A male monologue.
How the hell did I get into this mess? The last 24 hours have been an absolute nightmare! If only I could blank it from my memory and start again – but I can’t!
I stormed into that spotty faced moron’s office, so full of determination, fists clenched, teeth grinding, jaw clamped shut – and then I saw him sitting there, in his bright, modern office, with his legs sprawled out across his desk, looking so supercilious. I guess I should have known from the start to keep my mouth shut!
But as usual I was unable to control myself! Words poured out – as those pale, piggy eyes bore into me! I knew he wasn’t listening to a word I said! He thinks, because his father owns the place, and he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he’s something special!
Maybe I did burst in guns blazing – but when you’re ‘salesman of the year’ why not? Surely it should count for something! The commission they pay me – so they can line their hand-made suit pockets, is a joke! I deserve a rise! I deserve some recognition!
But could he see that? Did he want to see it? Did he hell! All he went on about, in that whining voice of his, was ‘targets’. Well, I told him where to put his targets! I gave him a few home truths all right! ‘I’ve had enough.’ I said. ‘I’m not going to answer to you anymore! Find someone else to hit your targets!’ That made him sit up I can tell you. I walked out and slammed the door into his smarmy face – and boy did it feel good! Bet he was on the phone to Daddy even before I left the building.
****
Trouble is, when I got home and opened the front door, she rushed up to me and threw her arms round my neck … and my heart sank.
I knew what she was going to say even before she said it. She’s been on about it long enough… endless whingeing at those interminable dinner parties she arranges, with her ‘professional’ so called friends, where they talk about how much money they earn… and where I act as glorified wine waiter!
I hadn’t taken much notice of it till then, tried to ignore it, hoping the feeling would pass … but suddenly I feel trapped! I DON’T WANT THIS! I don’t want to be tied down with nappies, in a house smelling of sick. I don’t want to come home each night to mess and noise, constantly hard up – responsibility… for LIFE! But it’s too late to tell her that now. How can I tell her I’ve just walked out of my job? It wouldn’t be so bad if it was just the two of us – but a brat as well….
Her parents will have a field day. They already think I’m not good enough for her, always have done. Whenever they visit the house – the one they never tire of reminding me ‘they paid for’ – I feel them judging me, their eyes telling me just how inadequate they think I am. Well, they’ll have plenty to judge me on now! I can hear them, as they drive home in that precious Mercedes of theirs.
‘Fancy doing this to her, he knows how to pick his time! I knew that temper of his would be his downfall!’ Oh yes, I can hear them, twisting the knife as they sip their gin and tonics on the balcony of their sunny holiday home in Spain.
****
How smug he looks as I walk back into his office, cap in hand, to ask for my job back. And how he enjoys telling me he’s already offered it to someone else – and given them my list of contacts – the contacts I worked my backside off to get! Then he says the only job they can offer ‘at this time’ would be at a much reduced rate ….and worst of all I thank him… and tell him how grateful I am and apologise for my temper tantrum …. and walk out slowly, softly closing the door behind me, knowing the smirk on his face is expanding on the other side.
And now I face the prospect of going home to tell her! The verbal abuse, the inquest, the tears, the recriminations… the apologies! The days of silent treatment as she knits baby clothes, knitting needles clacking like a woman by the guillotine… just in case I forget this dreadful wrong I’ve done, not only to her but also to ‘our’ child
What went wrong? What happened to the carefree lad I used to be? What have I done to deserve it? What has life done to me? What have I done with my life? What have I become? I had such high hopes. I didn’t ask for much, just a well-paid job, real friends, foreign holidays… All I see now are rows of nappies flapping in the breeze, waving, as if they’re laughing at me… stretching out into infinity.
And it should all have been so easy ….
***
J.M.Hulme. 