So then...

About Me

Welcome to my blog. My pen name is Eva James. I'm an aspiring writer paying the bills working as a legal secretary. Bullied by my boss in 2008, I looked for another job but the recession hit. Feeling trapped, I started this blog. Trevor Griffiths, legendary theatre, TV and film writer said at the outset, "I like the writing a lot: smart, cool, placed. If you were prepared/able to take your prick of a boss on, you'd marmelise him." I was unaware back then that it would catalogue one of the most extreme cases of workplace bullying in the UK. I've found another job, but am subject to a gagging order. I'm still blogging, of course. Just don't tell the lawyers!

Saturday 6 March 2010

Just Dance

Whilst Howard's impressions of me pleasuring myself have recently been replaced with vibrator jokes, the lesbian accusations continue. So I signed up to match.com determined to find Mr Right and set the record straight.

I figured it was one way to take my mind off things and might lead to an hour or two sat in front of a man who’d say nice things. I had my first date yesterday evening. His name was Liam, his photos looked nice and genuine. I admit I wanted everyone in work to know.
Howard, of course, tore me to shreds.



He started innocently enough, asking if Liam drove. I told him I thought so.

“That’s good,” he said. “Because think how many people you’d make happy if both you freaks died in a car accident.”

He ran through scenarios where the guy was blind or disabled. When I asked him why he had to be so spiteful he said he was merely a “conveyor of truth.”

I turned up my audiotape and tried to drown him out.

Quarter past twelve, Howard suddenly became conscious of the fact that he’d wasted an entire morning making cruel jokes at my expense.

“Just so I don’t feel guilty later,” he told the Office Manager, “I’m doing this for Eva’s own good.”

I burst into tears. I couldn’t help myself. I ran to the toilet and came out embarrassed, wiping away smudgy mascara tracks.

I stood outside the toilet door collecting myself and walked around the corner expecting to see Howard looking contrite. To my shock, he was instead performing a small dance of triumph for the Office Manager. She turned away, disgusted.

I’ve never known anger like it. I saw red. I had to stop myself doing something stupid. I went outside for some air, wanting to hit something, a brick wall – anything. I walked until the wind cooled my temper.

I returned to an e-mail from HOWARD saying he was joking and hadn’t meant to cause offence.

He wasn’t aware, of course, I’d seen him dancing. Noted. If he ever finds out about this blog, I'll have to do a similar dance of triumph.

Eva x

1 comment:

Fiona WordsBird said...

He won't GUESS it's you. But he might ASK if it's you, just to see what you'll say. (He wouldn't dream you had the balls to write it!)

So, if he does ASK, look at the PM first, then look Howards straight in the eye, and say: 'If it really were me, YOU would be in deep trouble.'

Then get on with whatever you were doing. With an enigmatic smile.

He'll think you are bluffing. Then he'll hope you are bluffing. Then hopefully he might need his trousers laundering...

;o)

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