39. Unexpected Defeat
Bode my time. Waited. Missed. A nobody.
Went to see a film yesterday afternoon. Changed my mind at the door. Was about to head home, but then I saw the bowling alley.
The place looked awful. Empty. No birthday parties, work outings, or couples on dates.
Bowled three games. No strikes. One ball slipped out of my hand and guttered straight away. Didn’t use that one again.
Throw after throw, the pins stayed standing. Stoic. Indifferent.
Afterwards, I spent a while at the claw machine. The toys were all off-brand animals with loose stitching and haunted eyes. A kid was feeding in coins. Failing, every time.
I hovered nearby, looking indifferent.
When he gave up, I stepped in. He watched on as the claw dropped, twitched, and caught nothing.
Tried again. Same. The third time, it closed around a chicken’s head, lifted it, and then let go halfway up.
The kid’s laughter ricocheted off the plastic seats.
“Shouldn’t you be at work, mister?”
Didn’t say anything. Didn’t want the chicken anyway.
He was still laughing as I walked out.
My Car Got Stuck Because They Shut Off the Lift So Cars Wouldn’t Get Stuck
Logic, lifts, and chopsticks.
The shopping centre had plenty of spots in the main parking lot, but there was a car lift to the basement. And I wanted to feel like James Bond.
It was less fun and much slower than I’d imagined. Tight, too.
Parked up and noted there was no human lift. We have to use the stairs. Should’ve worn my trainers.
Returned about an hour later. Packed and arranged the boot, then drove to the lift. It was taped off. Out of order.
Now what? I wandered around, looking for help.
Found a sign that said ‘For assistance, press the red button.’
The button was in a locked glass case. Next to it, another sign said: ‘Do not break the glass.’
Out of options, I had to trudge back up the stairs.
Approached a booth with a man inside. He was eating a beef and tomato Pot Noodle with chopsticks. His back to me.
I knocked on the window and explained my situation.
He said the weekday guy had turned off the lift as a precaution. He’s at a stag do in Prague and didn’t want anyone to get trapped while he’s away.
“But I am trapped,” I pointed out.
He nodded. “Right. So you see the problem.”
“No,” I stressed. “I’m trapped because he turned it off. If you turned it on, I could leave.”
“It’s off so people don’t get stuck.”
“I’m already stuck.”
He nodded again. “Exactly.”
We stood in silence. I wasn’t sure what to say or how to deal with this.
He cracked first. “I’m just the weekend guy. I can’t turn it on. Don’t have the keys.”
“When’s the weekday guy back?”
He rolled his eyes so hard I thought his pupils might reappear from the bottom. “Monday.”
“It’s Thursday,” I reminded.
“Yeah.”
He offered me a green Smint and said I could wait in the booth. If I wanted.
Considered it for a second. There were two chairs and a lava lamp. A little black and white TV.
“So what happens now?” I asked. Politely as I could manage.
“The manager could turn it on.”
Progress! “Great! When will they be back?”
“He’s the weekday guy.”
Oh.
“It’s a hire car,” I pleaded. “I need to return it.”
He shrugged.
“Can you call the manager?”
“He’s in Prague”
Guess I’ll go back Monday. Hope no one gets too close to the car. And it’s not too warm down there.
Didn’t know they still sold black and white TVs.
38. Whoops
A pattern of concerning behaviour.
Got an email on my way to work.
Subject: Termination of Employment: Jolon Fairweather
Dear Mr Fairweather,
Following a comprehensive review of your recent conduct, alongside an accumulation of prior incidents, your employment with ███████████ is terminated with immediate effect.
At the recent summer party, you arrived intoxicated and were witnessed shouting at colleagues. When asked to leave by your line manager, you removed your tie, fastened it around your head, and physically assaulted him.
This alone would constitute grounds for dismissal. Further reports allege you placed a handwritten note on the staff kitchen fridge reading:
“Fucking booze. All of it, you cunts.”
The note was discovered the following morning by a junior staff member, who was visibly distressed.
You were also previously made aware that your appointment as lead for the internal review team was presented as a final opportunity to demonstrate commitment, accountability, and professional growth.
Despite this, the project was submitted late and with minimal regard for standards, accompanied by the message “Report Fucking Done”. A tone now characteristic of your workplace communications.
This follows a pattern of concerning behaviour, including:
- Repeated lateness, despite previous discussions and a formal warning;
- Poor communication and disengagement from core responsibilities;
- An incident of unauthorised consumption of a colleague’s food, which led to a formal complaint;
- A general deterioration in your attitude towards peers, supervisors, and workplace expectations.
