Decline and Fall: a tale of unemployment (part 5)

Her feelings of relief soon subsided however, and within a week or so she was back to her old self. She was less optimistic now concerning her job prospects. Not only did her options seem limited, but she wondered if she really had the strength to return to work, she questioned her ability to hold down a full time job, and was coming to the conclusion that she might just be better off staying at home, a lady of leisure, watching daytime TV. Her resolve was going.

There were no suitable jobs available and therefore there was no saviour, no life boat upon the horizon. She would have loved to have been rescued, to return once more to civilization, yet no such help was on hand, so she was forced to turn around and accept the unacceptable: the doom of unemployment. It drove her crazy, as though she were imprisoned in solitary confinement, unable to escape. On one side she came up against the brick wall of boredom and inactivity and one’s life wasting away, on the other side, the brick wall barring her way to employment. In such a position she lost all hope. There was no where to turn save on herself. She was left to scream at the walls. She felt maddened, hopeless, enraged and abandoned: there was simply no escape. She was becoming a bit of a lunatic.

Moreover she really felt old now and on the shelf. As each day passed she felt as if she had less and less pull on society and started to think that it was a poor fate to be a mature woman. A mature man could prosper well in the world, in fact it was an achievement to be such. So she felt some anger toward the opposite sex. She believed herself old and unable to impress anyone and she felt unable to compete with younger women, more qualified than her, better looking than her and she felt envious of them and bitter.

But if young women and mature men irked her, then a final kick in the teeth came from that young Afro-French man, he of the naughty face, who had laughed at her when she fell. That incident, after dropping out of her mind for a time, had returned to haunt her, and she thought about it with real bitterness. The key fact she recalled was the image of the half-caste naughty-looking youth laughing at her, and his two buxom ‘sisters’ in hysterics as well. Although a lot of people had laughed at the time, and most of them white, this was the impression that remained, this was what most riled her.

It was a final kick in the teeth, because in the world of mature men and young ladies, young men might have afforded her some consolation. Moreover Janet was that type of romantic who always saw something special in foreign men. Indeed when she first saw this French guy, she had been struck by how handsome he was. She had imagined herself in pleasant conversation with him, imagined he was a nice guy, and the embarrassment she now felt at these, in the event, deluded thoughts, was part of the reason she now so loathed him. He had had a beautifully toned body and his face was irresistibly handsome, youthful, naughty and arrogant.

So when he had laughed so uncontrollably at her, as if she was nothing, it had been a cruel blow. And the idea that he was foreign, that this was her country, that she had been born here, had a history of forty-two years behind her – all of this really angered her and she felt bitter hatred toward him and his ‘sisters’.

She would spend long periods of time getting angrier and angrier about how she had been treated; angry with others and embarrassed with herself over her mistake in thinking the French guy was nice. She got worked up, felt impudent, was so cross with herself for not having got revenge on him and the two girls at the time and was full of regret for having stormed off, allowing everyone to think she was a fool. She wished she could get the moment back again. She was so bitter and thought about it for hours on end. She focused all of her blame on the black guy and girls, and she kidded herself that they had deliberately moved her chair so that she had fallen. She knew they hadn’t but she pretended they had and on some level she was now beginning to believe that they had. She marched around the house beside herself, calling them all sorts and specifically employing racist language, all of which was naturally foreign to her, but which she was determined to use. She did all this out of sheer frustration with her own life, a feeling that she was now beyond help, and that her life was over and nobody cared.

But a new cause for insult lay in wait for her. It had been over a year now since she’d left CPIS. One day when she was in town, she happened to pass by her old works building. She hadn’t been back since she’d taken redundancy, nearly a year ago now, and when she saw it, there it was, just as it once had been. A distant memory now. It seemed like another lifetime ago since she’d worked there. She had changed incredibly and no doubt it had too. In fact it wasn’t such a distant memory: when she saw it, it was like she’d never been away.

She happened to be walking along the pavement on the opposite side of the road. As she went past some shops she caught site of a man exiting the CPIS building. It was Blackmore.

He was smiling very naturally, something she’d never before seen. Why was he so happy? Apparently it was because he was exiting the building along with a handsome, young lady who was grinning and smiling back at him. Janet watched on. She saw how the two were talking, saw how happy and oblivious they were, saw them head to Blackmore’s BMW, saw him courteously open the passenger door for the girl, and saw them both get in and drive off.

