You’ll see very soon.
There is a methodology in how I work.
Give someone enough rope, they’ll eventually hang themselves in ecstasy.
In the end, I was working as little as possible.
This job was a sinking ship.
The sales rep had been cheated two thousand dollars by the chink.
‘And I’ll get my money’s worth somehow,’ he said,
and went to the boss’s desk and put the phone down his crutch and rubbed it up deep inside his bum cheeks.
‘That’s five dollars off the debt,’ he said.
That day I was laughing uncontrollably.
Lee Kuan Fucking Yew has been with Commander for fifteen years
and doesn’t like anyone disrespecting him.
He knew my laughing outbursts were about him,
but he couldn’t pinpoint it.
So, he did only what he could do, get the situation back into
control by king hitting me in the parking lot.
‘Get all you can from the creep, get a police report,
he’s left himself wide open.’
And I did just that.
‘I’m not a bad guy,’ said Mr. Telco, who asked me over to his desk, about forty minutes after he king hit me.
He wanted to show me an apartment which he thought I should buy.
I was going to work for Lee Kuan Fucking Yew for the rest of my life, he said.
He had already given me that assurance, after his employee of
fifteen years lost her house from a fire without insurance.
He was moving her along before the corpse had retained room temperature.
She was nearly sixty-five, very matronly and Hungarian born.
This showed me what Lee Kuan Fucking Yew was capable of.
Bring it on, I thought, as I began to ham up the situation.
I nearly got crushed by two stages.
I was in the middle and they were being pushed on wheels for joining.
A close call.
Knocked the wind out of me.
What the fuck.
I set up international concerts.
It was U2’s Joshua Tree concert.
Lee Kuan Fucking Yew’s push was soft and effete.
But boy did I ham it up.
Past injuries, new injuries, fuck and the phycological damage.
And Hollywood actors think they are only capable of winning Oscars.
So that’s a bit of background.
Not long after he pushed me, he must have been feeling bad.
‘Come over here.’
He always called me over to his desk for pep talks.
He did the talking down when I was sitting at my desk.
‘This apartment could be yours,’ he said.
Mm, yes it could be.
‘Well you’ll be working for me for life, so it’s very much in the realms of can do.’
Mm, I muttered, trying to sound grateful.
He was the best bullshitter under the sun.
‘I’m old school,’ he said when I first met him.
I didn’t even really want the job.
It’s that he insisted I see him.
He had no idea where our working relationship would take us.
I love good sport like the best of them, I thought, a
as I pretended to show interest in the apartment, he was showing me for sale.
‘You are kind and merciful,’ I eventually said,
hamming it up a bit with this tag on,
‘you only meet one Lee Kuan Fucking Yew in a lifetime.’
From the look on his face, he couldn’t decide if I was taking the piss out of him or being sincere.
‘And who is Lee Kuan Fucking Yew anyway?’ he asked.
I was being sincere.
I was going to screw him for all he was worth.
Apparently, he owned seven properties and an office block.
At least that was something to work with.
Listen, if you may, I liked LT.
He was a fucking crook covering up with respectability of owning his own
Telco Business Centre.
‘Listen,’ he would say over the phone in the morning to his clients,
’I think you have been downloading too much porn.’
Of course, he was only joking.
I heard him use that line at least three times since I was working in his claustrophobic office in an apartment block, which he apparently owned.
He could never afford to buy that, let alone seven houses and another office block, by selling mobile plans.
He exuded of crookery.
He was a thief, a con man, a liar, a survivor and most likely a closet faggot.
He was a condescending little prick.
I only liked his money.
And his coffee.
He was proud of his little espresso coffee machine.
Nescafe is better, but I won’t say no to a pod coffee.
So I drank as much as I could, and more.
He was paying for it and I was getting him leads.
As the weeks went by, his complaints got louder.
I just drank more coffee.
At this rate he’d bend or break.
And I wasn’t going to fuck him in the toilet if you know what I mean.
Even though he asked me to clean up some pubis hair on the floor.
I wasn’t falling for that trick.
I’m an old hand at telemarketing.
I know all the tricks of the trade.
I can make a weak lead stand up strong with a hard on.
I don’t know what to call him.
The case is still unfolding.
He doesn’t know it, but his assault charges just got escalated to
obstruction of justice and lying to police.
‘He pestered me to write up a fake witness report,’ said the Macedonian
sales rep.
I was glad to have his loyalty.
Old Mr. Telco loved putting words into other people’s mouths.
‘Awake to that game a long time ago,’ said the sales rep,
when I asked him, he had told Mr. Old School that I was vaping most of the time.
‘Never said such a thing,’ he said.
It was us against him and we had formed a strong alliance
over the two months.
Don’t hear or see him.
Last I heard from him, he was having an operation.
I’d say he’s left Mr. Old School.
I never got my commission for sales.
‘If you don’t trust me, then you can fuck off.’
That set off Mr. Old School when earlier on I asked him for my commission.
It was a small ‘set him off.’
The bigger ones were to come.
‘I’m taking fifty dollars out of your salary for the coffee.’
Go for it, you thieving mongrel, like how you cut my salary by five dollars an hour.
Covid gave him that excuse.
The thing is more people were using Telco services than before the pandemic.
Look at the bigger picture.
Do you think you can pin him for something bigger?
He didn’t trust me, Vanya.
One day he checked my bag to make sure I hadn’t stolen his coffee pods.
I only drink cheap instant coffee at home.
Two months of Mr. Old School was enough to write a book on him.
A lot went down.
Sales reps need telemarketers.
Especially in a time of a pandemic.
I had it easy.
No face appointments, so the five leads a day were easy work.
And not even qualified.
Just a follow up phone call.
But back to the diet.
All this shit with Mr. Old School happened in May.
It’s now nearly October and I haven’t seen any compensation.
The police never got back to me when
I put on a few kilograms and put the bite on my doctor.
‘Doromania, or bust,’ I said.
It did sound convincing.
I had put on a couple of kilos.
It had nothing to do with Post Distress Disorder.
The truth was I packed on the pounds from drinking two liters of milk a day.
God bless dairy products.
It did the trick.
I was obese anyway.
Even I could see that.
Borderline diabetes, a hernia ready to explode and a bad knee,
I was a prime candidate for losing weight.
Being a newcomer to dieting, I only wanted to do it once.
And get it right.
I didn’t know anything about doromania.
So the doctor prescribed one script for 30 milligrams.
I was on my way.
Dieting here we come.
A six pack would follow.
All I have to do is take the pill and watch the pounds peel off.
I had been walking all year.
The only time I got down to 107 was when I had diarrhea.
Now I was 114. I sent them supporting evidence.
But that’s all just periphery shit.
