Unwind Ⅱ

I got back to the table where my new friend "Tim" was waiting patiently on the promise of golden liquid to dull the mind and sharpen the tongue.

I use the word friend very loosely as I was not in the mood to spend too much time deciding on the most appropriate term for this stranger, I am content with buying my seat with a bottle of whisky and he seemed content to accept the deal.

Tim already had his glass ready and instead of placing everything down then serving drinks I just passed the whisky then ice to him, glad to see that the water was welcomed as I did not intend to start chugging clean whisky, yet.

      "So what do you do for a living?" I ask Tim as I pour my drink, noticing that he is almost done. I also take note that he was remarkably unremarkable, from his generic hairstyle to his clothes there is nothing that stands out for me to easily ascribe him to a type. Maybe a bit on the hippy side of the spectrum but really no more than any lazy normal T-shirt and denim Saturday kind of guy or gal.

      "Oh, I do a bit of this and that, kind of like a corporate DIY guy. Instead of them doing itself though, they pay me to do it. Yeah, that is exactly what I do." Tim responds then finishes his drink with a loud "ehhh!"

I know when I am being lied to, mostly, I definitely know when someone does not care to divulge too much information. A big part of my job is to surprise employees with shit news, as they say. I understand them not liking me, but surely they know that is just in the HR job description.

Fair enough, we do like to interpret our jobs description and responsibilities akin to how people have done with the Bible. It is amazing how many ways the same thing can be interpreted and since I am HR I have the power to tell them they are interpreting it wrong.

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      "Who are these people?" Tim asks as he pours his third drink, this time with no water. I eye my glass and notice my second is almost done also. "Co-workers, to some extent. It is a company-wide conference and tonight is the 'ceremony evening' or whatcha macall it." Oddly I have never been good with what they name these things, it is all a bore.

      "Ah, yes, whatcha macall it. I know what you mean." Tim says then grins. "I hate those." then he slams his empty glass down. I quickly reach for the bottle to pour my drink like a child rushing to get to the sweet shop first. "I concur, I hate these things."

      "So do you not like the work, the people?" the next question comes at me, usually I don't care for questions because of the mental aerobics required to phrase a response that provides an answer but also puts a stop to any further question without coming off as irritable, confrontational or just plain dodgy.

Of which I am all those things, and dodgy only in regard to answering questions that come from an empty source. Tim did not seem empty, Tim seemed particularly interesting and it is a fair question. It is also the kind of question I like, one that jumped to an assumption that I do not like my work. If I answer it then I agree.

      "A bit of both. 50, 50. It is a bit of a chicken and egg problem because would work suck without the horrible people? Or would these people be horrible regardless?" I take my first burning sip of clean whisky and look into the glass deciding whether what I just said sounds smart or just fucking confusing. I take a bigger sip and continue, "I think I just don't like any of it, no rhyme or reason. They are all cunts and my job is tedious at best."

Tim nods with understanding, "If I was naive I would say you should tell them that and quit. Instead, I think you should probably just kill them all." I look at him seriously then see a grin appear. "You know, I think in this world it is easier to kill people than to quit a job you hate," I replied stone-faced taking a last swig of whisky then getting up to fetch another bottle.