“You talk nonsense, man!” Michael answered him. “We're damn good, why would they let go of us?
"For insubordination, for anything!" Any reason could be good, wondered Adam. “Do you know how many unemployed journalists there are on the labor market?”
Only silence answered him.
“Would you like to look for a new job?” Adam turned to Michael with this question. But he didn't wait for an answer:
“I don’t! I am quite well here. I have barely bought the apartment, I am going to dive the coral reefs on vacation, and I am paying off the loan. I have enough for me to pay the installments and for a decent life. I don't need anything more to be happy.” He paused for a moment to look at his friend. He could see the confusion painted on their faces.
“Only a few of us can get a better job. Don't cheat yourself, gentlemen. I don't want to rot here until retirement, but I have no reason to complain.”
“Fuck you, man!” Michael said. At that moment, he came to the conclusion that in the worst case scenario, he would go to a colleague's public relations agency or he will open one himself.
"And even… if… then screw it! Gentlemen, I have a proposal. Let's go for a beer!” Without waiting for approval, he started toward the stairs.
Michael had reasons to be furious. For a future raise, and at the cost of his savings, he had bought a luxury car which would perfectly be fit for his future position, which he did not receive ultimately.
He had barely paid a colossal insurance policy and had already gotten several parking tickets in a forbidden place. Due to the large size of the car, he had already begun having problems with it. Most often, there was only enough space on the sidewalk, lawn and flower beds. So he parked his car there.
Everyone thought he would be the new chief editor, and most of all, he thought so himself. Convinced that it would be so, he miscalculated. A lot. In the end, his chair was taken by Alice unexpectedly.
Ever since his wife left him, he believed that the most appropriate place for a woman was at home, and that her vocation was to take care of her husband and children, and to take care of the backyard garden. And those who didn't think so, should learn a lesson so that they don't destroy the lives of decent guys.
He often displayed contempt for the opposite sex, and his voiced beliefs coincided with his actions, as witnessed by his colleagues who considered him a terrible womanizer who, with sadistic delight, conquered the hearts of women, made them fall in love with him, and triumphantly abandoned them after some time.
Michaels’ friend knew the reasons for his ruthless behavior, even the objective treatment of women, in his personal experiences and the unsuccessful marriage.
They knew he had a wife, supposedly even attractive, who had left him after a few turbulent years spent tougher, but they didn’t know the real reason for their separation. They supposed that she couldn’t survive living in the shadow of a famous, sought-after, excellent columnist, and also handsome, with excessive inclinations towards the fair sex.
When talking about him, they sometimes laughed that friend was jumping from flower to flower for as long as they remembered him. Romance after romance.
Although he was not as handsome as he used to be and not as charming as years ago, when he started his journalistic career, yet in the opinion of interested women, regardless of age, they were crazy about him.
They did not know what the Johnson phenomenon was all about. In their opinion? They all knew his true roots, but the women he was dating had no idea of it.
In the opinion of the famous magazine writer? He was an indecently rich bastard who won't let even any attractive grandmother pass by without making a pass at her.
Or did his all ‘charm’ lay in being interpreted as a mockery of "being" abandoned, rejected, and an ‘unhappy in love’ lost man needing a woman's hand?
After a short while, as one, they followed him. Michael was an unquestionable authority for them, a good friend who would never refuse help to somebody in need.
It was too early for a beer, but they could go for a good, strong coffee. Anyway, all venues serving alcohol, including their favorite Tavern, would only be open in a few hours.
They went to the milk bar. From its windows, they could see the entrance to the building where the editorial office was located. They found that the situation was under control.
Michael bought a few bottles of high-proof alcohol in a supermarket nearby, where they usually did their supplies. They left some of the liquor for the afternoon, the other they drank in coffee cups, eating pancakes with cheese and whipped cream, the only ‘edible’ dish at the place.
Exceptionally, no one complained about the fancy menu or protested that it was too early for alcohol. Almost everyone treated their previous night hangover.
They returned to the editorial office during lunch. At the front door, they were greeted by the new chief editor in denims and a paper cap on her head.
“Good morning, gentlemen!” With a smile on her face, she opened the door wide. “I am very pleased that you decided to honor me with your presence.”
They froze. Like one froze motionless. They didn't know whether to trust what they saw or whether they saw what was not there.
Had they been drinking too much? Are they hallucinating? Impossible! They drank a lot more and didn’t daydream, so what they saw was reality.
‘What is the chief editor up to?’ They wondered.
Only Michael got so drunk that he didn’t even notice her new image.
“The witch is so happy! What is this for?” He muttered under his breath.
Then their eyes saw a nightmarish sight. There was foil stuck on the floor, several ladders standing in place of their collegial, or rather a poker table, along with brushes, rollers, and paints.
“The current number has been closed!” Alice joyfully announced. “We have time off, so gentlemen go to work. The painters said it would take them a week to paint the entire editorial office, which we cannot afford. If we get to work right now, we'll be over by five o'clock.”
