It has been almost 10 months since I quit my job working as a software engineer at an internationally renowned pharma tech company. I was making good money and living in an exciting Central European city. I would eat out almost everyday. Turkish Martin from Arselan Kebab (he looks like me) give me free kebab from time to time. I would go out on dates many times per week. But this was mainly because of my premium Badoo subscription. Like pervert I sniffed their private API and issued to myself free tokens.
Apart from online dating, I had a large social circle, especially if you consider the ladies at Show Park. I even frequented a topless sauna where I would simulate girlfriend experience with a handful of Romanian hookers I befriended over the course of the year prior. Ioana was my fave. She was a notary who was saving up for a house at the time, to provide for her husband and two kids back home. She simply told bae that she was an airline stewardess and would go back to visit once a week in order to keep up appearances (one round-trip flight to Bucharest = 90 minutes bang).
As far as work was concerned, I was pretty cozy with middle management and it looked like I was on my way up. It was the life, really. Even Arjun, fresh Marathi import from the the Quality Assurance team, was jealous of me.
The large corner office overlooked a sundry expanse of traditional red Bavarian rooftops. They were discussing new product ideas. I was paying less attention to the meeting than I was to the real life Public Agent scene taking place in the parking lot below, just around the corner from the metro station entrance (Amarna, was that you?), but I’m pretty sure we were weighing the costs and benefits of delivering cloud-based fungibility and continuous standards compliant integration technologies in the context of cross-platform human resources capital.
Bald fat man who recently became my manager, sitting across from me told me to perk up, and to eat a chlebíčky. To this day, I am still not sure if he genuinely cared about whether I looked sickly, or if he was just hoping that I not make him look bad in front of senior management, especially after unexpected promotion following 15 years rotting in corner desk.
You see, he took chlebíčky, so I had to take two chlebíčky. His open-mouth chewing really bothered me. “Martin, shut the fuck up!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, though completely and utterly inaudibly in the form a day dream. “Martin, would you like to go downstairs and get some sushi? We should discuss the upcoming project over a pint of Staropramen.” Can you believe that my kebab man and my manager shared the same name? How many Martins are there in Prague?
Anyway, between mundane conversations that only homeowners could possibly entertain and intermittent lectures on courageously innovating tactical markets by monetizing interoperable platforms, something in me just snapped. I had enough of my Danish globohomoverlords, my Slovenian middle manager, and the company’s Thai sub-contractors in general; I knew that it was finally time to come home.
“Martin. It won’t even load. The rainbow isn’t even spinning. I tried Baba’s keyboard. It doesn’t recognize it. There was a power surge for half an hour yesterday. Maybe I should just take it to London Drugs? I have to finish my book contract for Pearson and I can’t even write anything. Did you do the recycling yet? It’s blue bin day tomorrow. This is your rent.”
I have to go fix my Mom’s computer. I will continue writing tomorrow.