That D*mned B*tch Was In My Way!!!!
Jul 24 '02
The Bottom Line One woman's story of a promotion, a hardened heart, clouded judgement, and the price that others paid because of it.
The kitchen was bathed in a golden aura. Shafts of light cut through the curtains and danced upon the surface of the printed page, coming to rest like small spotlights on groups of words randomly across its surface.
Meredith Blaine scuffed into the illuminated room. She breathed deeply as her gaze caressed the room ultimately resting upon a golden shaft. Her eyes followed the shaft to the paper laying in its path.
"WANTED: Part-time work available for professional level editor. Will train. Enthusiasm and interest a must. Call 555-8890 for appointment."
Meredith read the ad again.
"Hmmm. That sounds like it might be fun. Perhaps I will make and appointment just for the fun of it. After all, I can always quit if I don't like it."
After quickly dialing the phone and touching base with her husband, Meredith donned a festive outfit, feeling exhilarated. What fun she was going to have! She did not HAVE to have this job, and that knowledge was liberating.
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Voices in the copy room were animated as Meredith sneaked into the room. She popped up from behind the desk causing an earsplitting shriek to erupt from a woman with curly blonde hair. The curls spilled all over her shoulders as she threw her coffee in the air.
"MEREDITH!!! You KNOW that my nerves are bad! Why do you keep doing that? ", she howled through gales of laughter.
"Because Meredith likes to get you, Susan. But we all love her, don't we?" Florence brushed a lock of bright red hair from in front of her piercing green eyes, as she playfully slapped Meredith on the shoulder.
Chuckles skittered through the room as the frivolity faded into seriousness once again. Clearly the girls had been taught that time was money. The pressure of reading and editing the articles for the publication was at times overwhelming. Occasional banter broke the surface tension allowing the wisps of steamy stress to waft through the cracks in its veneer.
Meredith had been working at the Corporate office for several months now. Back and forth the girls in the office kept an attitude of camaradarie instead of the usual competition that violated the integrity of most jobs.
It was the perfect job. Despite the stress, all of the women knew that they could leave any time that they wanted to, which caused them to work more hours than they needed to, and put more effort into their jobs. After all, they could leave any time they wanted to.
Their editing had to be approved by each of the other members of their small office staff before it could be sent on to the publication department. It was only an international corporate publication, but still each woman took pride in her ability to spark up each article that they received on their desks.
Lunchtime approached, bringing a long-awaited relief from the intensity of the writing and the feedback from the other office help.
"Do you think that anyone in the upstairs offices even know our names?" asked Sarah, a shy brunette with large brown eyes.
"Heck, no. They probably do not even know we are alive! In fact, I bet that we could run the place better than they could. They barely pay us and we are the brains behind their good-looking articles, right?" crowed Meredith, her back stiffening to emphasize the point.
"How would you run the office?" asked Florence, her vivid green eyes flashing impishly.
"I would start by restructuring the highest offices. There are a lot of people getting paid a lot to do very little. Then I would make sure that all of us writers got what we truly deserve. You guys are the best, you know? I am so tired of us being overlooked.", Susie nodded, her curls bouncing with each bob of her head.
"Let's make a pact, OK? If any of us gets near the top, let's pledge to represent us little people fairly and completely....."
All eyes were on Meredith.
One by one each of the office girls nodded their agreement.
The minute hand on the clock made its daily journey toward the close of the lunch period. Eagerly the editor office girls brainstormed how they would run the company if THEY were in charge. One woman began to jot down notes in the office notebook, where all of the others could deposit any ideas that occurred to them over the course of the day.
This made the workers feel important and proud of their jobs, and it reduced the feelings of being unappreciated and underpaid.
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Months passed, and very few advances were made in the office. Salary stayed the same, the work load increased, and endless pep talks filtered down from the top offices designed to bring about even more work from the workers with nothing in return except for an occasional pat on the back.
The mood was rather tense one day when a man dressed in an expensive gray suit strode purposefully into the office.
"Is Meredith Blaine in the office today?" he asked with eyes that saw through each person in the office as if they were not there.
Tense ripple of silence spread through the room as each person looked over at Meredith. Slowly she stepped toward the gray clad icon which spun on his heel expecting her to follow him. All eyes in the room watched her back disappear from their view.
Meredith never returned to the office again.
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Staccato explosions pierced the hallway, reverberating from one wall to the other, as the Gucci clad executive pounded toward her office, carelessly tossing a mountain of paper across the desk in front of her.
