A wait in futility
I am staring at the computer screen when my cell phone rings. I pick it up off my desk and answer it absently, then sit up straight when I hear Bertha’s voice on the other end. “I’ve been fired after your little stunt, you b*#*^,” she says coldly. “I hope you’re happy now.” ILLUSTRATION | JOSEPH NGARI
What you need to know:
- But it’s been two hours since my reply went up on that page, and the events since then have been an anti-climax. Bertha has not turned up at the office. Peter, the chairman, has not called me with any questions.
- No one has said anything to me about it in the office. In fact, no one has said anything to me at all. I feel as deflated as a tired balloon.
It’s 12pm. I am seated at my desk, tapping away at my computer, but my mind might as well be in Timbuktu – that’s how detached I feel from the work I am pretending to do. I feel like I am standing on the sea shore, watching a tsunami build up in the distance. I can hear the roar of the far-off wave. I can feel the earth rumbling under my feet.
I can see the column of water way over there, on the edge of the world, growing in size as it tumbles towards me. I know that by the time it reaches me it will be a behemoth of angry energy – but I know not the hour or the minute of its arrival. All I know is that it is on its way. I have seen it coming.
And so I am here, waiting for the tsunami called Bertha to explode into the office in a fit of righteous anger. I am sure she has seen the blog post – she herself started us on this journey when she called up the sneaky, sleazy, for-sale-to-the-highest-bidder blogger and made me the victim of her story of lies. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction, and it was only fair that I retaliate by selling my own story to the same blogger.
I did not do it myself. All I did was make a recording and send it to Jo. Jo knows who she talked into getting the blogger to post it on his immensely popular site. 2.5 million readers. Imagine that.
But it’s been two hours since my reply went up on that page, and the events since then have been an anti-climax. Bertha has not turned up at the office. Peter, the chairman, has not called me with any questions. No one has said anything to me about it in the office. In fact, no one has said anything to me at all. I feel as deflated as a tired balloon.
SPEECHLESS, FOR ONCE
Finally, tired of the lack of activity and feeling frustrated, I decide to head over to Louise’s desk to see if she has heard anything. I walk past Ciku, my PA’s desk. She’s talking in very low tones to a girl from accounts whose name I do not know, but whom I have seen hanging around Ciku. As I walk past they stop whispering and descend into an awkward silence. I turn towards them to offer a salutation but they avert their eyes. Hmm. I can feel their eyes boring into my back as I walk past and on towards Louise. Clearly they have been gossiping about me. But whatever.
“Hey Louise, have you heard from your boss today?” I ask as I reach her. She’s stretching and rubbing her now-big baby belly.
“No,” she yawns. “My goodness, I am so tired. I’m ready to have this baby any time now.”
“Yea, yea,” I nod impatiently. “Did she have any meetings scheduled for today? Has she emailed? Anything?”
“You know, I haven’t been able to reach her at all,” Louise frowns. Then she reaches round and rubs her back. “I don’t know how women do this more than once…”
“Gosh, Louise, focus!” Why is she quibbling about her damn pregnancy when I am in the middle of potentially the biggest crisis of my life!?
Louise stops her back-rubbing and looks me straight in the eye. “That’s so typical of you to be so selfish,” she says, angry sparks igniting in her eyes. I have never seen Louise upset. This must be the hormones. I feel, at this point, that perhaps it might be better to back off. With a quick nod, I turn around and head back to my desk, past the two ladies who – as expected – fall silent once again when I walk past and resume their frenzied whispering when they think I am out of earshot. But again, it’s whatever.
Back at my desk, I key the URL of the blog in my web browser for the umpteenth time and watch as the page downloads. There it is, the biggest headline on the page: ‘DRAMA!! MD OF MANUFACTURING FIRM CAUGHT FORCING EMPLOYEE TO SPY ON HER HUSBAND’S EX!!!’ Underneath that is the sordid story of, well… everything that’s happened. Jo certainly did a good job with this expose.
I am staring at the computer screen when my cell phone rings. I pick it up off my desk and answer it absently, then sit up straight when I hear Bertha’s voice on the other end. “I’ve been fired after your little stunt, you b*#*^,” she says coldly. “I hope you’re happy now.” And for the first time in my life, I become so very intimately familiar with this phrase: Lost for words.
