In Spite of You, page 11
‘We think your ideas are great,’ Gina said diplomatically, pointing to the folder with a printed plan that he’d provided for her and Theo, one of the even bigger bosses.
‘And we love the initiative,’ Theo added. He was one of those business guys who smiled all the time. ‘Ideally, we’d love to do as much of this as possible, but you know … budgets. This time of year is never easy, and we’re not hitting our sales targets like we’d hoped,’ he explained.
Jeremy knew for a fact that the business had paid Theo a bonus last year that was more than Jeremy’s entire salary.
There were many practical, pressing reasons for Jeremy’s promotion – he was underpaid and overworked and he basically did his boss’s job for her. He’d kept this publication together, churning out nonsense for years, through countless pivots to video and back again, through the rises and falls of different social medias, through several legal battles with wage-thieving business owners and corrupt landlords and angry film studios threatening them with defamation, through a poorly timed ‘Horny Week’ that launched on the same day as a significant natural disaster.
He deserved a promotion.
This was not a new conversation, nor a recent issue, but the spite pie had made it pressing, and Jeremy was fired up. He knew there was no way that Miles would find his role as deputy editor of a site called PopBuzz at all impressive. Jeremy knew PopBuzz did good work, for what it was – breaking important stories that affected young people that mainstream media wouldn’t touch. He also believed that entertainment was a goal in itself. But, while he conceded the image problem lay mostly with PopBuzz and its important lists of ‘Most Fuckable Muppets’, being the actual editor of the site would be at least mildly more impressive.
Luckily, he’d been planning this promotion for years – one might even say obsessively – and he’d come to the table with a structured and achievable strategy. It was, in Jeremy’s opinion, genius. It shuffled everyone around, putting Vanessa into a technically higher position that required less work. He would move up into the editor role – the job description of which, he reminded them, he was already covering – and everyone else fit into the gaps. It was efficient, clever, and should soothe everyone’s egos.
‘No, we’re sorry,’ said Gina, closing the binder firmly.
‘No to what exactly?’ Jeremy.
‘Your suggestions,’ she clarified. ‘You’ve clearly put a lot of thought into this, but we can’t just … change everyone’s jobs to suit you.’
‘All of my suggestions?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Even the one to move everyone’s seats around a little bit?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then just make me the editor,’ he said flatly. ‘I already do all the work.’
‘We have an editor,’ said Gina gently.
‘But do we?’ Jeremy asked, failing to hide the bitterness in his voice, knowing Gina knew as well as he did.
Her face didn’t change.
It was at this moment that Jeremy realised how delusional they thought he was, and the unfairness of it all welled up like a bitter soda fountain.
‘Well,’ he said, trying to match their detached professionalism, smiling through his teeth, ‘perhaps I’ll need to look for a company that does value my … contribution.’
‘We’d be very sad to see you go,’ answered Gina.
Jeremy stumbled a little bit at that but pushed on. ‘Okay. Well, stand by. I’ll be doing some thinking tonight and might come back in with my resignation letter.’
‘We’re at peace with that,’ she said, standing up and opening the door. Jeremy walked through it quickly, biting the inside of his cheek to avoid burning any bridges he couldn’t unburn.
When he stalked back into the editorial section – usually defined by an overflow of shitty plastic promotional gifts from PR, blaring pop music and hunched writers wearing noisecancelling headphones – he saw his team gathered around Jimmy, the extremely young video producer and ‘meme curator’, who was currently holding a spoonful of wobbling bright-green slime in front of his face. Jeremy realised, with a sinking sensation, that everyone was chanting ‘eat the slime, eat the slime’.
They’d recently been sent a whole bunch of slime by some company trying to cash in on SlimeTok, but about a year too late. After a week they all lived in fear, he’d had to caution everyone to ‘stop sliming people in the office’ when an errant glob had sailed over editorial and landed on the stale paninis of a client meeting.
Jeremy had two options. He could walk over there and tell everyone to stop peer pressuring an entry-level employee into eating what he hoped was non-toxic slime, or he could let these underpaid, overworked, twenty-something journalists find a small amount of joy.