In addition to the above, we have received multiple serious reports regarding your behaviour at work-related social functions.
You allegedly attended a private gathering (believed to be a wake) without an invitation. Witnesses report that you insulted guests upon arrival, told a story deemed grossly inappropriate and disturbing, and mimed shooting yourself in the head while others were speaking.
More distressingly, you allegedly initiated a physical altercation with female staff in the bathroom. One witness claims you wet yourself during the incident. You did not challenge this account when given the opportunity.
We are also aware of concerns raised regarding potential narcotics use during working hours. While unproven, the pattern of behaviour has been noted.
Taken collectively, your actions reflect a sustained disregard for the values, culture, and well-being of those around you. We have concluded that continued employment is no longer tenable.
IMPORTANT: You are not to attend work.
Your system access has been revoked, and your accounts closed. Any attempt to enter the premises will result in ███████████ pursuing criminal trespass proceedings.
Your final salary, including any outstanding holiday pay, will be processed within five working days. Your personal belongings will be sent to your registered address by courier.
Please arrange for the return of any company property by Friday.
We are not in a position to provide a reference.
Be advised that the assault at the office party has been reported to the police.
Sincerely,
HR Department
███████████
Replied to clarify the “Report Fucking Done” comment was about a different report I hadn’t done. It bounced back.
-32. A Day in the Park
We stayed till the sun left. Her reading. Me watching.
It was quite the journey to get there. Three buses. A stretch on foot. Not her local park. Not even close.
She’d chosen one far away on purpose. A place that felt like a reward for those who found it.
It was warm enough to sit on the grass. Not blazing. A gentle breeze danced to take the edge off.
There were children nearby, kicking a ball too close to ducks. A man passed with a dog (that didn’t bark). A group of teens sat in a circle, rolling cigarettes.
I didn’t bring a blanket to sit on, but she had one. Yellow. Patterned. Plucked straight from an old family photo.
She laid it out under a tree, close to the path but away enough that it felt private. She looked around. Then pulled out a small wicker hamper and a book.
Her picnic was nothing fancy. But still perfect. A sandwich, some fruit, a bottle of cloudy lemonade that looked like childhood.
I didn’t eat. Didn’t say anything. Just wanted to watch. Take it all in.
She ate slowly with one hand. Her book poised in the other. No rush. Every bite considered. Part of the experience.
Once, she put the book down and laughed. So much joy. The page had whispered something just for her.
I wanted to ask what it was. What makes her laugh like that? Instead, I let her have her moment. Lost in her story.
She wiped her fingers on a napkin, used it to gently shoo away a wasp or fly. Then, back to the book. Legs delicately folded to one side.
At one point, she took off her shoes and pressed bare feet into the grass. Leaned back. Eyes closed. Glowing in the sun.
Everything about her felt deliberate but peaceful. She was happy. She belonged right here. With me.
It stayed like this all day. Her reading. Me watching her read. Nothing between us.
When the sun started to slip, she caught my shadow and looked up. A long stare into my eyes. A special look she reserved only for me.
She packed her things. Folded the blanket with precision. Tucked everything back into her Prada bag.
Then we left together. I watched her skip to the bus stop as I walked back to the hire car.
A glorious day for one of her last.
37. Suggestion Box
Dumb HR logic.
Woke up face-down on the duvet, fully clothed, one shoe off. Mouth like wet lint. No memory of getting home.
My face looked blotchy. Eyes red. Tender.
Tried to piece things together in the shower. Couldn’t stay upright. Sat on the tiles until the water went cold. Closed my eyes, but it made me more frightened.
Had to get a taxi to work. There was an email from HR waiting.
Subject: Inappropriate Language
A young secretary found a note in the kitchen this morning. Stuck to the fridge. It made her cry.
“We’d like to remind all staff that abusive messages—even those intended as jokes—have no place in the workplace."
They put a picture of it in the email. Now everyone gets the chance to cry.
It’s definitely my handwriting. Remember writing it. Sort of. I stand by it.
Wasn’t me that triple-underlined it, though.
Decided not to reply. Needed coffee.
Saw the boss’s empty office on the way to the pantry. Lightweight. If you want to be a man in the evening, you’ve got to be a man in the morning.
He’s not the only one AWOL. Cowards. The few who made it are on mute.
A guy toasting an onion bagel gave me a little salute.
When I got back to my desk, someone had left a Polaroid from the party on my keyboard.
A woman in the foreground smiling into the lens. Pretty. Wonder why I’ve not noticed her before. In the background, slightly out of focus, you can see me and the boss. My fists raised.
