Wacky Wednesday

···Jack···

After Amon left, I pulled out the Wittmeyer file.Nothing helps me put away the big tent in my crotch like Serena Wittmeyer.My heart is still beating fast, and I feel as if I want to fly into the sky, side by side with the "Seven Fat" soda blimp that often flies over the school.It's super cool to tell Amon what I'm going to do next today.I'm relieved, the atmosphere between us has eased a lot—at least, it's much better than last night.I feel very happy, very capable, and... I really want to have a shot.

I took a sip of my after-lunch coffee, opened the folder, and flipped through the pages.Boring cover letter.Uninteresting contact information.1111 Gildona Rd., Sweet Valley, CA.As soon as I heard it, I knew it was the place where people like him who dragged [-] million people lived.Boring social security number.A copy of the employee honorary certificate he obtained in IFRD, which makes me angry.Spouse name: Ted Wittmeyer.I tried to convince myself that my jitters weren't at all because I was jealous that Wittmeyer was married to his partner, or that Ted's name was followed by Wittmeyer's last name.Nine times out of ten, Wittmeyer forced the opponent.Perhaps Ted wanted to combine their last names, but Wittmeyer said, "No, I am the king of the universe, the god of hairspray, Ted, you must have my last name."

Under "Please complete medical history that may affect your performance of job responsibilities," Wittmeyer wrote: See attached.I read the attachment.It was a letter detailing Wittmeyer's Crohn's history.I googled "Crohn's disease" and spent a few minutes trying to get rid of the nasty little thought that Wittmeyer pulled his crotch due to illness at least once in his adult life.

I moved and my knee touched something under the table.I reached down and reached a small peg with two small silver keys hanging from it.

Maybe it's the key to that super secret filing cabinet?

I went to the filing cabinet and tried the keyhole.

success!I opened the main drawer and looked in.

So many names.I am not surprised to see that each partition is labeled with a uniform color.Amon once did the same thing to our spice rack.

I decided to look first at people I knew: Carol Brienne, Arnold Meyer, Wes Gravender.I took all three of their files back to my desk.

I'm curious what kind of people A&L hires.Amon is always talking about how important it is to have a college degree in today's world.But looking at the files, I found that Carol only had an associate's degree and not a bachelor's degree, Wes only had a bachelor's degree, and Arnold never went to college at all.

I wonder if Amon would take me out to show off more if I got a job in an office somewhere.Actually, I think he still likes me.I think he might just not know what is the measure of happiness other than achievement.

I'm glad he convinced me to go back to school.Sometimes I find it annoying, but just one thing, if I hadn't been there, I wouldn't have known I was interested in literature.

Although sometimes, I think, as long as he is willing to spend his life with me, it is enough.I don't know how to tell him.I could happily work at a sandwich shop, serve a restaurant, be a doorman, or whatever stereotyped job required me to talk to people.I don't have ambitions to change the world or anything.I like to guard what I can see and touch around me.I'm willing to deal with grumpy guests, add extra salad dressing to diners, scan barcodes on trinkets—anything, as long as I get back to the people I love after work, to a A place where I feel safe is enough for me.

What I'm afraid of is that Amon thinks that's not enough.

I'm afraid he thinks that shouldn't be enough.

I haven't decided on a major yet, and I've only taken the required courses.I want to do an associate degree in literature, but I don't know what I'm going to do after that.

I sometimes think about being a tattoo artist.I know Armon doesn't like me going in this direction.He thinks I'm someone who has the potential to do great things, but I'm really not.Ever since I met him, I have shown all this ability to him.I'm just a brat, I kind of like poetry, I like to draw silly pictures, I really, really want to find someone who loves me.

I do need a job though, the kind that suits me.Connor said I could use his cousin's tattoo gun for practice, but who knows if I'll be able to use it well.Just because I can draw on paper doesn't mean I can draw on human skin with a needle.

I took another sip of coffee.The corrugated cup sleeve that kept the handle from burning slipped off and I dropped the cup.

Coffee spilled on file.Most of it was on Wittmeyer's file, but it was on Carol's too, and Wes's was only spattered a bit.

"Holy crap," I whisper, and try to wipe some off with my tie.

A hair dryer can quickly resolve this situation.I once accidentally dropped my psychology paper into the school's Rosa Holcomb Memorial Fountain.A kind girl named Qiqi took out a folding hair dryer from her bag, and then we dried the papers in the student lounge.

"I would give everything for a folding hair dryer." I said solemnly.

"Are you okay?" Wes stood at the door.

"It's fine." I covered the wet folder with my arm.

"The executive assistant from Opportunity Insurance has called."

This is Wittmeyer's third introduction.

"The assistant? I thought it was the female boss who called."

