I look at my boss and tell myself, were it not for luck playing tricks on me, he isn’t qualified to be in that seat. The way he swings like he’s about to fly annoys me. Is that even professional? The swinging with feet placed on the table. He boasts the posture takes him into a flow-state; boasting how ideas fly into his empty head. I don’t believe it. He’s just saying that to win the hearts of women in the workplace. I can see through his charade, and I need a job. A new job.

“Hey, what are you up to? You seem quiet today,” says Amuti, his glasses on him as always – only that today, he’s worn something different. That’s not his style.

“What’s that you’re wearing? I see you’re being paid well,” knowing we all receive peanuts from the company as salary. Strange thing, the quarterly report came out and the finance department will embark on a two-day trip over the weekend. It’s not official yet – but a few birds whispered, letting me know what I needed to know.

“Italian flavor, baby,” replies Amuti, a smile washing away the shame and I hate it. I don’t like the baby banter he throws around when talking to people. Not once, not twice. I said to his dark face; white teeth locked inside his mouth, that I don’t like him saying that. If he must, I shouldn’t hear or see him, else, we’re done.

“Where did you get it?”, I say, trying to overlook my disappointment. The damage has already been done, and I want to see how much the ‘Italian suit’ costs. “It doesn’t look like it’s from around here,” hoping he could say where he imported it from. Amuti had been ranting about how he was about to change his wardrobe, filling it with exotic and imported clothes from all around the world. I’ll never import a suit from abroad. NEVER. Aren’t there shops around? That’s wastage, and it’s not that we’re being paid that much. If so, I could’ve cleared my son’s fees by now but here we are, aren’t we?

“I found this guy …” pausing to address his distraction; Amuti is staring at Milly as she passes; the only petite female in our office. She is new, a bit taller, and didn’t catwalk like the rest. Milly is more energetic, more poised; exceptionally beautiful.

A few days ago, Amuti couldn’t stop ranting about Milly and how he thinks they are compatible. I bet the suit has something to do with her – anyway, there was a guy.

“I found this guy at the market, and he showed me a website where you import directly from the manufacturer. Same pricing but faster lead time.”

I wonder where this explanation will lead to. Either way, I still think it’s not in his place. He’s all too grown to run around like my son who’s in high school. What are they going to do with an intern? A girl probably in her early twenties; full of life and ready to start this life. Targeting unaware girls like Milly for their naivety isn’t noble. That’s not how men should hunt.

“You like it?”

“Far from it,” but his face didn’t shrink; it widened, stretching his lips; brightening his eyes. On my extreme right, my boss did his thing too; he placed his leather boots on the mahogany table inside his glass office. A glass palace.

Sometimes I wonder, why do those things even matter? Mahogany, leathered seats, big screens, and private dispensers. In that fat man’s office is an additional modern fridge that the company allocates a budget to stock up, but whatever went inside the fridge couldn’t be common knowledge. The money is always given in cash, to the secretary who’d then order a few snacks and fruits to be preserved yet there were only a few beers and energy drinks chilling.

Milly told me a while back after being summoned to the man’s office. It was past five in the evening and most of the employees had already left the premises. On that day, Milly wore a colorful polka dress that hang right above her knees. I loved her top the most. It was a lighter shade of green, off-shoulder, matching the dominant green on her polka dress because the different thing in her dress was the various color circles that accentuated its beauty; red, blue, and yellow: they all blended neatly. Milly had also worn earrings and a necklace that emptied somewhere around her chest. I didn’t bother trying to investigate where exactly. It was too deep – and I only had a few seconds to peep.

My boss wanted more than a professional relationship with Milly on that day. As Milly reported him to me, I couldn’t stop thinking; how barbaric! Draconic – even though I don’t know what that means – and now Amuti wants Milly. Does this ever stop?

“There’s something wrong,” I finally reply, wearing concern on my face, “I don’t think it looks good on you. Perhaps you should’ve tried a different color.”