No wonder he’s hiding today.
Finished my coffee in one go and immediately needed to lie down. Sat in the stairwell for a while.
My phone pinged. Another email from HR. And a Slack message. Now they’re calling.
Looks like more trouble. Can feel my heart pounding in my teeth.
Am going home. Without my phone. Lie low. Will deal with this on Monday.
36. Do Not Reply
Thank you for your interest.
Subject: Application to █████████████
Dear Mr Fairweather,
Thank you for your interest in the ████████████ position.
We have decided not to take your application further.
We appreciate the time you gave to the process and wish you well in your future job search.
Regards,
Recruitment Team
███████████
This is an automated message. Do not reply.
Fucking idiots.
Biggest mistake they’ll make this year..
Fuck it.
Going to the pub.
Will have some fun at the office party tonight.
Fuck.
35. Still Waiting to Be Something
Can feel them thinking about me.
Still nothing from the interview.
Must be good news. Rejections are fast.
Have been working on an article for a comedy publication. Keep my mind off it.
They’re probably still discussing me. Forwarding interview notes. Comparing impressions.
“Is he too confident? Too good?”
Laptop guy will be worried. Threatened by how I handled the room. Thinks I’d gun for his job.
She’ll be defending me. Quietly. Persuasively.
“He’s got edge. But he listens. That’s rare.”
Smiled when she said it.
Oxford Man won’t like that. He’ll pretend not to care. He’ll try to be objective.
“Very smart. Just not sure he’s the right fit for this team.”
She’ll lean back. Let the silence stretch. She’s good at that. Knows how to get what she wants.
“He’s exactly what we need.”
Yes. Delay is good. They’re weighing it. Imagining me in the office. In their lives.
Maybe they’ll read the article I’m doing. She’ll like it.
“He’s funny too.”
Any minute now. I’m ready.
Twiddling My Thumb
Twiddling my thumb.
The shirt I wore?
I’ve worn it before.
Something I said?
It’s all in my head.
Probably nothing.
Too much thumbing.
Killing some time.
Drinking much wine.
Twiddling my thumb.
-56. Lisbon Obsidian
It was my show. My prestige.
We went to The Obsidian Room near the river to celebrate closing the Lisbon project.
No pricing anywhere. Dark wooden panels. Thick white tablecloths. Metal-sleeved menus. Everything was heavy.
Hugh was there with a few others from the team. My team. A couple of the finance lot joined. The rest were clients who’d flown over from the States.
There was champagne on arrival. Everyone shook hands, swapped cards, patted backs. All smiles now it was over and I’d made them look good.
When we sat, one of the Americans started a speech in my honour. I bowed my head. Humble.
He raised his glass. “To Lisbon.”
Caught Hugh watching me, just for a second. I was on top. He knew it. Everyone knew it. He didn’t like it.
I stood, “They said it couldn’t be done. But I didn’t listen.”
A few cheers.
“You’ve still never beaten me on the courts, though!” Hugh was grinning over his glass.
A few polite chuckles. His way of getting one over me.
“No,” I grinned back, “but you’ve never beaten Lisbon.”
Raucous laughter. That shut him up.
I clicked my fingers and ordered two bottles of Malbec before the sommelier could speak. From somewhere I’d never heard of. Listed right at the bottom of the page.
Don’t remember the starter, but I got the côte de boeuf for my main. Had the waiter carve it tableside. Present it. So everyone could enjoy my show.
We lingered long after dessert. Cheese board, port, another bottle. No one checked their watches because we didn’t need to. The whole night was earned.
After the clients peeled away, we went for a nightcap at The King. Talked a bit about the office. Promotions. Politics. The usual circling.
That was when Hugh brought her up.
“You need to back off the stranger, mate,” he said.
I shook my head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re not seeing clearly.” He tapped his temple.
“There’s nothing going on,” I shrugged.
“I know,” he quipped.
Snidey prick.
“You don’t know, mate. Is this because I got the Lisbon credit?”
“I know enough.” He pointed a finger at me. “About both.”
I stared him down. Laughed.
“Is this coming from Simon?”
He didn’t laugh back. Took a long sip of his pint, eyes on the back of the bar.
“Doesn’t matter who’s saying it. Don’t make it another thing.”
He glanced around. Pretended to check the time on the old broken clock above the fruit machine.
We both knew it hadn’t worked for years.
“People talk, Hugh. That’s how they meet. That’s how they close deals.”
He didn’t bite. Drained his pint.