Wes shrugged. "Need me to ask?"

"No, no need. I'll take it."

"Extension number two."

he's gone.I picked up the phone, "Hi, I'm Amon Monterey."

"Hello, Mr. Monterey," said the girl.Her voice was more confident than it had been this morning. "I checked our database, but..." She paused. "We have no record of an employee named Wittmeyer."

"what?"

"Ms. Gunn said sorry we couldn't help you."

"Have you asked her?"

"She said we never had an employee with that name."

I try to stay calm.This is a big deal.

right?

Bernard Wittmeyer made up an introduction.

I wonder if I can get him into the game.If not, I can only make do with it so that he cannot join the company.

"you sure?"

"I checked twice, Mr. Monterey."

"Okay." I whispered. "Thank you."

I hung up.

Superb employee, Bernard Wittmeyer, is a liar.

It was even better than I expected.This is not just a small stain, this is a bunch of Xiang.

I can call Amon right now.

unless……

Unless, I can figure it out myself.

Should a conference call be held or should be held.But instead of hiring Wittmeyer, I would use this opportunity to humiliate him hard and fast.

Perhaps this is not Amon's own style.But even he had to admit at this point that Bernard Wittmeyer was a scheming dick.

It must be a very pleasant afternoon.

***

I took the spilled pages from the file to the copy room, hoping to make a copy on dry paper.

But after I printed it with a copier, I found that the places where the coffee stains were originally turned into black ink in the copied version.I sighed, threw the copy into the trash can and hurried to the office.On the way back, a woman with pretzel hair stopped me and said, "Mr. Monterey, can I have a word with you?"

I recognized her as one of the SW2 training sessions this morning, but couldn't remember her name, just that she said no when I asked her if she wanted to cosplay.

"Okay." I said. "Come in." I motioned her into the office.

She took a deep breath and puffed out her chest.I recognize this pose.Before I mustered up the courage to confess to Amon... Let me give you an example. For example, when I was chasing a cat with a vacuum cleaner, I accidentally knocked off a large piece of paint on the skirting board. This is the posture. "I just wanted to say that I don't think the video you put in the training session was appropriate."

"Ah." I said.

"I'm not trying to cause trouble, I just want to tell you how I feel. I quit my last job because I was sexually harassed by my superiors while everyone stood by."

I couldn't speak and felt like someone was knocking an egg on my head.I sat there dumbfounded, with the cold, smelly, viscous egg liquid all over me.

She continued: "I know that video is supposed to be funny. But if you've experienced it, it's not funny."

"I'm really sorry," I said.

One of the things I love about the Family Discipline relationship is its crude, err-punishment process: I do something stupid, I'm guilty, I'm punished, I'm forgiven, and I feel like my debt is wiped out.

But this is at home.

Out there, I did something wrong, I hurt someone, and I'm sorry.But I always don't know how to remedy it.

"It's okay," she said. "Really, I just wanted to tell you something."

There are relationships.She was hurt by someone she could have trusted and relied on.So she resigned and came here.Instead of making her think this was a "safer workplace in a safer world," I showed her and her co-workers: "Ask her before you touch her ass!"

"It won't happen again," I said.

That's the best promise I can make.

She left.

I feel guilty as hell.

I looked around for the coffee-ravaged pages of the employee files, but couldn't find them.

Because I left them in the copier.

I went back to the copy room to find that those pages were missing.

Lying in a big trough.

who took it?

I almost ran back to the office.These files must be stored in the computer, and everything in today's society is stored in the computer.I can make another copy.And as for the missing pages...

Depend on.That must be sensitive content, right?It's the kind of thing that "the law says absolutely no one can see it".

I glanced at the time.We have a conference call in four and ten minutes.I shook the mouse to exit from the screen saver, and found a system prompt saying that the update had been installed, and the computer would automatically restart in four seconds.I tried to click delay, but it was too late.The screen went black and the computer started to restart.

I slammed my fist on the table.A plastic box containing paper clips fell to the floor.Paper clips are everywhere.

God.How much more can I spill in just three and 10 minutes?

I knelt down and put away the paper clips one by one.My tie, correctly tied, dangles in front of me, sweeping across the carpet.Amon's body, though strong, doesn't squat as well as mine.And I squatted too fast, a little dizzy.I put one hand on the swivel chair to keep my center of gravity stable, and I picked up the paper clip with the other.

The chair moved, rolled forward, and at the same time I threw my head back.I felt the tie tighten around my neck and looked down to see that it was caught by the wheels of the swivel chair.I tried to pull it out, but the bowtie's fabric was squeezed tightly between the casters and the wheels.

I go.I'll fuck your mother for a little Jerry.

I'm stuck in an ergonomic office chair.