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www.mylifeisart.com TM

the value of life is measured by its beauty

loser

 

"'winner'"


              A NOVEL BY PATRICK GYSEMBERG

                                          "winner"

Introduction and dates of creation

Introduction

note one : please forgive me if you see some mistakes (grammar and spelling) because this is only the creative part, without any corrections which will take place lateron

second note : anyone who can help me with my English, with the correction of my writings, and wants to do so, can mail me on patrick.gysemberg@telenet.be)

289 PAGES DIN A4
ENGLISH WRITTEN
WRITTEN FROM 5/205 TILL 5/2013

ANY PUBLISHER WHO MIGHT BE INTERESTED,

please contact me for publishing arrangements

by mail

patrick.gysemberg@telenet.be
or by phone

+32 495792336

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Summary : the story

 

all described in the next pages is part of a fiction novel and any possible resemblance with any actual and existing characters are non valid

 

 

"winner"

Summary   : the story

 

BELGIUM 1999

 

Catholic raised eldest son of five children, now convinced agnostic, Patrick,  changes his career in seeking something better. He is offered an  employment at Matrix Systems Belgium, near his home; He takes on the job because it is all about what he can do best : taking care of customers. German customers mostly.

He is not aware of the fact that this decision is going to change his life permanently.  For the better or for  the worse? Who can tell? You can,  when you read this book till the end.

 Patrick is confronted with a series of incredible illegal happenings and devious activities of several of his colleagues, including his superior manager,  which result  in the sudden discharge of mr Dujounrot, general manager of Matrix Systems Belgium, six years later. His assistant,  mr Moipatron had obscurely arranged everything to take his place. No one had ever expected this. Patrick is not happy with all these sudden unanticipated changes and decides to inform  Matrix Systems USA about his personal point of view on what happened those last months at Matrix Systems Belgium. Mr Moipatron is furious the moment he finds out and starts an offensive to get rid of Patrick the hard way. For some Machiavellian reason mr Moipatron had made an alliance together with Anissa, former aficionado of mr Dujournot and fucked up mistress of many to maintain her powerful position, close to the Money stream of Matrix Belgium... Over the years the Moroccan Anissa  had proven her total and complete  inability to  integrate in the Belgian way of living and demeanor. At the contrary, she  continuously  had spread a fearful amount of loud and intense hatred and unbelievable personal anger and delinquency amongst her colleagues and everything/everyone who crossed her path of life;  all without once being corrected by her even supportive superiors. This lack of real management and persistent unremitting personal profiteer of the ruling executives enhanced the intensity of Anissa’s hatred, pestering and daily verbal aggression between the Matrix office walls. 

Patrick is forced to press official charges against both,  because of personal harassment and pestering… in order to protect himself.

 

 

In this book Patrick is searching for himself, inside himself,  outside himself, to find a lot of answers. Because he realizes that his life is at risk, he is forced to change the story, to change the names, to change the circumstances. He needs to do so to provide him and his family full protection. Still, during the creation of this book, Patrick is being attacked by unknown people in different obscure ways. They try to prevent  the publishing of this book. At any cost.

 As Patrick is writing every single detail down, it provides him at the same time a  kind of protection, because, if something would go wrong, one would immediately know who did it.

 

He his looking back those six years to find out what exactly had gone wrong. And when.

 He wants to find the reasons why everything went the way they  went. He wants to know why it ended all the way it is going to end.

 Because the end of the book is also the end of the whole saga.

 

 Patrick wants a life without Matrix now.

 Without Anissa.

He is selling his home, his house.

He is moving back to his roots.

 

 He knows his liberation  will become true the very moment the last letter of this book is written down. Including the outcome, the solution.

The apotheoses.

Whatever that may be.

How vindictive that may turn out to be.

 

Have fun reading this incredible story…

(c) patrick gysemberg  April 2006

action painter/writer for a better world

 

 

even in fiction : surviving attempts to sabotage these writings

winner

all described in the next pages is part of a fiction novel and any possible resemblance with an actual and existing situation or real physical persons are merely pure coincidental, non valid and thus not existing.