Actually, there was a third option, which would be joining in the shenanigans and using what little authority he had to force Jimmy to eat the slime, which in his current mood was quite tempting.
Jeremy turned and left.
Later that evening, Jeremy was in a mall with Anna and Sam going through a rapid series of emotions – a pretty standard experience when in a mall. These big buildings were full of shops and emotions. He’d been stunned, then he’d been angry, and now he was just … bummed out.
‘I’m bummed out,’ he said. Anna nodded sympathetically, and Sam shook his head in indignation. They were sitting at one of the grimy food-court tables, drinking smoothies and bitching about Jeremy’s work. Jeremy had chosen a strawberry bonanza, and while he could definitely taste the strawberry, he was yet to experience any bonanza.
‘They’re idiots,’ Sam said, shaking his head again.
‘Thank you, but I’m past the angry stage,’ Jeremy said.
‘Okay …’ Sam thought for a moment. ‘That sucks, Jeremy. That is sad.’
Jeremy had to admit he was a bit weirded out by Sam being here. The mall was not the kind of place he’d imagined Sam frequenting. He belonged in a forest, perhaps. Or within a ring of standing stones on top of a misty moor. Sitting in a pub bracketed by warm light, cosy and laughing. Not drinking through a paper straw near a sushi place and a Jay Jays.
Jeremy was at a crucial part of the spite plan – the clothes makeover. Of all the tasks ahead of him, this was the one he’d been looking forward to the most. He loved clothes, and he loved the fact that he had a reason to spend some of his hard-earned cash on something beautiful. Usually, he just impulse shopped when he was drunk, but this time he was shopping with sober intention. He felt like an adult. He felt like a fashionista. He and Anna were hitting a couple of shops specifically for a suit for the reunion – the big event. He had to look handsome and successful, flamboyant but not cheap. Miles had to look at him and his eyes had to bug out of his head, steam had to come out of his ears, and his tongue had to unroll out of his mouth like a carpet – anything less would be a failure.
After his disappointing meeting, Jeremy had found himself messaging Sam and venting about the whole situation in great detail. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Sam had offered to have Jeremy over and hang, but instead when told the shopping trip was booked in had invited himself along. Jeremy was trying not to be gender essentialist, but he was deeply sceptical about a straight man going clothes shopping. Would he even know what to do? Or would he do that weird thing that hetero boyfriends did, and loiter awkwardly near the change rooms pretending to examine the sleeve of a blouse?
They were sitting because Anna suffered from a chronic disease that sometimes reared its head unexpectedly, impacting her mobility and causing fatigue. Sometimes she rallied, sometimes she didn’t – a particularly cruel affliction for someone who was often defined by her unbridled enthusiasm for people and places.
‘Okay, are we ready to SHOP?’ asked Jeremy with faux enthusiasm.
‘That depends – will you buy me a treat if I’m a good boy?’ joked Sam, cradling his face like a winsome child.
‘I’ll buy you a new cup and ball,’ answered Jeremy dryly, but laughing all the same.
‘Okay, well that’s cute,’ muttered Anna. ‘I have to go, sorry, boys.’ She stood up stiffly.
‘Oh no, still feeling shit?’ asked Jeremy.
Anna paused, flicking her eyes between the two of them and smiling a little. ‘Yeah, not really up to third-wheeling my way through a bunch of men’s fashion.’
‘Of course. Do you need a hand getting home or anything?’ Sam asked.
She shook her head and gave them both air kisses then set off, clearly stuck in the pain she was feeling through her body.
‘Will she be okay?’ asked Sam, looking worried.
Jeremy nodded, used to Anna’s flare-ups. ‘Yeah, totally, but shopping is probably the worst possible thing for her right now – so much walking and telling me how handsome I look. Medically, she probably needs to watch six episodes of Grey’s Anatomy and go to sleep.’
As sorry as he was for Anna, Jeremy also realised he was now on a shopping trip with a guy who probably had no idea how to make this fun or be useful. Sam was probably expecting him to be efficient. He was probably not going to know when to compliment and when to shut down delusional behaviour (such as the time Jeremy almost considered becoming one of those big-hat gays).