“Alright, Jolon. Whatever you say. My round.”
I smiled as if that settled it. It did settle it. He’d realise soon enough.
34. My To-Do List
Princess needs a permanent solution.
Watched the boss attempt to reverse-park this morning. Four times! Ha.
Eventually, he gave up and went in forwards. Still not straight.
There’s been an email sitting in my inbox for days:
“🥳🍾🍾Summer Social: Drinks, Canapés & Great Company!🍾🍾🥳”
Six follow-ups, asking for the RSVP.
“You’re coming, right?”
Not a question.
There’s never enough alcohol. Too many soggy pastry discs. Enough vegan options to make the Dalai Lama roll his eyes.
And all the fawning. Guffawing. Cringing as someone senior sings Elvis badly.
Why not? A last hurrah. Clicked Yes.
Need to clear my head before the new job. Get away from the fucking dog.
Almost booked a holiday. Put my card details in. Hovered over ‘Confirm’. Closed the tab.
Told myself I’ll wait for a better deal. But going away for a week won’t help. Princess needs a permanent solution.
Checked my to-do list:
- Throw away the chipped Bubba Gump’s mug
- Book holiday
- RSVP to party
- Buy milk
- Find something for the mould in the bathroom
- Do something about the hole
- Follow up on the interview?
Surprised I’ve not heard back by now. Was half expecting to get the offer before I left the premises.
Leadership is probably debating it. “Is he too dynamic? Threat to the team? A flight risk?”
I should Google who you call to fix holes. Plasterers? Pest control? A builder? No idea. Best not have anyone getting too close.
Might go out tonight. Wonder if the King still does those scotch eggs. Haven’t had one in years.
Think I’ll keep the mug. The chip has worn smooth. Everything fixes itself with enough time. Right?
-53. The Distance Between Us
An Unspoken Goodbye
Mist sat low over the surface, thinning and folding.
She was ahead of me. Always by a few steps. My role was to follow.
Neither of us said anything. We didn’t need to. I was happy admiring her from behind.
An empty skiff idled past, breaking my gaze. Water gently glugged against its hull.
She slowed. Looked back and smiled with intent.
Waiting for me to walk by her side?
And then she stepped into her ark.
“You have to go."
I stood on the bank until the fog took her. An angel going home without me.
—
33. S.H.I.N.E.
Prepared. Poised. Perfect.
Interview day. Up at 3. No point trying to sleep.
Picked up my prep notes. Reread them again as the kettle boiled.
Had a shower. Still looked a wreck. Pallid. Eyes like stained glass windows in an abandoned church.
Took something to pick me up.
Cleaned the sink. Vacuumed the hallway. Wiped the kitchen. Avoided the bin cupboard. Had another shower.
Got the early train. Didn’t need to, but left nothing to chance. Not today.
Old woman sat next to me and started eating a banana. Loud. Could hear smacking lips over my headphones.
Arrived 45 minutes early. A reliable worker. Gets up and gets stuff done. The building was glass and steel. Reception smelled like cucumber. Knew it.
There was a cactus by the far wall.
Announced my arrival at reception and took a seat. Very comfy. Sat up straight, focused on my breathing until the rhythm made sense.
Had to use the bathroom a couple of times. Hope the receptionist didn’t notice. Winked and told her I was powdering my nose.
Went one last time a couple of minutes before 9. Made sure I was going in alert. Sharp. Ready to win.
They called me in at 9:01. Three of them. Two men and a woman, arranged by height. The woman smiled. One of the men had a laptop. The other gestured towards a chair.
My audience. About to see magic.
I shook their hands firmly. The last one winced. That settled my nerves. Had his number right off the bat.
The chair wobbled. Didn’t matter. I leaned forward a little, hands on knees. I’m the man who listens. Nods along like you’re saying something important.
Laptop man said he went to Oxford. Asked me which college I was at. Told him I studied at a university in Oxford and gave him the gun fingers.
My leg started bouncing. Moved a hand to still it. Spilled some cucumber water. Changed position. Don’t think they saw.
Straight into it, they asked me about my core values. Had this locked down. My time to S.H.I.N.E.
S for Self-awareness, H for Honesty, and I for Initiative. Couldn’t remember N. Or E. Blagged my way through it. Said E for Empathy.
“E for Energy, perhaps?” The woman asked. She got it. Could tell she liked me.
“Empathy without energy is indulgence, and energy without empathy is just noise.” That seemed to land.
Went off script when they asked about leadership. Ad-libbed an answer about long-term vision. The Egyptians built pyramids without Slack, weekly meetings, and clocks. Yet they delivered something that’s lasted thousands of years.