 Life is often worse than fiction can ever imagine.

On this pages I have started to work on a revolutionary new book about what I have been going through during the past months of my life. It is going to be one of the most horrible  stories of this new millennium. The book is slowly revealing some crucial facts that are contributing to a final event that is going to take place after finishing the book. The book is as it were, a kind of introduction to what the future is going to bring me. To me and my family.

Is it a kind of riddle, a question mark, an open endOr could it be a very clear information on what is going to happen once this book reaches its final sentences to be published.   Who is going to tell...and who is going to tell me?   Is life telling me what to do or am I telling life what to do?   Is a crime going to be committed?   Or is it all a bad joke?A sad joke, or a terrifying warning?  Is it a handful of passed cliches of someone who is suffering an emotional crisis?    Or is it a honest testimony of a cruel and devastating  truth?    Is this the announcement of a future massacre?    Should anyone be afraid?     Do we have to take some precautions?    Is this real or is this a fantasy?     Do remember that in real life reality often appears to be exceeding the worst possible imagination.    You are welcome to read along as my book is growing from zero towards completion.     I have no idea how long it will take to complete it, but I am intended to do so, whatever it will take.

thank you for your continuing support.

patrick gysemberg 2006

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all described in the next pages is part of a fiction novel and any possible resemblance with an actual and existing situation or real physical persons are merely pure coincidental, non valid and thus not existing.

 Life is often worse than fiction can ever imagine.

action painter for a better world

 

winner

"winner"


this is a way to conquer the injustice done to my person.
 a way to heal from the damage "reverse racism" has inflicted upon me and my family.
a way to find the light again in these dark ages.
a way to stay amongst the living.
 a way to let optimism and beauty overcome the hateful and despicable.
a way to deal with life.
a way.
my way.

My book, which is developing every day now, is already

 over 299 pages din A4 long

It is a first uncut version, with no corrections, so also typos will be found. I apologize for that.

After finishing up the story

I will correct all typos (writing mistakes) and all text will be corrected by a true English connoisseur.

Then it will be presented to a publisher.

Every single word of this book is being written for a reason. Read along and try to understand the reason why i had to tell you This story.

"this book is purely fiction and each possible resemblance to any possible person or any actual circumstance is purely coincidental and not true nor valid."

a book about pestering in the office, about reverse racism, about discrimination, about brutal unacceptable behaviour, still overwhelmingly present in our society today, maybe even close or next to you, but deliberately negleted by our gouvernemental organisations,

and finally about the weakness of the newly erected specialized Belgian  anti-pestering governemental authorities, malfunctioning psychiatric and psychological guidance, worsening professional help to actually do something about this devastating situation, which all will lead to a very specific outcome.

good to know : first things first :

"reverse racism"

"racism" is a bad word. "reverse racism" are two bad words. I did not invent "reverse racism". I do not invent "bad words". I am a nice person. I don't do things like that. May be I invented the combination of those two words as such.As a whole. As a combination. I maybe invented the way to describe this horrible way of human conduct. It emerged in Belgium. It is existing in Belgium, maybe in other countries as wel. It is existing for some time now. It damages people.

"reverse racism" is racism the other way around. Autochtone people being hurt and damaged by those whom they try to protect. 

Reverse Racism and racism are words that never ever should exist, only because of its despicable content. The meaning of "racism" is so loaded and wrong, that it should never ever exist in our society. But it does. Because it exists. It exists more than we know. More than we hope. More than we think. And it is shameful. Especially those who cry the loudest about racism and its content, are not always the victim of this behavior but mostly the executor. The aggressor. Crying out loud about "racism" and its complex content is a way to get attention the wrong way round.

I am not a "racist" and never will be one. But i do am a victim of "reverse racism".

 I have traveled around the world and lived in various societies, always adapting myself to the needs and wishes of my foster land and my guest land inhabitants. Since I have always had tremendous respect for all men and their different cultural backgrounds. This is what enriches our world and is making it a beautiful and interesting place to be. I have always worked together with foreigners, especially abroad. With Germans, with Russians, with English and American people. With the French and Polish. With Moroccans and Greek. With Sri Lankans and Indonesiaon people. With the Norwegian and the Irish (bonr on St Patrick's day!). And always on any destination, on any occasion, we did well, we got along spledidly, we blendid in as it should.