Janet walked on, seemingly unconcerned, but emotions were stirring inside her. She felt so insignificant and angered. How dare they be so happy! How dare they! And who was the girl? An awful foreboding had descended on Janet when she’d seen her: was she a new employee? Surely not? Yet Janet couldn’t help think that she was. It was almost as though she’d just caught her husband with a younger women. She felt doomed. The girl had been dressed smartly in a suit. No, surely it was just a business colleague, even just a friend. Surely. I mean they would have asked her back, if they had have needed an extra hand? They would have come to her first. Surely. And yet she couldn’t help but think the worst.

She now became focused on accepting the awful truth, even though she didn’t in fact know what the truth was. She brooded, oblivious to everything, all consumed by this monster of hers. It was a terrible insult and she just couldn’t believe how insensitive, tactless and despicable anyone could be. They were so oblivious of her, Blackmore and that new girl, so caught up in their own happiness, and she evidently meant nothing to anybody. She plodded on with sorrow in her heart, trying to come to terms with what she had seen. She entered a café and sat down with a coffee.

Was it really true? Perhaps she was being irrational, jumping to conclusions. Then again she didn’t want to be a mug; and because she so often had been a trusting, gullible fool in the past, she was being especially cynical and suspicious now. She was obsessed: had a new girl been taken on? Or was it just her imagination? She began to chide herself: the girl could merely be an acquaintance or a member of another company. Yet the more she brooded, the more she convinced herself that she was a new employee, and that she Janet, had been had, had been wronged, and was obviously an insignificant old nobody as far as Blackmore and CPIS were concerned. And when she thought of all the misery of her life over the last year, recalled how she’d made a sacrifice, and then thought of how oblivious Blackmore and that girl had been, how caught up in their own happiness, she was absolutely livid.

And the more she sat there, the more and the more and the more she got worked up, bubbling herself up to boiling point, like a fount of molten lava waiting to erupt. How dare they! To do this to her. The thoughtless bastards!

Eventually she decided that she had to know for sure one way or the other. She had to have confirmation of her worst fears, she must know if the new girl was an employee. So she decided to return to CPIS and monitor the entrance to see who left at home time.

She was like a woman possessed as she marched back to the building, oblivious of everything else, her heart beating dramatically, spurred on by the coffee, and her whole being filled with rage and hatred. By the time she’d reached the green grocers, on the opposite side of the building, it was only three o’clock. She was impatient, desperate for home time to come. Yet not wishing to loiter, she moved on, made detours, and walked in circles, but be sure, she would be here, from 4.30 onwards ready and in position.

The time dragged, she was in nervous agitation, sweaty and adrenaline soaked, but she knew that she must, she absolutely must, find out if that girl was working there. Though she tried to distract herself by looking in shops, it was no good. Time seemed to stand still. She was possessed by this all consuming mission. Eventually, 4.30 was approaching, and she marched back to take up position. She stood in a clothes shop, pretending to browse, but actually just waiting there, looking across to the building, awaiting the exit of the workers.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Blackmore and the girl came out, and as before, they were totally wrapped up in themselves, smiling and joking, oblivious of Janet. It was an essential moment. It lasted very briefly, but the sight of Blackmore and that sexy young girl, exiting into the light May evening, a relaxed Spring breeze greeting them at home time, so that the wind swept their hair kindly, struck her like an arrow straight to the heart. There it was then. It was confirmation enough for Janet: the girl was a new employee.

She continued pretending to browse, looking over at the building. She was furiously angry, yet with that final blow, that confirmation, she also felt crushed and defeated. She meant nothing to these people, that was clear, and she was stood here monitoring them like a stalker. They did not see her. She was the invisible women, a nobody.

Two other employees came out. It was Susan and Chris. They were joking amiably with each other, relieved no doubt to be going home after a long days work, and to get into the light-hearted Spring evening. Janet saw them say goodbye to each other and drive off in their cars. She took the bus home.