"MAXINE! Where are my scheduled appointments for today!
Executive Meredith Blaine never asked a question, she demanded it.
A very nervous young woman shuffled through the blanket of papers just tossed down on her desk to reach the appointment book, her hands shaking in fear.
"Stupid *&^# (female dog)", Meredith muttered under her breath, snatching the appointment book from the unsteady hands of her frightened young secretary/slave.
"YOU KNOW, THE LAST INCOMPETENT MORON THAT HAD YOUR POSITION IS ON FOOD STAMPS NOW AND SHE WAS BETTER AT THIS THAN YOU ARE!" her voice blasted in rage at the trembling girl.
Meredith was too busy to see the tears spill down the cheeks of the young single mother who had once thanked God for getting this job so that she could keep her children fed. Her cold eyes stared past the young woman into her plush office.
Her stiletto heels thudded with muffled purpose as she slammed the door in the tear streaked face of her young shaken secretary. Slowly, face staring down with shame at the floor, the underpaid servant made her way back to her chair of bondage to continue slaving under her enormous workload.
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"Can you BELIEVE this?", the brilliant green eyes blazed around the table.
"She used to be our friend," mourned Susan, her blond curls bouncing with each word she spoke.
We all shared our hearts. We made a pact!" stated Sarah with a tremble in her voice.
What happened to that pact we all made? asked Karen, a dishwater blonde whose demeanor resembled a supermodel, but she was wonderfully unaware of it.
Not too much had been fun in the editing office since Meredith had been promoted. Only recently did her former workmates learn of Meredith's use of their ideas to impress the heads of the company into thinking that she was worth putting in a title of power. She was dominate over not only her former workmates, but others in the company as well. All of the time that they had been sharing together in the office, Meredith had been using everyone's ideas as her own without the knowledge or consent of the others in the office brainstorm group.
Some of the ideas were based upon false information. All attempts by those who knew the truth to point this out to the owners and superiors of the company brought about no response and and only resulted in further promotions for their former workmate. The longer she worked under her new title, the more vicious and nasty she had become.
Occasionally, Meredith had to confront one of her former part-time workmates when work was needed. She made careful efforts to never confront all of them at once. No, Meredith engineered her meetings with a former workmate to be surrounded with other executives to which she had told stories to make the worker look bad in their eyes. That way there was no threat to her position. Once the low level editing office worker left, they spent lots of time mocking, talking about and putting down the woman, all to make themselves feel better. They would have never admitted that, however.
Meredith's method of communication with her former workmates was less than civil,laced with familiarity to give the appearance of masking the condescension with consideration. Her fellow executives applauded her marvelous communications skills. Her former workmates flinched under the thinly shrouded abuse and arrogance.
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It was one of those days. The clouds were rolling in, the atmosphere was dank. People seemed to snarl rather than speak.
The atmosphere in the editing room was tense. Not only did the workload seem to triple in size, but a new problem developed with the exit to the office. No longer able to open the door from the outside, the workers were forced to endure a complete lack of air circulation from the usually open door. It seems that repairing the entry door to the office of low level workers was clearly not a priority. Consequently, no one was allowed to exit that door until it was repaired.
As sweat poured down the workers faces, clouding their eyes with their skin's salty excrement, high above their inferno, caressed by the refreshingly cool air, Meredith Blaine stalked down the hallway.
"Where in &*#$(opposite of heaven)is that @#$%^(sexual intercourse action)secretary!" she barked throughout the hallway.
"Oh, she claimed her child was sick, so she stayed home today," whined a fellow executive in an affected accent. "She probably just wanted a day off. They are all lazy. They do not know what REAL work is like we do...."
" Ha, the amount that we pay them, we should make them work weekends too!" Meredith shot back.
As Meredith stomped into her office, a string of epithets blasted through the air. Like a bolt of lightning, she shot through the door. It appeared that Ms. Blaine could not find her recent piece that was to be sent to the editing office.
"I think that she sent it down there yesterday" moaned her clone-cloaked colleague in yet another version of the affected accent. She resumed her chatty conversation on her cell phone.
"BUT I WAS NOT FINISHED WITH IT YET!" Even the sedated acting colleague leaped from her chair with that one.
She did not have to think of a reply, however, because the gray suited woman vanished down the hallway, the gunshot stiletto heels punctuating her departure.
The saline soaked editing department watched the clock as it squeezed past the last remaining minute before they could break for lunch. They longed for relief from the languid conditions they were forced to work in. The heat had sapped almost all of their strength. Susan was particularly nervous today.
