Welcome to Chapter V of my novella ‘Peeved’ releasing week by week! You don’t need to read the previous chapters to know what’s happening in this story, but if you’re interested I’ll put the link to them at the bottom.
Recap
The plan was simple: speak my mind, fix the world. Since then, I’ve told off a slow pedestrian, escalator hogs, an old lady who tried to hold me hostage with her modem, and even cut off my best friends when they didn’t back me up against a racist. Most recently, I roasted my work nemesis Samuel Chen now my boss Grace wants a word.
I trudged into Grace’s office, not ready for what I was about to see. It had been the first time I had been inside the room since she was promoted to team leader. Our previous boss, Greg, kept it black, white, and boring as hell–but Grace Valdez? She went full kawaii acid trip.
Five vases of flowers–some Aussie natives, some species I swear were genetically engineered in a lab. Posters of the anime films ‘Perfect Blue’ and ‘Howl’s Moving Castle’ hung from the walls, and her corkboard was plastered with polaroids of her and her friends dressed in cutesy Lolita outfits throwing up peace signs. There was even a massive mirror across from the desk.
I caught a glimpse of myself. Seventy kilos of pure Bollywood hunk stared back–kidding. Try: seventy killos of pimple-faced Indian nerd, black hoodie and jeans combo, hair like I lost a fight with a leaf blower. I patted my hair down, suddenly very aware of how out of place I looked in this rainbow anime temple. I couldn’t believe that she held business meetings in here. I was jealous of her lack of shame.
‘You done, Narcissus?’ Grace said flatly.
A fresh wave of dread washed over me as I remembered why I was in here.
Even though she was barely five feet tall, Grace Valdez had this air of menace. She wore a tan suit that matched her olive skin, and her cropped brown hair was slicked back like she was about to walk a Milan runway. She looked nothing like the girl in those goofy polaroids pinned behind her. Was all this just a trap to lure in vulnerable brown boys?
She took a seat at her desk and gestured to the chair across from her dual-monitor monster spaceship of a desktop–glowing neon green like something out of The Matrix.
I sat down and said, ‘Grace, I’m sorry about Samuel. I just-’
‘What’s this about Samuel?’
‘Huh?’
We exchanged confused blinks.
‘What happened with Samuel?’ she asked.
‘Nothing.’
‘Whatever… I called you in because we’ve received a complaint about you.’
‘Who complained?’
She tapped the spacebar on her keyboard. My voice came crackling out from the speaker, making me cringe.
‘…Teresa, I advised you I am not qualified to resolve your issue and a more qualified technician would best resolve it. Instead, you have kept me on this call and wasted both our time when you knew full well that this should have been handled by someone else.’
Grace tapped the spacebar again, and the recording stopped.
God, did I really sound that squeaky?
I always knew the path to justice would come with setbacks. Every hero’s journey has obstacles. And sometimes those obstacles are named Teresa with a shaky modem and a stubborn streak.
‘I don’t think I need to say anything about this recording, do I, Arj?’
‘No.’
‘Well, I’m going to anyway, because I want you to get this into your skull. What are our two company virtues?’
‘Outstanding customer care and honesty,’ I droned.
‘Right, and were they present in this call?’
‘No.’
‘So you lied to poor Teresa and palmed her over to Maddy because you wanted to get out of the office as soon as possible, right?’
I took a deep breath to calm my rising anger, ‘Yes.’
‘You know we expect the highest of standards from our technicians.’
She started harping on about professionalism. I tuned out. I couldn’t believe Grace.
She used to be one of the gang. One of us. Just a few months ago, she and I were having drinks mocking the exact same “company virtues”.
‘As if those pricks give a shit about honesty and a customers,’ Grace said at the time, blowing a raspberry.
A few weeks later they’d given her a promotion and I’d lost my friend. She turned into one of the company’s goons.
Sell out.
Grace couldn’t face the person she’d become. The kawaii pictures and flower vases were all a facade. A crumbling mask of a person holding onto the last rebellious parts of themselves to cope with the fact she’d become the exact thing she used to loathe. All pastel and glitter on the outside, but corporate rot on the inside.
I couldn’t stand looking at her. I felt sick when I realised I was jealous of her a moment ago.
Her voice pierced through again, ‘Alliance has a zero-tolerance policy for antisocial behaviour–especially toward our customers. I’m giving you a written warning.’
I was about to say, ‘It’s not really a zero tolerance policy if you’re letting me off with a slap on the wrist.’ but she cut me off before I could speak.
‘Arjun… I’m the reason you’re not terminated. Don’t let there be a next time.’
She said my name like I was a naughty five-year-old, but I held it together. I gave her a stiff nod and walked out.
I made it to the men’s bathroom, locked myself in a stall, flipped the lid down, and sat. Breathe in, breathe out. Again.
My hands ached. I looked down– four crescent-shaped cuts dug into each palm. Drops of blood clung to my fingernails.
I blinked, confused. Then I laughed—not a normal laugh, not even a bitter one. It came out sharp and ragged, echoing off the cubicle walls like something broken. I stared at the blood pooling in my palms, but I didn’t care. Let them bleed. If that’s what it took, then so be it.
Isaiah Prasad 