During the journey and when she was back inside, she was sunk in thought. She was fuming inside. When she thought back to how she’d so easily taken redundancy, never standing up for herself, and how at the time she’d considered it a sacrifice, as though she were doing a favour to the other employees with their children and mortgages; when she recalled how easily and submissively she’d accepted it, with no thanks from Blackmore, she was so mad with herself, for being so lightweight and meek. She had acted so contemptibly. She should have stood her ground and fought her corner like the others. And what had she given up her job for? For what reason had she brought all this last year of misery upon herself? For selfish fools like Susan and Chris? Huh! They didn’t give a damn about her, they couldn’t care less! To see them walk out the building like that, ignorant to her presence and to her plight, driving home in their fancy cars to their families, what scum they were, what charlatans. Susan blabbing on about her rights and her mortgage and her children. It had been her choice to have children and get a mortgage! No one had forced her! What a worm she was. She talked of the rights of the people, especially the common people, but all she cared for was herself, her own rights. Huh! Janet felt like such a fool. She had meekly taken redundancy, thought it a noble thing to do, and had even been overcome with guilt and emotion when she was given a leaving card. She had thought herself a poor employee. Yet actually she had been good at her job, she had worked hard, harder than others. She’d undervalued herself as she so often did. And what had her sacrifice amounted to? It had been so that the likes of Susan and Chris could keep paying their stupid mortgages, drive their fancy cars, and feed their overfed children, molly coddle and pamper those precious little darlings as if they were the most important key to humanity’s future. What a fool she had been!

Yet it was Blackmore and his new bit of fluff that tormented her. How she’d let herself be overrun by him. She recalled him, his mean air, his unfriendly face, the sinister way he spoke, his BMW, his testosterone, his coarse vulgarity, the calendar of bikini girls hung shamelessly on his office wall – ugh! He was a piece of scum. There was no doubt about that. And the new girl was his female equivalent. God they deserved each other, they were a match made in Heaven! She was very young, dark and handsome, but she also had that air of being really tough and nasty, that business meanness about her. She had a beautiful face, but it was really hard underneath, you could see it. Sleeping with the boss would be right up her street, the sort of thing the lowly hussy would dream of. And ditto Blackmore, an affair with a young colleague being his idea of earthly happiness. It was disgusting for Janet to think of this, but she did so with a passion, letting her imagination run away with her and dreaming up all sorts of sleazy thoughts. She foresaw, soul crushing as it was, that the new girl would get all the perks and promotions, would go away for dirty weekends with Blackmore.

She felt outraged. When she saw how she meant nothing to these people, when she remembered how oblivious they had been when she was watching them, she felt outraged, insulted and beside herself.

‘I’m going to get revenge, the bastards! How dare they do this to me, how dare they think that I’m just some submissive, humble nobody who can be bought off so easily with a card and a glass of champagne! How dare they, how dare they! What scum they all are, they don’t give a shit about me! Well I’ll get revenge, I’ll get revenge!’

And she was like a mad woman, obsessed by seeking revenge. She would letter bomb them, that was it. Put a bomb in a parcel and bang! Yes! The pack of scum would be blown to smithereens. She was utterly engrossed, full of energy, and she marched back and forth throughout her flat, talking to herself in a deranged way.

‘I’m going to get them, just you wait. You think I’m just a nobody, someone you can treat with impunity, well we’ll see about that. My God, you’ve underestimated me, you don’t know what I’m bloody well capable of. I’ve got nothing to live for, so I can do anything, it doesn’t make any difference to me.’

She thought about Susan’s and Blackmore’s children and she thought of all the nasty things she could do to them. She could blow them up, chop their heads off, boil them in oil, and she could throw battery acid in the face of Blackmore and his tart, corrode those two smug, handsome, superior faces.

‘Ha! Ha! Ha!’ she cackled to herself, ‘they so underestimate me, they don’t know what I’m capable of.’

But in fact she wasn’t capable of anything, certainly not the things she spoke of. And at the bottom of her heart she knew this fine well.

