Talented social escort needed

Hellgirl was very serious when she described the social background and situation of the South Sandwich Islands and the reasons why I should change my expectations about finding a new job.

- As I recommended before, Leni: you better swallow your pride. I've known people with a background as brilliant as yours who had no choice but to become garbage collectors. I have seen homeless folks looking for leftovers in the dustbins at night, when dinnertime’s long been passed. I've been in Cardboard City, where five hundred people live badly by the river. And I’ve seen a few ones there who had lost their jobs but were too arrogant to accept anything less than what they had before. And yet you hope to hobnob with the plutocrats, the politicians, the ambassadors and the snooty guys you used to work with!

My goodness me. What a rant. Hellgirl started sounding like a Union activist. I looked down, unable to speak.

- Your professional situation is critical and you must react! Change your way of thinking. Now. The sooner, the better for you. –she continued-
- I know, I know! –I said, in panic-.
- I’m going to help you, Leni. But don’t tell me that you want to become a best selling author or a successful solicitor, because that can’t be possible for the moment. You’ll have to make some concessions and accept things that you would have never accepted before. Nevertheless, I have something interesting for you. Let me find my crib sheet…

I expected she would want to take my soul too. She threatened to do it in the past, when I desperately asked her to help me recover my ex-boyfriend, Bob Gausmann.

- What will you ask for, in exchange?
- Believe it or not, I won’t charge you this time. I never take advantage of the people in need.
- You sound a bit of a Robin Hood now.
- Don’t take offence but there are better souls to take than yours, Leni. You would be a total failure in Hell if I ever recruited you and I have to safeguard my reputation or I will be ejected from the Psycho Bitches from Hell’s Council.

Help from Hell. That was very funny, indeed. Whenever she came up with a great idea you should get ready for the worst. She dug in her right pocket for that crib note she had just mentioned and started reading.

- Let’s see… The first job in my list is very interesting and creative: would you like to be a gogo girl? How do you like it?
- No way.
- Why not, silly? You have a wonderful sense of rhythm. I saw you poledancing last year at Max’s wedding while everybody was sloshed, and you were great!
- I didn’t go to college to end up poledancing at a disco, Hellgirl.
- Come on! You would look great in a tight silk lame minidress. It’s a decent and very respectable job. And it’s well paid.
- I don’t doubt it.

- Well, don’t be so picky then. You said you didn’t want to become a waitress at the King of Sandwich, right?
- That’s right.
- Then, wait. I have some other job offers here… how about becoming a chicken sexer?
- Eek!
- Braille translator?
- Braille is not one of my skills.
- Forest fire lookout?
- They have to climb high towers and I’m afraid of heights.
- I see. Rodeo clown?
- I’ve never ridden a horse.
- How unfortunate. Would you like to be a worm farmer?
- That's revolting.
- Twister chaser? Dog walker? Cigar roller?

That wasn’t funny anymore.

- Hellgirl, aren’t there any normal jobs in your list?
- Yes Leni, and I have one that will be perfect for you.
- Then, please tell me about it.
- My good friend Demonius High, one of the best solicitors in the country and the owner of the most reputable and well-respected firm “High, Low & partners, Inc.” would be interested in hiring your services.
- Exactly what for? –I asked, distrustful-.
- Jeez, Leni, you’re unemployed and hopeless. Anyone in your same situation would give their right arm for this job, regardless of what it would be. Don’t be fussy now.

Solicitors from Hell: just to think of them scared me out of my wits.

- I don’t trust lawyers. Least of all from Hell.
- Why not? What have human lawyers got that their Hell’s colleagues haven’t?

My answer would have offended her, so I didn’t utter a word.

- Demonius won’t hire you as a lawyer but as his Personal Assistant. –she said-
- Hm… that sounds good. And what does he want me to do?
- He needs to fill an important vacancy in his business. It requires good looks and excellent demeanor, diplomacy, personality, energy and friendliness to foster customer’s loyalty. You’ll get a sports car, a very exclusive designer’s wardrobe, a free iPhone, your own corporate business card and a generous budget for your business expenses.

I couldn’t believe my luck and smiled happily. Naively. Silly me.

My greed for “status” blinded me to the point that I started asking her a bunch of stupid questions. I hadn’t realised yet that I was simply not in a position to demand the best job in the world. I still couldn’t see what was coming.