 

 Sometimes "racism" is used as a word as such, as a verb to indicate and hide own malicious behavior towards others. To conceal own behavior that should not see broad daylight and should be not amongst us. "Racism" has been used against me, against my person, in my own country. By people, ruthless and merciless. In a way I am trying to describe in my book, emerging in the next pages to come.

It has hurt me and damaged me and my family.

The only way to defend myself and my family, is to register all facts and figures; all data involved, so that you, the reader can be the judge. So you can be the witness of this total unjust and impropriate behavior in a country that is host for so many people from all over the world. Political correctness prohibits justification.

It puts a a hypothec on all actions and deeds to a juster world, free of this horrible word and joining attitude of human disgrace.

No one should ever have the power or find the way to practice "racism" or even reverse "racism" towards its fellow man.

I was a definite victim. Now I try to recuperate from the wounds and bloody stains it left on my soul.

It is time that the truth will conquer. The truth has to surpass political correctness and put everything into real perspective. So further harm can be avoided.

Since harm is done, not only to me. "Reverse racism" happens every day. IN Belgium. That is for sure. And that is what I am trying to fight here.

Till it does no longer exist.

Because racism and "reverse racism" can break people down. It kills. It is merciless to the bone of the dead.

But it shall not break me. Because I am an optimistic kinda guy. I will fight back.

The battle has begone.

 

please join me by just scrolling down on this page : "a new book emerges"

thank you for your kind an continuous support in our mutual battle for a just and nicer world. Because I will always be an artist for a better world to live in.

Thanks for joining.

 

patrick gysemberg January 2006

action painter for a better world

chapter minus one : introduction

"winner..."  (c) patrick gysemberg

"Was it his  devotion for his Italian love  that had brought him down, or was it his perverted adoration for Anissa, sealed with her golden shower?", I wondered, thinking of the most flabbergasting opening sentence a book ever had in history of writing. I know a book should have a great opening. I read about the many times some well known and established authors were contemplating  about their first sentence and how it inflicted the sales of their book. Now I have to find one for me, my book. I am not just writing a book because I want to write a book, no...Of course not. I am driven to do so. Now, at last, I have to write a book. The circumstances force me to do so. I only hope I get until the end. Because I have a lot to say, indeed I have...So, my opening sentence has to be a unique one, never seen before in man's history. It should blow one's socks of whilst reading (ah, I love this expression!) Come on now, here he comes: (or is it "it comes?):

"Maybe I wasn't born to write a book at all", I thought at the end, insecure, gazing out of the first floor window onto the busy street of my little town. It's crap, isn't it? First class sh*t. Of course, I am not an Englishman, so the quality of my English is at least to say: a bit simple. However, as I was thinking, during the mental preparation of this book-to-write, that in relation to what I have been through and what I have to say in my book, it should be sufficient. The quality of my English, I mean. Furthermore, I could see this as a new challenge in life, some kind of new heroic attempt to reach eternal glory and fame. Sure, right...Stop it, will yea… See now, that is typically me, I have not even yet fully survived my present trauma, or I am already preparing the path towards unknown heights with consecutive depths to fall into and reaching the edge of another depression... Maybe, just maybe, I am mane-depressive, as it were...could be, at least "they" have made me the way I am today.  Who are "they"? "They" are "they", all the others, around me, and especially those who know everything better than I do.  I always have had, for some unknown reason, the idea that other people (them) knew more than I did.

I had (used to have) a tremendous respect for all elderly man and women, for teachers, for priests, for my father… (Strangely enough, I did not think likewise about my mother, something I am dealing with later on) and all those who actually performed a task in society. They all knew so much…about life and stuff, that is what I thought. Why not? Why should I not have believed that they all knew more than I did (or is it me)? I knew nothing when I came to earth, did you? Others have told everything I know now to me. It has all been lectured to me, it has been forced into me by repetition force, as the Catholics like to practice repeatedly in their churches.