They had just gathered around a fan to have their lunch at the customary table, when the tranquility of the fan was shattered by an explosive intrusion.
"What in @#$% (opposite of heaven) do you think you are doing!" demanded the impeccably clad stone in front of them.
Green eyes blazed from the table. "We are doing what YOU used to do when you worked here with us- we are eating our well-deserved lunch" said Florence in an even voice.
"Watch how you talk to me, Florence. You know that I work hard, you just have to remember that we do not choose to promote people on their looks or personality, or even their writing talent, we only choose those who follow the rules." Meredith crooned in her manipulative voice that always impressed her fellow executives. She could sound SO smooth when she wanted to.
Several pair of hands shot to Florence to keep her from propelling out of her seat with both fists raised. Her green eyes blazed beneath her brilliant red hair.
No one had any time to reply, as Meredith, without missing a beat, began to interrogate all of the members of the lunch table group about her recent article supposedly submitted for editing. The torrent of words rarely left room for replies.
When no one admitted seeing it honestly, what followed was the most condescending flow of descriptive words and threats to each person's job for being negligent.
She then called them morons for sitting in a hot room when if SHE were working there, she would at least open the door.
Susan stepped in front of her to warn Meredith about the door, but instead of preventing Meredith from exiting, she only succeeded in tripping Meredith by accident.
Susan gasped in horror, her beautiful white-blond curls recoiling in unison.
YOU DUMB @#$%(female dog), GET THE @#$% (opposite of heaven) OUT OF MY @#$%^&*(act of sexual intercourse) WAY!
With that, she threw herself into the door, with it groaning in pain as she punched it in the face pushing past its scarred surface and out into the parking lot. She was hollering something about not having time for peons like them and the door slammed shut locking itself once again.
Sarah sat in the corner of the room, her lip trembling. "I thought she used to LIKE us" she cried.
Everyone sat around quietly not knowing quite what to say. The shock of seeing someone that they used to think they knew so well turn so drunk with power sadden each of them.
Finally, in a determined voice, Florence said," I hate to say this, but I hope that this horrible woman is some day forced to see herself for what she has become."
Meanwhile, her heels piercing the hot black pavement with each launch, Meredith had already moved to plan B. She was going to grab her unedited article that she had rewritten and bypass those women who knew nothing about real position or work. She would do what no other executive in the company was allowed to do. She would edit her own piece.
Smirking with satisfaction to herself, she anticipated her presentation this afternoon in her Chanel suit where she would raise herself up to the level of position that she deserved. She grinned to herself when she thought of how hard she had worked to maintain her position.
Now, she was going to move up. She would surpass those other arrogant witches who thought they were so good in the editing department.
So wrapped up in her own thoughts was Meredith, that she did not see the dark ominous clouds gathering over her head. With a beep of her remote, she unlocked her alarm clad sedan and eased herself with a slick movement into the front seat.
She turned the key in the ignition and engaged the air conditioning. Within seconds, her car was a cool oasis while she looked through her briefcases for her papers. Such an executive did not deserve to have to endure the heat.
Finally locating the paper, she purposefully exited the car, locked it and walked with assurance toward the exit door far off. She would show those arrogant @#$%^&* (female dogs) that she could do it better than they could. She would walk in front of them and let them see that she was better.
A few raindrops grazed her taut face. She quickened her step. Her summerweight wool suit was not waterproof, and she did not bring her umbrella with her.
With rapid descent, the drops seemed to seek her out. Without breaking into a dead run, Meredith launched herself toward the door that she had just exited.
The rain was coming down pretty steadily now. With great relief, Meredith grabbed the door handle. She had made it just in time.
However, when the door refused to budge, she began to launch more epithets at its back, hoping to shame it into submission.
Not yielding at all, the door remained stolid. Despising defeat, but refusing to allow herself to be humiliated, Meredith hurried off to her car. No way would she allow herself to be humiliated into attending this meeting in a damp suit.
She would go home and change into another.
After reporting to the building's front desk via her well used cell phone, she then contacted her superior who approved of her desire to change her suit.
She started her car again, being careful to sit on a briefcase and not dampen her seat. She turned her thoughts to her meeting of the afternoon. She would NOT let those women get the best of her. They were always trying to tell her where she was wrong, and she would show them who deserved to have a title and more pay. What did they know anyway?
She pressed on the gas and embarked into the traffic.