- Will I have my own office? Fringe benefits? A parking place? –I asked-
- You won’t need any of those things. –she answered calmly-
- Will I have my own team? An assistant? Powers of attorney? Oh tell me what it is! I’m so impatient!
- You’ll be a social escort, Leni. The salary is excellent. Your incall rate will be around 1000 G per hour. But you may earn a lot more, depending on your talent. Your customer’s portfolio will include aristocrats, celebrities, artists, top politicians and rich tycoons. You will make more money than you ever dreamed in your whole life and will be able to maintain or even improve the standard of living you’re enjoying right now.

That was simply crazy.

- Wait. I won’t shag Demonius High’s clients.

She laughed loud.

- Stop acting like you're Miss Innocent. You're no longer chaste and pure. Your shagging history is rich and varied, darling. I got your number!
- But that doesn't mean I'm a high class hooker!
- Right Leni, but you're naughty and disinhibited, and you'll do fine. It’s not a dirty job; it's just another kind of job. Please consider it. You’ll be rubbing shoulders with the cream of society. Basically, you’ll just work on dating and sightseeing services with the company’s visitors, to make their stay more enjoyable. That's all. If you’re good, your clients might tip you generously and you'll end up with huge amounts of extra money. You won’t die for trying.

So that was the small print of the agreement: to be a VIP slut for "High, Low & partners, Inc.".

- Consider it as a temporary job. Maybe this will help you take a decision. But you don’t have to answer now. Sleep on it and tell me tomorrow.



"This is the day" (The The)

Single white female will take any job

The day after my dismissal I didn’t feel like doing anything in particular, but just having a lazy morning and getting mentally ready to immediately start a frantic job hunt.

I was in good spirits, so I quickly got down to business with the job search. My cv was excellent and I had the best contacts. I sent more than fifty job applications in Sandwich and abroad; made loads of phone calls and wrote a zillion e-mails.

I was convinced that it wouldn’t take me long to start receiving interesting offers. But to my surprise, days passed, weeks passed and all I got was a few polite thank you letters saying my profile didn’t match the job requirements.

At the age of 18, I was the youngest student ever to graduate cum laude from the Sandwichian Law School; went on Erasmus for a master in law and economics at the University of Freeburg, in Burdishland; was fluent in four languages; later on, became a highly-trained professional with experience in public and private strategic sectors; the best head hunters often knocked at my door not so long ago. But now everybody was turning their back on me. What on earth was going on?

Was it a consequence of the general economic background to the crisis? Probably. But I could feel there was something else. Something fishy and gruesome: a mystery that I had to unveil.

I decided to take it easy and be patient. But three months later, I completely lost my marbles and started freaking out: the results of my job search were virtually nil. I had expensive bills to pay monthly, a gigantic mortgage and a brand new car to finance, that were slowly, but steadily, eating all of the generous severance pay that the Dumbass Industries gave me when I had been fired.

I suffered a couple of anxiety attacks at night and woke up crying in my sleep, thinking I’d have to sell my flat and car off cheaply and manage to survive with that income, until the last coin was spent and I was finally doomed to become a hobo.

And no, just in case you wondered, I never considered asking Ed Davies for help. He was always in my thoughts, but I was too hurt and too proud to ask.

Still under the effects of that most forgettable dismissal day, Hellgirl made one of her star appearances in my kitchen, as I was having a cup of coffee that tasted bitter as ever.

Contrary to general belief, people from Hell don’t smell like vomit or rotten eggs. That would be simple stupid. It only happens in cheesy TV shows or movies. How could they possibly gain human souls for the devil smelling like a skunk?

Seriously, real Hell’s minions are very, very distinguished and refined people. You can smell them from afar and even get very fond of them in the long run. Hellgirl particularly, smells like the air after it has just been raining. And that unmistakable smell always precedes her visits.

- Hi. Would you like to have a cup of coffee? –I asked her-
- That would be very lovely, Leni. But I only drink Everclear. It tastes like piss, but it gets the job done! –she said, finishing off a small bottle of that brew-.

For those who are not familiar with alcoholic concoctions, Everclear is a brand of neutral grain spirit home-brewed in Orsinia at concentrations of 95% alcohol. Because of its high alcohol content, it’s illegal, unavailable, or difficult to find in many areas. But not for Hellgirl.

She inhaled and then exhaled slowly. Her liquor breath nearly knocked me backwards; and that wasn't exactly as nice as the smell of the air after it has just been raining.

Then, she turned the TV on. An expert was expounding upon the root origins of the financial crisis, using terms such as lack of liquidity, toxic assets, stock markets crash and housing bubble. The future certainly looked very very gloomy.