They visited the first three shops without incident – in fact, Jeremy had to admit they were having a decent time. They chatted easily, as they always did, and his fears of silences or awkwardness seemed unfounded. Sam spent much of this time telling a funny if slightly complicated story about some inter-work gossip, which was only slightly ruined by Jeremy having no idea who any of the key players were.
‘And so Lisa had never even downloaded the file in the first place!’ Sam ended, chuckling.
‘Classic Lisa,’ responded Jeremy.
They browsed through suits and pants and shirts, occasionally pointing out nice patterns or mocking the especially heinous. Jeremy didn’t think Sam could be classified as an especially proficient or clever shopper – but few people were. It was a skill. Liz, for example, was dreadful to shop with – impatient and distracted and sometimes cruel. But Sam was doing his best, and Jeremy appreciated that.
‘Oh, wow, yeah, that’s so beautiful. You’d look amazing in that!’ he said, which would have been nicer if he hadn’t said something similar about every article of clothing presented to him. Jeremy had even shown him a gross bejewelled halterneck, to which Sam had said ‘Holy moly! Yeah, I can totally see it. Heck yeah, go for it.’
The man was too nice for clothes shopping.
Jeremy held up a shirt with an interesting lapel and mused out loud, ‘I wonder if this would go with that orange suit we saw earlier.’
‘Yeah! It totally would! That would be amazing!’ said Sam. Then Jeremy picked up another one. ‘That one too! Oh wow!’
Jeremy looked at him flatly. ‘How about these pants?’ he asked, holding up a pair of objectively disgusting slacks that were a grim moss colour.
‘Oh yeah, totally. I can see that,’ said Sam, and Jeremy slammed them back on the rack, annoyed.
‘Sam, you have to have a genuine opinion for this to work, otherwise you can just go and play in the Lego store and let me concentrate,’ he half joked.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Sam, holding up a shoe absentmindedly. ‘I’m always genuine.’
‘Just try to have an opinion and stick to it. Stand up for your opinion! Fight for it!’ Jeremy continued irritably.
Sam looked at him, smiling but with a dull look in his eye that Jeremy had begun to recognise as a sign he wasn’t quite as chill as he was pretending to be. ‘Jeremy. I love these trousers. I love them so much I’m going to marry them,’ he said, picking up the moss-green pants again.
Jeremy laughed despite his irritation, and forcefully put them back. Sam resisted for a second, pushing back until they were half wrestling over the rack.
In the next store – an absurdly upmarket boutique with one of those absurdly upmarket names like Toad and Lemon or Fox and Thyme, which Jeremy could never afford but which definitely had the kind of clothes he was after – he took a gorgeous blush suit from the rack and walked towards the changing rooms after a quick consult with Sam.
‘Ah, a wedding?’ drawled the shop assistant, after Jeremy explained about Garth’s upcoming nuptials. ‘Mmm, this would be a real head-turner during the nutbush.’ He shuffled out from behind the counter and felt the fabric between his fingers. ‘Yes, very nice for a wedding. You’d be the belle of the ball.’
‘Yeah, I think so too,’ said Sam, to which the shop assistant raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t overt, but everything this guy said and did was slightly patronising, almost sarcastic. He was an older man, wearing an orange and purple checked blazer that was definitely a ‘head-turner’, floating through the store like an avuncular comet. He had a natty moustache and goatee.
‘Okay then,’ he said, pointing slowly. ‘The change room is right there and do be a dear and give a shout if you need anything. Have fun …’
‘Thanks,’ Jeremy said cautiously, looking at Sam to see if he was also picking up the weird vibes. Sam seemed oblivious, happily bouncing on his feet and looking at some bracelets in a glass case.
Jeremy shut the curtain, then took off his shoes and clothes, contorting his wiry body in the small space.
‘You know, I was thinking about your work situation …’ Sam’s voice came through the curtain as if he was standing in the changing room with him. Jeremy felt suddenly exposed, aware he was wearing only his briefs and socks, like Hugh Grant in Love Actually and whatever movie that scene was referencing.
