growth reflecting the extraordinary.
Growth potential reflecting the extraordinary.
Extraordinary reflecting potential = growth!
Grow extraordinary reflecting potential.
Extraordinary! Reflect your growth potential.
Potential: reflect your growth. Extraordinary!
Reflect potential for growth: Extraordinary!
Reflecting truth growing potenti …
Why didn’t they get a computer to generate this stuff? It wouldn’t need its own ergonomic chair. I stood up and went to lunch.
As I ate my rice pudding, I calculated that if Slim ever accepted one of my sentences, it would have cost the company five hundred dollars a word. Considering this, I felt bad about downloading so many knitting patterns. It was time for some straight talk, so back at the office I collared the creative director.
‘You’re doing fine,’ he purred, stroking his plastic hair. ‘There’s plenty of work. Just a bit sporadic. Start-ups.’ Then he ducked into the loo.
The veneer began to disintegrate before my eyes, and I realized quickly that nobody else was doing any work either. Though the CEO kept making references to the future, he wouldn’t give an exact date. We were ‘temporarily’ housed in a low-slung attic above a Chinese restaurant, with threadbare carpets and exposed wiring. Of course, we’d move into a marble palace ASAP, and I’d have my own ergonomic desk, chair and computer, but in the meantime would I mind squatting in the lobby over that big, dark stain? I stared out into the limitless azure beyond the murky windows, then followed my instincts and walked out.
As soon as I got home, I called Jack. ‘I couldn’t bear it any more, Chief. I told them where to stick it – under G for Goodbye. Actually, I said I had another job, which isn’t really lying – it’s referring optimistically to a future state. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘No, Bunny, I don’t want you to suffer. No point us both having a stupid job that we hate. You’ll get something much better.’
In fact, I didn’t. There was no word from Create! and I began to give up hope. I started making elaborate food, reading French and lounging around the house a lot; things got so desperate that I started reading the paper. Not the news part, of course – just the column with the sex tips. ‘A gentleman props himself up on his elbows,’ it said. That was an option? I liked being squashed, but Jack was really heavy, and I couldn’t breathe properly, and after a while the sweat made those farty sounds … But hang on, wasn’t I supposed to be moaning, or something, sort of spontaneously? I just didn’t have it in me, especially now that Prozac had me numb from the waist down. Oh, well, I suppose the occasional orgasm was a fair trade for the soft padding inside my skull. I put down the paper and got to work on a song, and by the time I’d finished, Jack came home with a bunch of irises. ‘Hi, Bun!’ he said. ‘Writing a ditty?’
‘Yup.’
‘Great. What’s it about?’
‘That girl at work you want to fuck up the arse.’
‘What – Gayle?’
‘Yeah, it’s about Gayle.’
‘But you haven’t met her.’
‘I’ve seen her from a distance.’
‘Let’s hear it, then.’
‘You might not like it.’
‘I’m sure I’ll like it. Go on.’
I cleared my throat.
All Made Up
Though her hair is blonde, she dyes it blonder, Sticks plastic to her eyelids to make her lashes longer. Her skin is almost perfect, though she covers it in crap, She is carefully creating a reality gap.
Though she is a good girl, she dresses like a whore. It’s good to leave your audience wanting more.
She covers up her shyness with ultra-padded bras, Add two little bits of sponge and men start seeing stars.
Beneath it all, she’s a natural chick, Only pretending to be fake. The hypocrisy of her life makes her sick But there seems so much at stake! Though naturally honest, she acts a little sly. People seem to like it, she doesn’t wonder why. She really isn’t stupid, but never lets it show, Perhaps her mind is addled; her friends would never know.
Beneath it all, she’s a natural dame, Only pretending to be fake, Thinks inside she is still just the same, But she’s making a big mistake.
Jack stood up and crossed his arms. ‘That’s really mean.’
‘It’s not mean, it’s insightful.’
‘Gayle’s really cool.’
‘No, she’s not. She’s a faux-tart.’
‘I’m going out for a smoke.’
‘You said you were going to stop. You promised.’
‘Christ, leave me alone, would you?’ He slammed the door behind him, and I sat down on the bed, ablaze with righteousness and embarrassment.
Back at work the next day, he sat in his office, having a think. Left alone in the US, he’d found himself a job, a home and even some new friends. The truth was, I wasn’t actually necessary. This small but elemental groundshift had caused fissures to appear in our love, and as the relief of reunion ebbed away, they were becoming apparent. Were they structural, he wondered, or superficial? He took another toke on the office bong and Gayle tottered in. Her easy laugh, deft compliments and tight skirt helped him come to a conclusion, which he shared with me after we’d finished dinner that night. No point spoiling a good lasagne.
‘That was lovely, Lins,’ he said, clearing his plate. ‘Listen, I’ve been thinking.’
‘What about?’ I asked. ‘Presents for me?’
‘No, I’m serious. I’m sorry, but I think that, fundamentally, you’re not good enough for me. You don’t care enough about other people, and you aren’t motivated to do good.’
That stopped me in my tracks. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, like at that first place we lived in. You hated everyone.’
‘They were awful.’
‘No, they were just different from you.’
‘Yes.