- You haven’t been a victim of this crisis, but of your own negligence, Leni. –said Hellgirl, staring at me-.
- Are you giving me a sermon now? –I asked her-
- No. I came here to show you how awful things are looking now, just to put you in the picture. The unemployment rate is leaping to record high in Sandwich. Look. –she said pointing at the chart on the TV-

The Sandwichian figures were scary, in comparison to the ones for the surrounding countries.

Zeewland 2.3%
Sweessland 3.0%
Franzosichland 3.5%
Burdishland 5.4%
Zantland 7.3%
Orsinia 9.5%
SOUTH SANDWICH ISLANDS 20%

- I know very well how bloody awful things are looking over here. Since Big Cheese fired me, three months ago, I’ve been looking for a job and I still haven’t found any!!! -I screamed-
- I know. Your Big Cheese has banned you from the most important corporations.
- He did what???
- He strongly recommended his colleagues from the biggest companies not to hire you, because he thinks you’re not a reliable person.
- The fucker! So this explains everything...
- Yeah. You’ll never find a job with this reference.
- Oh thanks for the encouragement.
- Your ex-boss is a powerful man. He took offence at your sudden getaway and now he’s getting his revenge. Sorry to say it, but your chances of being employed again soon are very scarce.
- I can’t believe this is happening to me. I won a scholarship to study laws at the best Law School, got my degree with excellent grades, did a master course…
- Ok ok, that’s fine, but it won’t help you. Nobody will offer you a job after your ex boss’s reports.
- Come on, I’ve always had excellent job offers, even when I didn’t need them.
- These days are gone, Leni. You should think of lowering your standards or even of retraining.
- No way! I’m not going back to college! And I’m not publishing a classified in the Sandwichian Herald’s advertisement section saying ‘Single white female would take any job’. Least of all would I become a waitress at The King of Sandwich!!!

For those who have never been in the South Sandwich Islands, The King of Sandwich is the largest and most popular junk food restaurant chain in the island. They serve sandwiches (what else?) and delicious Orsinian specialties also, like peanut butter and jelly.

Hellgirl looked down very serious and shook her head.

- Swallow your pride, Leni. Wake up and smell the coffee: desperate businessmen who have lost everything in the stock markets kill themselves by jumping off running trains. Unpaid properties are being seized by the government. There is homelessness and street begging all over in the South Sandwich Islands. People are stealing to feed their families. Little children rush towards the traffic lights downtown to wash car windshields for a few cents. Women get engaged in domestic prostitution to pay the rent. Every day more, hopeless Sandwichians sell their souls for just a decent meal and a bridge to sleep under.

It sounded tragic, but the picture she was describing was faithful to reality: two million people had been fired or laid off in Sandwich during the last two years. There were more than four million unemployed persons in the island, and the figure kept growing fast. The biggest companies were ceaselessly cutting jobs, if not going bankrupt and closing their premises. Banks were dramatically restricting credits to businesses. Consumers panicked, as their income nose-dived. But what was most important: people were suffering. The underprivileged, more than anybody else.

And yet I still dreamed of finding my ideal job at the first go.



"Nobody knows you when you're down and out" (Madame Sarkozy sings the blues)

Credibility and virginity

Getting fired, unfortunately, can happen to the best of us. It can even happen when it's not our fault. But that was not my case.

My case was actually going to be a fair devastating dismissal. I breathed deep, plucked up my courage and knocked on Big Cheese’s office door.

- Come in! –he said loudly-
- Good morning, sir –I said when I opened the door-
- Uh, oh, it’s Miss Q, at last! Nice to see you again. I thought you had been abducted by an alien spacecraft.

I sighed. He was so obnoxious.

- Very funny, indeed, sir. –I said, clenching my teeth-.
- Did you enjoy your holidays, dear? –he asked-
- There's no need to be ironic.
- I can be as ironic as I want, Q. You’re an excellent professional, but you’ve recently proved not to have the slightest sense of duty. I’m very disappointed. You just can’t do this in your position.
- I know I made a serious mistake, sir. I was under so much pressure that I did a very stupid thing. Please accept my apologies. –I whispered desperately, looking down-
- That’s right, Q. You did a very very stupid thing.

He opened the top drawer to his desk and took a file out of it. He handed me the file and lit up a cigarette.

- It was nice while it lasted, but I’m afraid that this is the end of our association. –he said, leaning back on his chair-. Here’s your severance payment and the settlement documents. Read them carefully. The company is offering you a very nice compensation.

I expected this. But I never thought it would have such a powerful effect on me. Suddenly I felt as if I had been hit by a truck. I got such a shock that my mind was unable to think straight.