‘That’s funny, I hadn’t thought about it at all,’ Jeremy responded sarcastically, looking for a place to hang his pants and then deciding to dump them in the corner instead.
‘I think you need to change your attitude,’ Sam continued, and Jeremy grimaced, safe behind the curtain.
If there was one thing he didn’t like about Sam, it was this gentle, judgemental attitude he sometimes had. It was only made more annoying because it usually came from a place of care and love and was the decent or moral read on whatever situation was being discussed. Jeremy remembered how much he used to hate Sam.
‘Here are my thoughts, but feel free to take them or leave them,’ came Sam’s voice. ‘I reckon you rightfully want a promotion because they don’t currently value you accurately, monetarily or otherwise. But them choosing not to give you that promotion is only continuing that trend. They’re showing you, over and over again, that they don’t value you as an employee. Be disappointed, but don’t take it personally. That’s my perspective.’
Jeremy mimed a strangling motion with his hands. ‘It’s hard to think that’s not directly about me.’
‘No, but it isn’t!’ Sam protested. ‘They’re showing you that no matter how hard you work, they’ll never reward you, in the same way that they reward underserving people – so it’s them that’s the problem, not you.’
‘So there’s no point even trying?’ Jeremy snapped back. ‘I understand what you’re saying, but it really doesn’t make me feel better. It doesn’t thrill me to realise I’m stuck in a job that’s going nowhere and now, thanks to you, I know it never will go anywhere.’
Jeremy realised he was arguing with Sam, hunched and frozen, with one leg stuck in the legs of the pants he was trying on.
‘That’s not what I mean,’ Sam said softly.
Jeremy also hated how Sam retreated from his point as soon as he realised there was pushback. ‘Well, what do you mean?’ he asked pointedly.
‘Just that … it’s a sign to quit, right? Get out of there! If you’re not appreciated … leave.’
‘Oh, now that’s rich,’ Jeremy scoffed, letting his stress and bitterness flow out. He wasn’t angry at Sam – he knew that – but his inability to let people feel negative emotions was maddening. ‘It’s insane you can afford a house in this market, even if it is made of glass.’
‘What?’
‘I was trying a joke, but it didn’t work,’ Jeremy muttered. ‘I’m just saying that if you truly believe you should leave a job because they are taking advantage of you, then you should be the first to go.’ Sam sighed in response, and Jeremy continued pulling up his pants and buckling them up, his volume rising. ‘Not to be a bitch, but do you want me to go to your work and tell your bosses to stop treating you like shit, like I did with your parents on your birthday? Because I will. At some point, you have to stick up for yourself – choose a goddamn shirt, you know?’
Sam was silent and Jeremy ripped open the curtain, ready to continue, but was struck by the sight of Sam’s face, hurt emblazoned across it.
‘Sorry,’ Jeremy said automatically, his heart thudding in his chest.
‘No, you’re right.’ Sam shrugged, still clearly upset.
‘No, I feel awful,’ Jeremy said awkwardly, unsure how to pull back. ‘Sorry, I was blowing off steam about the job and caught you in the crossfire.’
‘Sure, that’s fine,’ Sam said, but Jeremy knew it wasn’t.
‘Look, let’s get out of here. I don’t think it was fair of me to drag you shopping so early in our friendship. This is like helping someone move or going on a double date – high-level friendship stuff,’ Jeremy said, desperate to move past the moment. He really did feel bad about snapping – although Sam had been annoyingly hypocritical.
‘I’d help you move any day,’ said Sam matter-of-factly, and Jeremy sighed.
‘Yep, I know you would. You’re a very good friend.’
‘Jeremy, so are you,’ said Sam. ‘Genuinely. Also you look really lovely in that blush suit.’
‘I could be better.’ Jeremy closed the curtain again and stripped off the suit pants. ‘Oh, I could be better.’
They continued to another shop, but Jeremy still felt so keyed up and anxious about their fight – if it even could be described as a fight – that he ended up buying a random shirt and pretending it was perfect just so he could finish off the trip early. As they hugged goodbye, Jeremy thought he could see echoes of the same stress in Sam’s face too.