“And what's the use of this?” Jack asked, appalled.“You will get the money intended for painters!” She replied.“Okay, there were supposed to be three of them, and there are eight of us and three of our female friends.” Jack continued, irritated with the tone of her voice and the smile on the boss's face. Who cares about that money? What she is talking about?’“I'm not gonna fire you!” The chief editor announced with a stern expression on her face this time. “Enough?”They didn't know how to react to it. Their assumptions that the witch was planning to kick out the entire team turned out to be correct. She was just looking for an excuse. Maybe they should take their feet by the waist and run where the pepper grows? They considered themselves as ‘racial intellectuals’, preferred to work with their brains’ grey cells than to exercise their muscles.In the end,
“Damn! We're straight, man!” Jack drawled through clenched teeth.“Do we need to watch your shapely butt, man?” Simon asked, laughing. He was the complete opposite of his younger friend: about thirty centimeters shorter, stocky build, but he didn't care at all.A long time ago, he had accepted the fact that he has no chance of becoming a model. However, that didn’t diminish his sense of great humor. Even in the most dramatic moments of the editorial office's life, he was able to summon a bit of optimism, reach for a piece of paper, a pencil and draw a caricature of one of his colleagues.“Get out, Simon! I'm in no mood for jokes!” Alex said, offended. He didn’t tolerate discussions about his appearance. He considered taking care of his body and soul as a completely natural thing and conversations about it were unnecessary.“Alex, please!” Adam was begging, terrified. “In a moment we will ha
“We'll count next time!” Alex threatened Jack. “I'm going to eat!” He added calmly. "I won't sit here with this hypocrite."“And you? Are you holy?” Jack began to laugh. “Look, here we have a picture of a flawless narcissist!”“I have a clear conscience, unlike you... Show off to your friends, corrupt traitor, what photos you gave to Leo Walker.” Alex said calmly."You don't have the right to give a shit about who I'm meeting and what I'm doing!" He almost shouted, upset.“With who? Leo Walker? Jack, what’s going on?” Thomas asked, concerned about what he heard. “Alex, could you explain what you are talking about?”“What pictures?&
The next day, just before nine o’clock, the chief editor came to the office. She was surprised to see the editorial team sitting at the collegiate table on a Friday morning.Alex and Adam came right behind her.“Good morning, gentlemen!” She greeted them.“Not good morning, but bad morning…” Michael began to complain about sleeplessness. In addition, regardless of the presence of the editor, he stretched as if he was still in bed in his bedroom, not at work.“Shut up, Michael!” Thomas sitting next to him, also sleepy, tried to bring him to order. "Dude, you barely got up, you're already complaining. You were supposed to change! Shave! Brush up!”"Shh..." Michael put a finger to his lips. “I have a headache! Don't yell behind my ears!”“Gentlemen, I have a surprise!” The chief editor announced. "There's a package on my desk in my office. Can one of you bring it in,
At twenty to ten, in complete silence, they began to leave the editorial office. They were waiting at the main exit of the building. It soon turned out that not only the chief editor and all the females were going to the event, but also Nicolas Williams, who had just parked his car in front of the building.The bosses cunningly waited for the male half of the team to leave, then followed right behind them so that one wouldn’t have the opportunity to get missing and disappear somewhere around the corner unnoticed.Journalists really wanted to get lost, but assumed that the consequences could be severe.When they entered the sports hall belonging to the Academy of Physical Education, they lost the rest of their good humor for the day.“Damn it! What are we doing here? There are journalists of all local mass media, and maybe even national ones.” Simon commented. “And there are even those damn spectators!”The huge sports
Soon, the journalists of the ‘Man’ began to clap. Their witch in a turquoise suit looked great, standing next to the competitors warming up their muscles before the start. But instead of warming up, Alice stood almost motionless, looking at the opposite edge of the pool.The boys, looking at her, had no doubts that she spent her free time not like them, in the Tavern, but working hard on her physical condition. However, they were aware that having a beautifully built body does not mean that it can swim well.They began to argue that the competition was controversial, not very fair, as there were two women and four men taking part in it, and the distance was as long as two lengths of the pool.For a moment they forgot about the hatred, anger, the fragile male honor and the painting she forced them to do. They really hoped that their chief editor not only looked great, but she could swim, and that'd be good enough.“And racing on electric
Alex didn’t object when someone called over a doctor who was watching over the players. The diagnosis managed to bring everyone down. The medic decided to take the injured to the hospital for observation and X-ray. Adam standing next to him, the culprit of all the fuss, looked no better than the injured Alex. He didn't want to knock out his friend, he just wanted to distract him. Now, he felt remorse and had a moral hangover. Faced with the requests and pleas of his colleagues, Alex ended up sitting on the stand with an ice pack on his head. It was the only thing he could do for his colleagues. Stay on the sidelines until the end of the tournament. Observe and support them in spirit. The last discipline of the competition turned out to be extremely dramatic. It was attended by the entire ‘Man’ team except for the injured Alex and Alice, who sat worriedly next to him. The injured person didn’t feel well, but kept a cool head and didn’t move from his se
The boys, tired of the murderous rivalry at the event, the previous night’s all-night party and climbing the stairs, decided that before they went down to get new equipment, they would first rest for a while. They hoped a miracle would happen and the elevators would repair themselves, or it would turn out that there was no breakdown at all, and they wouldn't have to climb up to the seventh floor again. They sat in silence, happy in the depths of their souls; there was a weekend ahead of them, two long days that they absolutely wanted to devote to rest. Only Michael, burgundy with rage, complained about the bad luck that haunted him: all the evil, injustice, meanness of the world in the hard life of an honest, conscientiously working, and underappreciated outstanding journalist. He muttered under his breath about the terrible headache that didn’t allow him to think rationally, the terrible pain in his back and nagging muscle soreness that made it diffi