- I beg you to reconsider your decision, sir. –I whispered with a low voice-
- I can’t, Q. Credibility is like virginity: you lose it only once. And once you lose it… you can never get it back. Capisce?

I nodded. The company offered me a one-year total compensation, which was very generous. So I signed the papers without objection, realising there was nothing I could do to avoid being fired.

- Excellent. Thank you for being so understanding and making it easy. It’s been a pleasure working with you, Q. Good luck.

And that was all the thankyous I got for my five years of service at the Dumbass Industries.

I left his office very disheartened. His cortège of sycophants and harem of female brown nosers would immediately knock on his door to butter him up. I would soon be forgotten.

Deep feelings of disappointment and uncertainty overwhelmed me. There was a cardboard box on my desk where someone had put my personal belongings: some books and cds and a small vanity bag.

The good side of having been fired was I wouldn’t have to stand his meteorism problems, hear his heavy swearing and cursing or bear his childish funny little ways. No more inconvenient phone calls at midnight; no more being shouted at or standing Monday morning faces.

And yes, if you asked me, he looked old, fat and ugly. In spite of his draconian diet, his exclusive Armani suits and myopia operation. You can put lipstick on a pig, but it's still a pig.

When I left my office, I came across the secretary in the corridor.

- I know it’s unfair, Leni. Nobody ever worked as hard as you did in this office to change things for the better. But you shouldn’t have left your job for three weeks without telling the boss you were taking three weeks off. Why did you do that? –asked the secretary-
- I was sick and tired of everything. And I knew he wouldn’t allow me to take some holidays.

We kissed goodbye.

When I went outside, I saw the guy from the Unions. He was sitting on a bench in the sun, in front of building 1, smoking a big fat cigar. I tried to leave unnoticed, but his radar spotted me carrying the cardboard box.

- Aww… dear… Big Cheese kicked yer ass, right Q? –he asked-
- That’s right, dude. –I answered-
- Well, I told ya long ago. What goes around, comes around. You have to sleep in the bed you make. He who ives by the sword, dies by the sword. You do the crime, you do the time. Everyone gets their comeuppance, Q. Don’t take it personal, please. –he said, blowing smoke rings in the air-
- I bet you must be very happy now.
- No, Q. Your dismissal doesn’t make me happy. I’m not such an evil guy. You’re a very tough worker, and I would have defended you always. But your ex-boss is a fucking piece of shit and you were one of the loyals.
- It’s very funny, indeed to hear you say this after having sued me so many times for the most stupid things!!!
- Yeah, dear, and I’m now somehow sorry for that. But that’s just the way it is. Welcome to the class struggle. Unfortunately you were on the wrong side. I was just kicking your boss’s ass. But please, don’t take it personal.

Jeez, how could I possibly not take it personal???

My nice and cosy flat; my silver BMW Series 1; my lifestyle; my future. Everything would go up in smoke.

I walked –rather sleepwalked- like a zombie towards my car, two blocks away from the Dumbass house.

And this is how I lost credibility. Virginity was already lost a few years ago.




"Five years" (David Bowie)

Management's orders

I was totally stunned and horrified when Ed shouted at the ghosts and threw me out of the house.

- I can never reach you on the phone. You don’t answer my e-mails. I don’t even know whether you get them or not. All I ever heard from you lately was that you hated your birthday but would gladly accept a present. This is why I came here. Then, your butler told me that you were celebrating with Misty McGwire in Orsinia. To top it all, your ghost relatives tried to convince me that I would make a perfect third wife for you. How funny is this? –I said-
- Listen, honey: firstly, you are too demanding. And secondly, I don’t have to explain to you what I do or do not do. –he spat, upset-
- Of course you don’t have to. In fact, you’ve never done it. Why would you do it right now?

I knew that was nasty, but I couldn't help it. He didn’t utter a word. Just stared at me with a tired, but defiant look.

- You have no idea what I've gone through to be here. And now that I’ve found you, you’re kicking me out. –I said, sadly-.

He looked down, shamefaced and serious.

- Tell me… what’s so wrong with me? I really love you. More than my words can say. I gave you my heart, but when I dared ask for love, you thought I was demanding. You’re so selfish and arrogant! And yet I really love you, Ed. But I’ve just had it up to here with you. –I said, putting my hand way above my head-

He was quite shocked but kept stum.

- By the way, I almost forgot something. Here you go. Happy birthday –I said, throwing the birthday parcel on the table-

Then I removed the diamond ring from my finger and left it beside the parcel.

- And this, too. –I said-
- Leni, please don’t …
- Oh, now it turns out that you’ve decided to stop ignoring me. Sorry, but it’s too late. Goodbye.

