Insert Chassis Albuquerque: Chapter 2 - "Economic Forces"

Chapter 2 - "Economic Forces"
My life's much like yours, the work load steadily increasing while inflation and living costs spiral out of all control and wage and salary recompense remained disproportionately similar to what it was 5 years previously. All the while companies like Shimansky's continued to announce outrageous profits in bold headlines year in, year out and managers and bosses and directors paraded about their offices beaming at their employees what fantastic jobs they were all doing in these “… trying, difficult times we’re all in together” and they and their cronies drove to work in another newly purchased $750,000 sports car and everyone else was having to take the trains and busses and walk to work in our goddamn knock-off $5 shoes.
This is what life in a fit of rage had handed me - nothing.
Life had just sort of inverted.
Life had done me few favors and, for warmth, so-called "austerity" had long ago decided to permanently drape its rough, ugly blanket over me. I was sick and tired of my living-expenses being decreased proportionately while the cost of living kept escalating disproportionately. Any work was full of sideways, lateral promotions. I was always doing more for the same money or even less. With no salary increase in over 4 years, in lieu of this reprehensible oversight and as a way of redressing the imbalance, I'd suggested I instead work four days a week without any salary deduction.
Immediately and without any hesitation, Shimansky had said: “Listen asshole, working only four days a week without a proportionate salary decrease means you would’ve immediately received a 20% increase…! Hell, give yourself a 40% increase, work three days a week for all I care! You need to take this up with Human Resources - now get the fuck outta here!"
"Human Resources? Where's that?" I'd asked.
Shimansky had looked around his office, incredulous.
"What are you, stupid? I'm Human Resources - make a fucking appointment, dipshit!"
Shimansky was forever claiming in interviews to be a great supporter of “equality” - meaning just as long as no one from the lower classes was more equal to him or anyone else from the upper classes. He was what employees often refer to as: "Employee Negative".
This was another very technical term, meaning he could be a real cock.
But then there were days when, well, he was a cunt.
Terrible language, I know, but he was the worst kind of colossal, stinky, selfish cunt possible - Shimansky was a conglomerate cunt. Normally I don't mind cunt - hairy cunt, smooth cunt, black cunt, pistachio cunt - you know what pistachio cunt is…? The pistachio's a type of cashew, but the pistachio had nothing on Shimansky.
Still, one of us had overstepped the mark.
It was quite offensive by how far.
I felt it was up to me to let him know by how much.
"I know where you live, motherfucker - I'll have you beheaded…!" I'd yelled and dived across the desk at him (this was untrue, I'd no idea where Shimansky lived).
Shimansky screamed and backed hurriedly into a wall.
I had him cornered, like a rat.
He was a rat, a very particular kind of rat.
And the thing about rats is they have no morals.
I'd felt justified, though. My actions were the result of an economic force beyond my control because, just recently, Shimansky had fired 773 staff in Belgium for the exact same reason: Economic forces beyond his control.
Suddenly August Burgman had burst into the office, cradling her dolls in her arms. She said was going to call the cops if we didn't break it up. Then the phone on Shimansky’s desk had begun to ring.
"It's your son, I think you need to speak to him, I think he's intoxicated," Burgman had told him.
"Intoxicated? What the hell you mean, intoxicated…?" Shimansky had yelled and grabbed the phone up off the table.
That whole business with attacking Shimansky obviously raised some serious questions about my job "suitability". Shimansky hadn’t seemed surprised I'd attacked him, though. Maybe he'd seen that kind of reaction before when dealing with employees. I wasn’t too worried. Shimansky had said so himself: Economic forces, who knows when they could strike, right?
But, erring on the side of caution, just in case, I’d had to employ a new strategy, just in case: Blackmail. I’d the goods on Shimansky. Shimansky was having an affair.
Of course, you never know what people do behind closed doors but it hadn’t come as surprise. What was a surprise was it turns out Shimansky's a cave-fucker. Yep, you heard me, a cave-fucker. He'd fucked this woman (who wasn’t his wife) in a cave up near Pearl River beach. Initial unconfirmed reports said she couldn’t get enough of him and was absolutely crazy for him.
The thought of any person absolutely "crazy" for him made me sick - no one could be that crazy.
Anyhow, money has left a fantastic impression on me, but I’d only realized quite how much of an impression when I noticed I’d practically none available. I’m Ealing Broadway. My net worth when I checked my defunct bank account this morning, before it was closed until I could pay the service fees? -$2.16.
I could hear August punching out the memo on the typewriter in the front office - Life, it was all coming apart nicely…!

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