“I know this reverse psychology thing,” says Amuti, “I know I’ve killed it,” wetting his lips while checking out Milly one more time.

Confirming his looks, Amuti gives himself a panoramic view, checking his feet; his back, shoulders, and chest; brushing his hair with his fingers in a flash.

“I see nothing wrong.”

“She’s what? Twenty?”

“Ah!” says Amuti in disappointment, “I think we’re done here!” leaving smoothly, rushing in Milly’s direction.

At best, one’s own actions are controllable. Beyond that, I hope Milly tries to say no as she did to our filthy boss. When cornered on that day, they’d already taken a few sips of beer. Milly told me she doesn’t know why she agreed to drink with him, but she shouldn’t’ve. The good thing, after a few kisses, and involuntary touching, she managed to excuse herself though she was worried he might strike again. That’s why she came to me, and I get it. We’re all adults until something happens.

There’s nothing I can do. She shouldn’t have gone inside there, to begin with. She shouldn’t have taken the bait, and taken a sip. Being young and dumb has a cost, and I pity her extra need to get familiar with notable people in the company. She’ll be used along that path.

I know the young ones are the sweetest, and they’re not short of a tasty youthful appeal; their lips possibly taste roses mixed with honey, their skin soft and their hearts full of energy. You can feel their warmth in their naivety, hopes, and ambitions in life. You can feel the thrill in their aura as they experiment in life; blindly. You can see it in how they talk; how they behave, and if you’re smart enough, you’ll see the repressed desire they hide behind their eyes when not staring, behind their pressed lips and stolen glances. You see it all – but I don’t do anything.

Knock after knock, a stomp after the other, the sound of Amuti’s footsteps disappeared into the aisle and into the kitchen area. When our boss came, the first thing he tried changing was our tea breaks. We needed to have a more organized kitchen area – where everyone in the office would take turns attending to its hygiene. It was Milly’s day, and with her hugging black trouser, white blouse, and a bow tie printed on her chest, Amuti will definitely use that against her.

The girl has hips. Serious hips that I can’t stop staring at every time she passes through. I travel to places sometimes. A beautiful green field where she doesn’t wear a trouser or anything – just a floral dress that lightly touches the edges of her curves – something strapless and sexy; something easily blown away by the wind. I can’t lie, I’d love to see her smile; watch her teeth expose her red tongue as she squints with joy upon the scent of flowers filling her up. Milly is Milly.

Anyway, I need a new job. I can’t keep on typing campaigns, creating weekly content, and working with the production team when scripting ads. I’m tired of this life and I need a rest. Only if I get a way out. I’m already behind on my bills, my car’s insurance looks like it expired last week. The tires also complain a lot, and the rainy season is around the corner. Thank God I built a house earlier on. else, I’d have another pending bill of mortgage or something.

I just don’t feel my work anymore. I hate it here. Seeing young people like Milly shadowing my work makes me sicker. I shouldn’t be here, and there’s no need to keep reminding me all the time. Whenever Milly walks to my desk, asking how she could generate reports, and copywrite content among other tasks, she remembers to ask where I get inspiration to write my content, and it makes me feel like quitting this job. I should be in that office, placing my feet on the floor while making business strategies, enjoying the fresh, conditioned air.

But I like Milly. She reminds me of those days I started working for a marketing agency. I spoke with everyone; mingled with anyone – even on days I shouldn’t. I’d just take up tasks from others, and do it for them without being paid a cent simply because I needed to understand the job better – and practice makes perfect, right? What a lie! I’ve been practicing ever since and I’m not at my perfect yet.

It must be Daniel. There’s no one else with the power to make last-minute dealings. He must’ve recommended that man as the boss; an executive recommendation that goes without any resistance. That’s the only reason I see for being stuck here. I’m way past a departmental supervisor. I should be in that office or out of here.