I took my backpack and walked down the corridor with that sick feeling of sadness in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t stand the pain. I couldn’t even say goodbye.

As I left hurriedly among a myriad of scared ghosts, my cell phone went. Ed’s ancestors pricked up their ears to hear me talk from the crooked paintings hanging on the walls of the corridor where they lived.

- Q. –said Big Cheese-
- Yes, sir? –I said, wiping away the tears with my left hand-.
- What happens with you? When will you see fit to show up? You’ve got a lot to do here! –he shouted at me-

That was just what I needed: Big Cheese, angry as a bear with a sore foot, kicking up a fuss.

- I’m sorry sir, but I’m not in the South Sandwich Islands right now and I’ll need eight hours to fly back –I said-
- I know where you are and what you’ve been doing lately: the TV aired your pleasure trip to Mawi-Mawi and Burdishland on the last edition of the news. A bad case of chicken pox, eh? Lies have short legs, Q, and they won’t get you too far. Tomorrow. First thing in the morning. I expect you to be in my office. Or there will be consequences.

Bloody reporters. Since I had met Ed, I no longer had a private life.

Working for the Dumbass Industries Inc. never was a bed of roses. Big Cheese hired me five years ago as his chief of cabinet. He was an expert in the fine art of delegation and his performance soon became a blatant attempt to load my back with all the work, while he made the most of his golfing and sailing time or simply playing minesweeper and solitaire on the computer. It was hard enough for me, not to mention having to cope with his extreme rudeness, immoderate ambition and desire for power.

Everybody in the company predicted that I would be burnt-out soon and they guessed correctly. Why was I still with him after five years? The answer is easy: he paid me a nice salary package that allowed me to lead a very comfortable life. Everybody has their price. I’m not an exception.

But even though I’m a very long-suffering woman, there’s a limit to my patience. One day, after a hugely disproportionate amount of shouting, I said I had a bad case of chicken pox and took French leave from work. The truth was I couldn’t take any more pressure and stress.

But just as the world and his wife knew now –thanks to the invaluable research work done by the Sandwichian TV-, I actually had been on holidays in the Mawi-Mawi Islands and Burdishland for three weeks.

The day after I left Burdishland, I had to stand one of the worst humiliations of my life. I drove to work, like I did every morning, and while I was waiting for the arm gate to be lifted at the Dumbass Industries’ head office, Riley -the security guy at the main door- approached me and knocked on my car window. I rolled it down.

- Sorry, Miss Qinan, but I’m afraid you’re not authorised to park your car at the company's parking lot. – he said, blushing real red-
- What? How come?? I’ve been doing it for the last five years! Why not today? –I asked, outraged-

Riley looked down, visibly embarrassed and whispered, pointing at the sky:

- Management’s orders, Miss Qinan. I’m very sorry. You may want to check this with your office. I’ve been given instructions this morning…

That was unbelievable. It made my jaw drop. I let out a tremendous snort, took my cell phone and called Big Cheese’s secretary.

- Hello. It’s me. Why am I not allowed to park here today? What’s the matter? –I asked, imperatively-
- Oh, Leni. Big Cheese saw you on the telly yesterday and gave very precise instructions to the security staff. He thinks you played hooky and is pissed off about it. He’s waiting for you –she said-
- I’ll be right there in a minute.

I put the car into reverse and looked for a parking place outside, really furious. For those who have never been in the South Sandwich Islands, finding an empty spot to park in the streets of Grytviken can be an ordeal. I had to sweat blood.

I put my sun glasses on, so that the evil people from the Dumbas Industries wouldn’t recognize me as I walked to the company’s premises and entered building one, where my office was. To my surprise, the security guys at the ground floor asked me to hand them my identity card and put my handbag into the scanner machine. I removed my dark glasses, expecting they would change their mind and let me go as soon as they recognised me.

- Hey! It’s me! Leni Qinan, from the General Manager's Cabinet! I’ve been working here for five long years! You all know me!
- Sorry, Miss Qinan, this is just a security routine procedure… orders are orders.

Management's orders, I presumed.

When my handbag came through the scanner machine, they put a sticker on my suit lapel and noted down my name in the visitor’s book. My mind refused to understand what was going on. I was thunderstruck. Things were looking really bad.

I didn’t know what falling from favor felt like until that day.





"Thunderstruck" (AC/DC - 1991, Live at Donnington)
I’m not a huge heavy metal fan, but this song is great.

I love the guy in schoolboy outfit and his guitar. And have a look at the audience... impressive!