Harassment

The woman sitting across at the table pushed her reading glasses to fit better on her nose, cleared the throat and started a barrage of words that felt like darts thrown in my direction. It sounded like a Gestetner machine churning out insults hidden inside verbosity of a pundit. I was almost amused at her try at more of an altruistic approach when she engaged in mimicking affection by saying:

‘This is all out of love. I care about your future with this firm.’

The most pathetic attack on someone takes place when the hostile party tries to engage compassion as a weapon in achieving their goal: debunk, deface, defeat. She has overdone it this time. Heather, the hag.

That is her name among the rebels on the third floor. Heather, the hag: dysfunctional outfits, the attempt to appeal trendy and vibrant, spoiled by ugly leopard pattern of the shoes, despair of the eighties, always pretentious in the ways of her ideas and actions. Heather, the hag. Ruling by telling everyone off and reminding them where they belong. No casual conversations by the water cooler, no office parties, no storytelling, no loose ends, just work.

That would suffice had she not demanded the mandatory reports by Friday at noon. We, on the third floor, were to report on the successful performance of each other and the self. She sent the guidelines for expressing our impressions, naming them ‘paths’. That is why she was gawking at me with obvious disgust and pronounced each word through clenched teeth:

‘I have required the reports to be phrased in a certain way. How would Berta feel if she read what you sent to me?’–She paused and waited for me to toss the ball back.

‘Berta is not supposed to read the report, is she?’–I said.

I was aiming at the calm tone, yet used words that delivered the message with no ambiguity. Berta, the hag’s favorite snitch, was a lizard-like creature, who watched the rebels on the third floor, and their insurgent activities in their cubicles, common spaces, even washrooms. No one saw her do any amount of substantial work, except for creeping around and watching, listening, dispatching the warnings of anything that was not done by the book.

‘I think I understood the guidelines as suggestions, not a form to be filled. Why would the report submitted to the private account be shared publicly? I did nothing inappropriate.’–I raised my voice and pronounced each word of the last sentence with a pause following each word: I. Did. Nothing. Inappropriate.

This evoked only more hissing and ogling behind glasses. She even pushed her head forward with limp hair falling on the sides of her face and forehead turned to me as if she would buck me.

‘Believe me, it was hurtful. I am sure she was hurt by the way you phrased your report. This is not the first time. The tone was very harsh in this one. She lifted the pages printed before the meeting and waved them like a flag before my eyes.

Swish, swish. I followed the gesture but did not move a muscle on my face. She was on a rampage again. Anything she said was calculated to debunk, deface, defeat. There was not a tad of honesty and good intentions left in her soul. It was all sold for a price. That is how the things worked around here.

I am resolute about leaving the firm. A friend messaged me about a position that I could take as soon as the following week. I learned this before the meeting. This was a farewell opportunity. Swish, swish.

‘Heather, I would like to announce my resignation. My career path is heading in a different direction. Please accept the notice. It will be effective as of–now. I stood up and left the room. Berta was peeking from her office across the hall with a puzzled grin on her face. She probably expected that I would come out of the meeting flabbergasted. Failing that, shaken and red faced. At least a little. She was feeding on the misfortune of others like a soul parasite. People like her and Heather would inspire all kinds of situations resulting in embarrassment, anxiety, humiliation. They would feast on the results of their carefully designed and successfully used traps for the rebels on the third floor.

I was glad that my endeavors have been successful. I was about to leave, but something that I and the others on the third floor created will stay behind. It will eventually put a stop to reports, harassment and foul play by Heather, the hag. The covert message was embedded in each report made it possible for someone else to read and file each path they were made of. This will pave the pathway for Heather’s permanent debunking, defacing and defeat. Well deserved!