She went on the internet and sat consumed in doing searches on Blackmore, on CPIS, desperate just to find out anything about the man, to see photographs of him, of his family, just to know more of him. In truth if she could’ve just known the man a bit better she would have been calmer. Yet the search was fruitless and she felt frustrated. She decided to do a search for ‘bomb making’. However as soon as she’d typed it in and the matches list came up, she felt guilty and deeply saddened, so, so lonely and depressed. A flood of joyous memories, such as the love she’d once felt for others in her childhood, her father making her a Wendy house for her birthday, her dear father, now dead, making it all himself – these memories now rebuked her, and she was sickened by what she’d come to. She didn’t investigate any further. She wasn’t going to blow up anyone, it was stupidity to talk like that. She spent an hour, feeling low, desultorily looking through web pages that didn’t really interest her, that had nothing to do with Blackmore and her scheme, and she calmed down somewhat.

Yet she was still profoundly upset.

‘No, I’m sorry but I have been wronged, heinously wronged. I can’t blow Blackmore up but I must get revenge somehow, I must do something, I just can’t let go, can’t allow them to get away with this.’

She ran through the possibilities. She didn’t want to seriously harm him, or break the law. But. What about throwing a bucket of water over his head? She would wait outside the building with a bucket of water and throw it over him as he came in to work. Or better still, she could run up to him, and a bit of dog poo in her hand, smear it into his face. Yet that would take guts and could end in trouble. Perhaps it aught to be a more covert operation. She could smear his car with dog poo. His precious BMW covered in the stuff. It was a lovely thought.

‘I’ll rub it in to your precious little car you disgusting piece of scum. I’ll bloody well wash it down with the stuff, creosote it in crap, and I’ll smash the fucking windows in and pop the tyres! Ha! Ha! Ha!’ and she cackled to herself like a witch. She was totally demented and possessed.

Eventually she calmed down.

‘No, you can’t afford to lose control and start ranting like a mad woman. You have been wronged and you must get even by some sort of simple, law-abiding, but all the same satisfying revenge.’

What then? Could she puncture Blackmore’s tyres? Surely she could. That would be a fairly satisfactory revenge. It would be easy wouldn’t it? She desperately attempted to calm down and to focus. This would indeed be a decent way to get revenge. It was a possibility. She tried to calm down and to think about it reasonably. She would need a knife. The mere thought of it frightened her. Then what about CCTV! She imagined doing the crime and then the horror of having been caught on CCTV! There could be cameras everywhere. She would be shown to be a criminal, caught red handed. She felt stressed at the thought. She would never get away with it. Even if she weren’t arrested, she would spend the rest of her life with it hanging over her, worrying that she had been caught on camera. Moreover she imagined Blackmore driving off ignorant of the punctured tyre, crashing on the road. He and his tart killed, also two other cars crashed, their occupants killed and little children run over. No! God it could be a disaster. No, no, no, no, no. What was she setting into motion here? She felt stressed by all these thoughts. God she didn’t want to be a murderer, to kill all these people. No she couldn’t do that. She felt scared of herself, scared of what she might do. She needed to get a grip, to come to her senses. This was serious now, someone could die.

Yet surely she had to do something, gain some sort of revenge. She was calmer now. A new plan came to her: she would photograph Blackmore with the new girl and then send the pictures to his wife.

‘That is it. That’s a clean bit of revenge. No-one can get physically hurt, I’ll simply stand outside the building with my camera, and then take the shots.’ She considered it, and was pleased by the idea that she would do it from a distance, calmly, and that no one could get injured. She would send the photos to Blackmore’s wife, and wait for the resultant firework display.

‘And you must stay calm, because we are going to go through with this. This is not some crazed plan it’s simple revenge. In the past we’ve always bottled it and made peace as it were, but not this time. We have to stay calm and carry out the plan, because this is about justice and we have to get it. If you want closure, if you want peace you really must go through with it.’

In the past she had often thought about getting revenge, thought up dramatic plans and schemes, but in the end she had always seen sense, and her anger had been spent. But she had never been wronged like this before and was determined, utterly determined to get revenge. Yet deep down she sensed that, as before, all these hours of scheming and plotting like a demented witch would amount to nothing, and that they were in fact simply a way of spending her anger.

Thoughtfully working out the details of the scheme, she decided to write Blackmore an email to tell him about the photos. She began:


Well you’ve made a mistake by crossing me. As I speak your wife has already received the photos of you and your bimbo. I should imagine she’s pretty angry, and that you’ll get turfed out, but it’s what you deserve you piece of filth.
It’s what you deserve because you’ve made my life hell. What I have been through this past year I can’t describe and that may or may not be down to you. But what I do know is that you are to blame for employing that bitch instead of me and I cannot forgive that.