What was taking so long? Did no one care that her suit was wet? She did not have to take this kind of treatment. She pressed her feet to the floor of the car and the speedometer began its climb....
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Diane Foster was tired. She had managed to get the kids off to the park with their play group, but so much was on her mind.
Her husband's boss was slighting him for putting family above his job. After all, his boss divorced HIS family for the job and he expected the same of everyone else at the job as well-- for less than half of the pay that he got, however.
Diane had just seen the bills piling up in the mailbox. She did not even want to see them anymore. The pressure for her to give up her children into the hands of strangers to raise and go into the world's job force was at times almost unbearable.
When Diane thought of it, however, she thought of her children's glowing faces, their expressions of joy at being with their mother and all of the times that they thanked her for loving them. Yes, she was sure that it was all worth it.
For years, she and her husband had sought to live in a nice area where their children could grow up safe and protected. The slow speed limit, indicative of the large groups of children, kept the traffic tame. Life was not easy, but she never regretted staying home with her children. She had seen the pinched faces of corporate women all too often. It was a life she did not want to have. She was too interested in helping people and loving her family.
A smile crossed her face as she thought of meeting the children at the park. She made sure to pick them up every day when they had playgroup. Although they were not really little anymore, she still wanted to make sure to be there as much as possible for them. She eased herself into her Ford Taurus wagon. Slowly, obeying the speed limit, Diane brought the car to the exit of the apartment complex.
Looking both ways, she saw that the road was clear, so she accelerated slowly as she did almost every day, and the car glided onto the road.
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They say she was going 95 miles per hour. The speed limit was 25.
The woman in the Taurus never saw her coming. She did not stand a chance.
Thankfully, Diane lost consciousness and did not feel her spinal cord jam up through the base of her skull.
The last thing she remembered hearing was a shrill angry voice screaming,"That @#$%^^(banished to the fiery place) @#$%^ (female dog) got in my !@#$%^*&(sexual intercourse) way!!!!"
She kept trying to run past the police to go back into her car and go change her suit. She was completely unconcerned about the woman who happened to be in her way.
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Many months of agony followed for Diane. There was some medical help, but the coverage was not all that she needed.
Walking was almost impossible for her, and for two years, the pain was so excruciating that she wished some nights that she could die just to be rid of it, but she thought helplessly of her children who needed her so much, and her husband who pretty much lost the wife he used to love and be intimate with.
The agony at times was almost too much to bear. It was then that she turned to Jesus Christ, much to the mockery of those who had known her before the accident. They rolled their eyes in condescension at her quiet peaceful statements that Jesus was all that kept her going in spite of all odds.
Quite some time after the accident when Meredith saw Diane at the trial, she spit at her. She mocked her about being a right wing fanatic trying to destroy the country.
As much as the pain wanted to prevent her, Diane slowly limped into the court room and with great effort took her place.
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Two years later, Diane had to go to one of her neverending doctor appointments. Having used up almost all of their money, patience, and free time that they used to spend enjoying their family, their lives had become nothing but a shuffle from week to week trying to keep Diane out of debilitating pain, and keep her walking.
As Diane walked out of the doctor's office with the disappointment of another progress report not as good as expected, she looked up into the eyes of a stone colored woman with face twisted in hatred.
"You @#$%^(female dog)! YOU TOOK AWAY MY #$%^&*(sexual intercourse word) DRIVER'S LICENSE. YOU TOOK AWAY MY LICENSE. I HATE YOU! YOU HAD NO RIGHT TO TAKE AWAY........"
As Diane hobbled through the waiting room door into the parking lot, the shrieking became muffled and then faded away as she made her way painfully over to the car.
NOTE: As outrageous as this may seem, this story is only classified as fiction because I added details to round out the story,however, it is based upon a true story. I have changed the names as well.
I personally know the woman that I have called Diane (not her real name). It is to her that this story is dedicated. She has suffered so much at the hands of a woman who allowed power and position to cloud her judgement and it started with a small promotion which hardened her heart and was allowed to remain unchecked, by herself, her colleagues, and anyone who knew her.
Recent events and conversations have resurrected the echoes of Diane's story in my heart, and I thought it was time that she and Meredith be introduced to more people, as there is a very important lesson to be learned, if one is willing to learn it.
Thanks for reading, if you got this far. May none of us ever forget Meredith or Diane.
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Product-Evaluation/Information-Specialist. Too Busy to Be KIND to Others? You are TOO BUSY.
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