The Whole Building's Mine

"Malcolm Lewis, sign here. We're adults; don't make a scene."

A Notice of Termination of Employment Contract was tossed onto my desk. It was light, just like my status in the company over the past two years.

The person who tossed the document over was named Jessica Zimmer, the Human Resources director.

She was wearing a designer suit today — although I knew it was a counterfeit. She also painted her lips a bright red, as if she were ready to devour someone whole.

Looking at me condescendingly, her head was held so high that her nostrils were almost touching the ceiling.

There was a dead silence all around.

Some of the colleagues in the cubicle were pretending to frantically type on the keyboard while some buried their heads in their documents.

Only the new intern, Alexis Yeager from the next cubicle, looked at me worriedly, hesitating to speak.

It was December 28th.

Only three days were left until the company promised to distribute the year-end bonus.

Firing me right before the New Year? I had to hand it to Fred Waller, the boss. He knew how to run a business.

By firing someone, the money saved on bonuses would go straight back into his pocket.

I picked up the piece of paper and glanced at it.

The reason section explicitly stated: [Mismatch in values, lack of competitiveness, repeated refusal to participate in teambuilding activities and a negative attitude toward work.]

I laughed.

The so-called "refusal to participate in teambuilding" referred to me declining to accompany clients to massage parlors on weekends.

The "negative attitude toward work" referred to me clocking out at 6pm sharp every day and refusing to share the boss's long-winded, sycophantic odes to the company on my social media feed.

"What are you laughing at?"

Jessica frowned, her face twisted in disdain. "Malcolm, I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you. Given that your performance has been a major drag on the company, management has decided to let you go. As for severance pay..."

She paused and flashed a fake professional smile. "The company is facing some financial difficulties right now. The boss said that since you're a senior employee, you should be understanding of our situation.

"There won't be any N+1 severance. We'll only pay your salary for this month. That's the best the company can do."

I glanced at my phone.

5:58pm; two minutes until the end of the workday.

I set down my phone, took a pen from the drawer and effortlessly signed my name on the notice. "Sure."

I slid the paper back, my tone as casual as if I were ordering takeout. "But I have one condition."

Jessica clearly had not expected me to agree so readily. She had prepared a whole speech about the struggling economy and how this was for my career growth, but the words were now stuck in her throat.

"What...What condition?" She eyed me warily. "If you're asking for money, forget it; I've got nothing to give but my own life."

"Don't be nervous." I gestured toward a money tree tucked in the corner of my workstation, along with a few rolls of toilet paper I had just collected from the admin department.

"I bought the plant myself, and I just collected the toilet paper. I'm taking them with me."

Jessica rolled her eyes so hard as if I were some unrefined beggar. "Malcolm, is this really the extent of your ambition? Take it all. Just get lost. You're an eyesore. You reek of poverty; you're ruining the company's vibe."

She snatched up the termination agreement and waved her hand dismissively, as if shooing away a fly. "Since it's signed, pack your things and get out.

"Don't bother showing up for the annual party tomorrow either; the boss wouldn't want to see someone pathetic like you."

"You got it." I stood up and stretched.

6pm sharp, the end-of-day bell rang right on cue.

I scooped up my money tree, stuffed the toilet paper into my backpack, and strode toward the exit as my colleagues watched on; their expressions ranged from complicated and sympathetic, to outright gleeful.

At the doorway, I stopped and turned back to take one last glance at Peak Performance Media, Inc. — the company where I had spent the last two years.

What a grand-sounding name.

It was too bad the office itself was tucked away in the northwest corner of the building — the spot with the absolute worst natural light.

"Jessica!" I called out.

Jessica, who was just about to head back to her office to claim credit for her victory, turned around, looking annoyed. "What now? Having second thoughts? Too late."

I grinned, revealing a set of bright white teeth. "Nothing much; just a friendly reminder. The flu's been going around, so make sure to stay warm. And..."

I gestured toward the flickering light bulb overhead. "Isn't it about time to pay the rent and property management fees? I hear the landlord has a bit of a temper. He cuts the power if you're late."

Jessica acted as if I just told the most ridiculous joke. "Malcolm, did you get your head caught in a door or something? Why are you worrying about this? You'd better worry about whether you can afford your own rent next month. What the hell does us paying the rent have to do with you?"

"Fair point."

I nodded. "I suppose it really is none of my business as an employee."

After all, I was the landlord from this moment on.