Have you any idea how hurt I feel? To be replaced like that? Can I believe there is any justice in the world when such things are done against me? Is it so difficult for you just to be nice for once to me? I mean you have everything going for you, you’re young, handsome, good at your job, why can’t you just have been a bit nicer to me? You cannot imagine what this has done to me. I don’t want to be your enemy, I don’t want to hate you, but, well, what else can I think?


Yours

Janet Percy.


She had started off the letter with thoughts of revenge in her mind. Then, as the letter progressed she wanted to be more conciliatory to Blackmore, and saw that this was actually a way of coming to terms with him. In fact why not just write him a letter telling him how angry she felt about things and just asking for some sort of explanation? Just to tell him how she felt, how she was angry with him, this would be a solace to her.

As she slowly realised that she was now thinking of making peace with Blackmore, and that that was all she wanted, she started to feel some contempt for herself. Now, as she saw herself come around like this, to the point where she was willing to sue for peace with him, by writing a letter, she saw through the whole process, and almost felt at the end as though it were over. And when she came off the internet and went to make herself a cup of tea, her heart seemed no longer in it and she was a bit exhausted. She’d spent a whole five hours – the best part of the evening – consumed, absorbed, on the internet, and when she stood in her kitchen and looked outside at the night sky she felt regret on having missed out on life somehow, on all that was beautiful and joyous, instead wasting her time in hatred and anger.

Yet it seemed wrong to let it all go like that. No! she was determined to carry out her plan, as she had told herself. She was entitled to get some revenge, and Blackmore only had himself to blame. She would go through with it. She’d worked at CPIS for ten years, had been a fixture in that work place for so long. She had to get revenge.

‘That piece of scum!’ she burst out in one final round of anger. ‘To dismiss me and then a year later bring in a tart.’ And the thought of those two, consumed by happiness in each other, sleeping together, those loathsome pieces of hard-faced garbage, those two miseries going away for dirty weekends – it enraged her. She started pacing.

‘No, he’s a piece of scum, I want to smash his face in, the piece of garbage, the mother fucking bastard’ and in an outburst of rage she started throwing things around the room and started banging her head against the wall.

‘God!’ she screamed, ‘where is the justice in this world?’ and she broke into sobs, laid her head on the floor and just curled up. She lay on the cold floor, hugging herself and sobbing. She was having a good cry now.

‘Oh God, I don’t want any of this, any of this hatred and revenge, I don’t want any of this, I just want peace.’

And she realised there and then that there would be no revenge scheme tomorrow. It was over.

‘Oh’ she cried ‘I just want peace God, I just want peace, I want happiness, the good things in life. I’m a good person and I don’t want to spend my days hating people.’

And she thought back to a birthday party she’d had as a child; her deceased mother bringing in a cake with candles, her brothers, the toys, the teddy bears; her father with his Wendy house. She broke out into sobs of pure, pure joy.

And a huge feeling of peace was coming over her, and she felt so sorry for all her feelings of hatred and bitterness. She felt peace in her heart and soul. She could get worked up over Blackmore if she allowed herself to, but she knew she just had to ignore him, ignore his tart, ignore all of them. There was a beautiful, peaceful life apart from them, and she just wanted to forget about them, pretend they didn’t exist, and concentrate on her own happiness, on the good things in life, on peace and inner contentment.

‘Oh Lord, I don’t ever want to think or know of these people again. Help me Lord to forget about them, to love you, to love others, to cherish the good in people, the good things in life. I just want peace Lord, I just want peace.’

She went and sat watching night time TV. It was pleasant to take one’s mind away from all that had consumed it, and night time TV, just like daytime TV was very comforting. She watched a film, one of her favourites, a romance and felt so happy to escape with it. And so she passed the night, a cup of tea in her hand, feeling utterly calm and serene after the storm, and with total peace in her heart.

At 5 am she went to bed. By this time you could see the day dawning outside. It was beautiful and supreme, so sombre and calm. She looked out onto it and felt a sad but deep tranquillity in her heart. She went to bed in calmness and slept well. She was glad to have let go of all her feelings of revenge.