“That’s leadership. You set the base. Others add the bricks.”
Left a pause to let that sink in.
Made eye contact with the woman again. Something there, for sure. I held it a beat to see if she’d look away. She didn’t.
Smiled at her. Said how rare it is to meet someone who listens. That shifted the whole dynamic. I was on fire.
No one interrupted my cross-functional alignment and hybrid engagement models. Spoke for twenty minutes without notes.
Before they could wrap it up, I said I had to leave for another meeting. Power move. Stood and thanked them.
Considered giving the woman my number, but will have plenty of time for that when the gig starts.
Told them I hoped they’d taken something from this meeting, too.
Sweat was trickling down my arms and chest, so I stopped in the toilets on the way out.
Wiped myself down. Blew my nose. Looked at myself in the mirror.
Fucking smashed it.
32. One More Day
I’ve already won. I’m sure.
Woke feeling ready.
Lay there a while. Planning my new life. Big interview tomorrow. Not nervous. Sharp. Composed.
Made toast. Buttered both sides.
Thought about booking a hotel again for tonight. Avoid the dog. But it’s kept mostly quiet since I stared it down in the corridor. Don’t need it. Not this time. The prep’s solid. I’ve already won.
Been doing more running. Eating less junk. Feel better. Am sure I do. Things are not winding me up as much. Staying calm. Shining.
There’s no way Hugh knows what happened. No one does. Wrote it on my phone five times to make it real.
Boss was in a foul mood with me. Good. If he weren’t such a prick, maybe I wouldn’t have this interview.
I’ll thank him. Straight-faced. Shake his hand. Look him in the eye. Tell him he made me see what I needed to see. But kindly fuck off and shut your mouth.
No need. Not today. “Yes, Sir. Right away.”
Let him enjoy his power while he still has it.
One more day. I’m gone.
31. I’m Back
Finally got the call.
“We loved speaking to you last week”.
Knew it.
I’m going to their office on Tuesday. Meet the team.
Probably has cucumber water in reception.
Can leave this job. Stop pretending. Lock the doors. Burn it down. Smile.
Shove the review report up your arse.
I’m back.
It Really Is the Most Dreadful Fucking Thing
What a load of bollocks. Ignore.
Don’t feel like doing any work. Reread my Medium posts. Don’t care for them.
1. Reluctant Introduction
Fucking idiot. It’s not a mystery. It’s a dumb twat trying too hard not to try too hard.
2/10
23. Golden Dog
Shite.
1/10
5. The Man with the Mushroom
Nothing. Dreadful nonsense. I shop at Lidl. They don’t have a cocking rotisserie.
1/10
Most Dreadful Thing
Flash fiction. Too close to the truth. People liked it.
3/10
11. The Hole Behind the Bin V1
No.
1/10
-78. The Stranger in My Office
Perfect
10/10
16. Maybe She Didn’t Like My Meal Deal
Terrible. Inflated score in defence of salt and vinegar Hula Hoops.
6/10
30. What Hugh Doesn’t Know
Jesus Fucking Christ.
Deleted.
X. How to Write the Perfect Medium Post
Clickbait. HATE IT. Can’t delete. Most viewed. Fuck you. Edited.
0/10
27. The Garamond Gospel
Waste of time. When will they fucking email me?
1/10
He Called Himself The Big Dog
Think about this guy at least twice a day.
4/10
The other ones are worse.
—
Unreliable Narrator
Hi, I’m Jolon. I’ve been writing down what happened.
The way I want to remember it.
Hello, world.
#diary
29. Does He Really Know What Happened?
How could he? He wasn’t there.
Been replaying the interview. Going over the things I said. The way I smiled while talking. Think I sounded nervous. Not like me.
They should’ve replied. Unless they’re still deciding. Or trying to word a rejection. Or just forgot.
They’re lucky I even spoke to them.
Kept refreshing my inbox. Checking spam.
Nothing.
Had to sit through a 2-hour presentation on new software in the afternoon. They’d forgotten to give me a login.
No email.
Went to The King after dinner on Friday. Saw Hugh again. Still propping up the bar. He looks a right mess. Shirt untucked. Red-faced. Pissed.
His own fault.
Tried to leave before he clocked me. No drama. Be the better man.
He grabbed me on the way out. Leant in close. Reeked of piss and booze.
“I know what you fucking did.”
Gave him a tenner. Told him to get another drink. He doesn’t know. How could he? He wasn’t there.
Stayed in all weekend. Just me and the hole.
Still no email.