Of lobster dinners and chinchilla blankets

The day I got sacked, the secrets that I tracked in my little black book went on the auction block.

Isn’t that drastic? Isn’t that cold? I would be asked if I opened my trap about it. What is the worth in retaliation? they would also ask.

I would tell them it is worth more than the company loyalty I gave that never paid me back. All I ever got were empty shout-outs and praise for the sweat on my brow, no opportunities for advancement or a pay raise.

There is a bidding war going on to publish the ultimate story on fraud, waste, and abuse at my former company. The world is clamoring for it. The publishers would love to get their hands on my little black book that lists all the names and numbers, and all the dates and times, of who met who, where they flew to, and what they got in their Christmas stocking.

Oh, how they loved to show off and look shiny, while I was praised for the sweat on my brow and my company loyalty.

Well, I say it is time I make them sweat. I was never loyal, anyway. My deeds may have been altruistic, but my heart was growing darker by the day.

The little black book was a gift from my boss, meant to chart my life’s journey and vision of success. I wondered why she chose black when she waxed rhapsodic about my rosy future in the company. Should she have picked a rose-colored book to match my glasses, which I lost along the way? What was she trying to say about my future?

I handled the invoice for the purchase of that black book. The cost of that book matched the discrepancy in my paycheck for that week. Some gift.

My life’s journey, as she laughingly called it, became one permanent roadblock, dead ends forever. The vision of my success was cast aside to write up award justifications for her barracudas in training.

I kept my mouth shut about the lobster dinners and chinchilla blankets paid for on the company dime, and the drinking and the lines they were doing in the big boss’ office. I had to keep my mouth shut if I wanted to keep my job. And I was the one who had to call in the orders.

Every time I would ask her for a recommendation for a job opportunity that just opened up, she would say, I’m sorry but my hands are tied, I just can’t. But, she would be quick to offer recommendations for the ones who did handstands for her, which I would not do.

Then she finds fault with the way that I work, that I do not provide for her fast enough, like the day before yesterday. She finds fault now with the sweat on my brow. It does not make the company look good and shiny, she tells me.

And finally, she had the gall to say my position was superfluous, and that she was going to let me go. I was lower echelon; they could afford to lose me when budget cuts threatened the house.

I knew way ahead of time I needed to record all the snide remarks, backsliding and skanky self-entitlements of the corporate cronies who rate me for my usefulness to them. And those who rate the highest found no use for me at all, except to wipe their behinds with. In a manner of speaking.

That is where the little black book came in. Maybe the black is to my advantage, as I say I should be the one in the black this time.

Along with my little black book, I also provide credit card receipts, and pictures and videos of the office parties they thought I destroyed because they ordered me to do so. However, I didn’t. I lied when I told them I destroyed the evidence of their debauchery. It was way too entertaining to get rid of. And now someone else can enjoy them.

I finally got an offer from a publishing house. I received a twenty thousand dollar advance, plus I will get a huge chunk of the royalties. Sweet!

It paid to keep my mouth shut, until I got the money in my hot little hands. I would have been bribed, cajoled, or worse, and lose my nerve. Or maybe lose my life.

Twenty thousand dollars can buy a lot of lobster dinners and chinchilla blankets, but I plan to budget wisely. Lobster leaves a bad taste in my mouth, and a chinchilla blanket will not let me sleep at night.

My conscience is clear, and you cannot tell me otherwise after what I did for the money. When you finally read the story, you will find that twenty thousand dollars is chump change compared to what the company spent on their corporate wing-dings and month-long Hawaiian junkets.

The little black book that became my ax to grind, put in my hands by my two-faced ex-boss who took it out of my salary. Hey, I bought and paid for it, and it was mine to do as I saw fit.

First thing I may buy is another little black book to finally chart my life’s journey, possibly to a little villa in central America where I can stretch my dollars and no one can reach me. Once people know about me, they will be whispering to one another, be careful, don’t cross her or she’ll write about you in her little black book.