Sticks and Stones

Sometimes, if he’s short of a joke set up, Howard dips into the past. I knew exactly where the conversation was going when my day started with a history lesson on the fall of Berlin to the Russians in World War II.

“Did you know,” Howard began, as I gave him coffee, “German girls and women were forbidden to lock their doors to the Red Army soldiers. They call it the rape of Berlin or something. To put the troops off from raping them the women shaved their heads and smeared their faces with coal dust.”

Howard pulled up a website about it on Google.

“See, they raped any female between the ages of about 10 to 80. I read somewhere that 10% of them committed suicide after.”

I waited for the punch-line.

“Of course, we all know you would’ve sat there eating your dinner and thinking, “When they do show up I’ll want to remember every minute!” I bet you wish you had a time machine!”

I told Howard if I had a time machine I’d go back and save as many as I could. I gently rubbed my itchy neck and collar-bone. I returned to my desk and hunted for my lip-balm. As I applied it, my top lip felt like it was on fire. Howard, however, hadn’t finished his history lesson. He said I had to understand that it was easy for rapes to happen because the women had been dehumanised by the Soviet troops.

“Dehumanised? But you dehumanise me - calling me a Spaniel and saying I’m ‘an odious creature’.

“Yes, I know,” he agreed.

For the rest of the day Howard was reasonable and upbeat, save for refusing to use my name. Sadly, I wasn’t feeling good at all. My neck was insanely itchy. My eyes and mouth felt like I’d applied Deep Heat ointment instead of make up. I checked it out in the toilet. My neck was covered in scarlet splotches. I rubbed the stinging rash with my fingertips. I knew what it was, of course. And I knew why I had it.

Last month I’d had this same crazy rash flare up. At first, I thought it must be an allergic reaction to something I’d eaten. It’s extremely uncomfortable and depressing. It feels exactly like you’ve fallen head first into a thicket of stinging nettles. Three visits to the GP and they’d confirmed it was urticaria, commonly known as hives. It’s often triggered by emotional reactions such as stress or anger. Say no more, I thought. They’d given me tablets and, thankfully, after a week it cleared up.

I was pleased that Howard was too busy with his audit to notice the hives. He would have only laughed at me. The first time the rash appeared he’d mistaken it for psoriasis, telling me not to get any flakes on his files but, other than refusing to address me as anything other than “Ugly”, he was pre-occupied.

“Have a nice evening, Pug,” he said as I pulled on my coat, careful to keep the collar away from my stinging neck. The solicitor next to him laughed and said, “Sticks and stones.”

Sticks and stones may break my bones
But names will never hurt me

Really? Because, if I did have a time machine, I’d like to find the author of that little chant and throw them headfirst in a thicket of stingies. They’ve obviously never had hives. I’d also like to tell them about dehumanisation and the women of Berlin.

See you soon,

Eva x

Invisible Man

Yesterday it was a solicitor’s birthday so at 12.30pm the entire office, save for Howard and I, left for her birthday meal. They’d been granted an hour and a half. I don't get copied in on e-mail lunch invites. I've worked through lunch so long I'm invisible. Howard, for his own reasons, never joins in.

Without an audience, Howard is quieter. He made us both a hot drink and got on with surfing the internet. I thanked him, but didn't so much as take a sip. I still don't trust him.

Around a year ago, out of the blue, Howard started making me a cup of tea once or twice a day. It was odd considering I worked for someone else in a different department. He didn’t even sit anywhere near me, but office politics dictated Howard then had to be included in my ‘support staff’ coffee rota. It wasn’t long before his motives became apparent.

My old desk faced the open plan kitchen, set into a small alcove. Attracted one day by Howard's coughing, I looked up to see him spluttering all over my tea bag.

I couldn't think how to stop him making my tea without looking downright rude. My colleagues thought it was lovely of him. If only they could have seen him. Sometimes he'd lick the edges of the bag as if it were an envelope. He'd wipe his nose on it, or drop it in the bin. Sometimes he'd fish the bag out of the boiling water with his fingers, scalding himself in the process. Sometimes he'd make my tea with a spoon of coffee in the bottom.

I couldn't help laughing at the absurdity of a solicitor going to such extraordinary lengths to ruin my tea. When others discovered what was going on it killed them. It was ludicrous. I told him to stop doing it, but my objections apparently only made it all the more funny.

Days rolled into months and the undrinkable tea kept arriving. Colleagues snickered with horrified laughter. I wondered why it was happening. Putting on a brave face, I worried as to where the joke would end.

About three months later, Howard was messing about with the tea again and making a terrific racket. He rifled through the kitchen bin for a used tea bag, which he dropped into my cup. I ran over and cleaned my cup out. Howard snatched it back, promising to make it properly. He took a fresh tea bag from the caddy and stuck it down the front of his trousers and rubbed himself with it.

I was sickened and embarrassed and felt an overwhelming sadness. I fought off the strangest desire to say something to make him feel better.

'Don't' he said, unable to meet my eyes.

We avoided looking at each other and returned to our desks.

Howard brought me back to the present.

“You are beyond depressing,” he told me. “What exactly is the point of your life, Eva? Do yourself and everyone else a favour. Contribute to the human race by organ donation. I’ll even help you find a way of killing yourself with minimal impact so doctors can maximize organ harvest. I’ll look it up on the net for you now…”

I looked at my cold tea and remembered that moment in the kitchen alcove. We both know what happened back then. For a split second, Howard had vanished and I saw a deeply disturbed guy who'd do or say just about anything not to be completely invisible.

See you next week.

Eva x

Man in the Mirror

Howard and I now face each other all day. Our desks are mirror images and perhaps it’s because of this a horrible thought occurred to me. I realised our similarities. I typed out a rough list is as follows:

• Howard, our colleagues insist, is bullied by his wife. I’m bullied by Howard.

• We both defend ourselves from bullying by way of creativity and humour, Howard verbally employs his cruel wit and I use this blog.

• Howard's office image is that he’s a great solicitor. This is counteracted by him being an office bully. A more modern company would sack him for gross misconduct.

• My office image is that I’m a conscientious secretary. This is counteracted by the fact that, due to this blog, I’ll no doubt be sacked at some point for gross misconduct. 

• HOWARD and I make ourselves feel better, if only temporarily, by damaging each other. The fact that he doesn’t know I’m doing it is a moot point.

I peeked at him over my screen. Howard was absorbed in costing a file, his pen gripped between his teeth as if smoking a pipe.

Before going home I tried to chat with him. I thought perhaps I should try harder to get him to see how friendly I am. I asked him about hobbies, what he liked to do.

“For fuck’s sake,” he replied. Howard jumped up and stormed over to the Office Manager's desk in the middle of the room.

“I can’t listen to her,” he said, attracting everyone’s attention. “Can’t you have her back over here? She’s like the bloody teacher off Charlie Brown…‘Whah wah wah wah ywah ywah’. That’s all I hear…’Whah ywah wah. Do you like this, Howard? Do you like that? Wah wah ywah.’ For fuck’s sake! Take her back!”

“No. You were the one who asked for her to be moved there!” the Office Manager said, amidst the laughing.

I switched off my computer, grabbed my coat and, with as much dignity as I could manage, I wished my colleagues a nice evening. As I got to the doors, Howard called my name.

“Eva!” he shouted. “Listening to you makes me want to kill myself!”

There's the mirror, right there. Howard's words reflect exactly how he makes me feel at my lowest.

See you soon,

Eva x