I haven’t believed the odds yet. 150% in profits in just three months! That sets the company on a trajectory that will see it accrue more revenue than the past five years combined. When I came here, there wasn’t a strategy. Marketing was nothing but alien to them, and the only thing they were doing was issuing fliers, printing posters, and sending a bunch of ambassadors out in the open to convince people the company was capable of marketing businesses. Nothing more. If I remember correctly, the company had two serious clients, and the rest wanted services on credit.

That boss of a man will receive thousands in bonuses and managerial packages that he didn’t sweat for; the worst part of it all, he doesn’t understand the blood and tears we all put into this success. He won’t know how I couldn’t sleep for many weeks, many months, risking my marriage only to not get promoted. Fuck that!

I need a new job. This can’t be happening. It doesn’t matter if I’m agitated or not. Hard work should be repaid and it’s not negotiable. I risked everything because I aimed for the damned bonuses and executive packages. I promised my wife everything will be all right in six months, but what will I have to tell her now? That she should extend it to the end of the year? No way. By now, I should’ve paid my daughter’s tuition, paid for my insurance, and add a little stock to our growing family business. But this guy, wherever he was exhumed from, took my place. And he’s going as far as harassing my team player, Milly. Isn’t that spitting on my face?

How is forcing to touch her boobs; caress her buttocks after forcing her to take a few sips of beer, then using that as leverage to threaten her into sleeping with him not draconic? She’s young, probably wondering how her lecturer would evaluate her when he comes – and that mindset makes these young girls think they have no option. Yet the real problem is rapists like him.

I think he should leave.

“We’ve uploaded the files to the server, sir, and Jane made a few edits on the banner images.”

“What changes?” I need to know; responding to one of my subordinates. We have a pitch deadline, and the client is very strict with what goes onto his website. As my style, I always give the team freedom to unleash their creativity and try new ways I don’t know about – only that everything needs to pass through me. If their ideas don’t go unchecked, I’m the one in trouble.

“She added the tagline.”

“What font did she use?”

“I …I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Noticing her stutter, there’s no way Priska might know. Jane felt revolutionary. Each time she did her tasks, she tried to outsmart everyone with her concepts and designs. I loved her spirit but worry it would get in her head someday – just like the whirling fan above my head.

“And sir,”

What now? These outros are for favors and who knows what? “Yes.”

“Will we be going for the trip too?”

Hearing what Priska said makes me recall what my wife said. ‘People will be jealous,” in her cheeky yet affirming tone. The finance department being celebrated without the marketing team would grow potatoes on necks. Big potatoes, but I didn’t think it would be this fast.

“I’m looking into that,” pretending that there is a chance they could also join, but they weren’t going anywhere. Management, Daniel, in a private meeting, said the finance department has done the most work – as if clients came through the door on their own – and that the team deserved rejuvenation – and I’m quoting his words. ‘Rejuvenate’.

If we didn’t create social media campaigns, create marketing events across the whole city, and the outskirts; would there be any finances to compute – and it’s not that they’re using old school calculators, they’re using QuickBooks, or whatever software it is – but no, we didn’t do enough to deserve a weekend trip. The way I promised all these young people a token of appreciation during the sleepless nights makes my heart break. I pushed them to the limits and stretched their imagination simply because we had deadlines, and were building to something.

Working here is as stupid as my decision to think I’d get a promotion. There’s no way out of this rut except to leave, and I’m beginning to notice. Daniel has never liked me; from the first day when he said I’m a bad seed for being too revolutionary, he made it his agenda to punish me for it. Daniel’s problem is I love arguing and I also don’t follow instructions. This is true – on the rules part. I cannot, in my right mind, engage in a task that I know it could be done in a better way. If it were not for my dynamic thought of using the website for our campaign, we wouldn’t be celebrating the 150% in sales growth.

“But don’t keep your hopes up. Tell the others. We may lose on this one,” making it clear to Priska that things may not go as planned. I couldn’t tell them they were being punished because of me, but I have to give it to them raw. Hiding it will only bite me not far from now.