(them)

Furthermore, I was a very shy boy. Someone with unlimited admiration for all "them" and a strongly build in self-destructive consciousness of no self-esteem whatsoever. Imagine the Catholics, every day, day after day, telling me that all the sins of this planet were "my fault"! I was to be blamed! Only me! Me, me, MEEEEE....We used to say always the same lines in church (those days I went to church every day, yes sir, every morning at seven o'clock, I sat in the front row of the chapel of my college.) It was, of course not a matter of choice...I had to go to church every day, no question about that! How could I even imagine saying something about this frequency, and to whom? I had to carry all sins of this world on my shoulders, anyway, so… So I’d better shut the f*ck up. Or they (them) throw some other sins on the never ending heap that was already laying as a huge obstacle on my shoulders.

Whilst proclaiming these repetitive lines, loud and clear, all together in church, we all used to beat ourselves with our fists on our chest : "because of my fault, because of my fault, because of my fault..."

Day after day, week after week, year after year, even before puberty....do you think It had some impact on my state of mind? You bet it did…No wonder I couldn't develop some kind of feeling that even came close to self-esteem. Do you think I need to see a psychiatrist? After you have read this book until the end, if you are brave enough, you will conclude that I absolutely need to see one, I guess…

Because this is only the beginning, the beginning of a journey through life with ups and severe downs, with highlights and incredibly dark ages, an awesome but yet devastating journey that I cannot describe in a few sentences. That is why it is going to turn out to be a book. Because what has happened is too intense to summarize in just a few words…This is just not done. That is why I do hope you all read along with me, as these pages grow by the day until my work is complete and my story has been told. I want to tell you this, because I also believe that what I have been through may never ever happen again, not with any other creature on this mother planet earth. Even if your personal hatred is still amazingly strong and vivid and determinate your behaviour amongst those who love you. And whom you try to love back. As an individual one cannot do much about it, I guess, but writing a book. To get “some” attention. Especially from “them”. Because “they” are all wrong, and not you….me, I mean….

Nature made me the eldest child in a family of five children (and two parents of course). This enhanced the feeling of responsibility in me, next to the lacking self-esteem. A dreadful combination.

I have not introduced myself, soo sorry! My first name is Patrick, “hi There….”, nice to meet you through this virtual way and later on by means of my book with no title yet.

My first name will be the only real one in these sentences, because of the privacy of those mentioned. I try to avoid the harm they did to me. Therefore, I will use other names. So, if I, for instance, as a matter of speaking, would want to say something about an old colleague of mine, living amongst us with the name Livia Goldfield, I will not use this name, no sir...I 'll use a name that is "different", it will not be too difficult to follow my story, because the story itself is in focus here, not the people themselves, they but all play a major role, not the leading one...I would call her " Carla Smekens.....”, get it? Moreover, any resemblance with any living creature on this planet will be purely coincidental. I am not stupid, you know...Therefore, in my book I could now easily state that Carla has a big fat ass and that she grows long black hair on her back. This does not actually mean that the person this name is referring to, has the same  deviations or flaws or shortcomings.... No,no....   Well done, Patrick…Well done…Well done , old chap!  Probably they will be recognizable by those who are close to the things I have to tell you. But then they can see that all I have to say is the truth. At least from my point of view, anyway. Because truth is subjective. That's what i have learned. And that is about all I have learned in life. Pretty thin, huh.... I am a painter, an action painter. So, i have said it. That is, this is what I am now, after a long, hard, struggling search for values and truth…in this life. I have been many things in my life up until now… But First of all, I have been a child. The oldest of five, as I told you before. In addition to that, I never stopped being a child anyhow. I honestly believe that the words “adult” and “grown-ups” are the ugliest words ever invented by mankind. I do not respond to the fake world of those who call themselves “adult”. They are “them”. Those who know so much about life, about love, about everything. Some of them call themselves teachers. How awful. How awful it must be, thinking about yourself that you are actually capable of teaching something to another person. It only depends on the will and ability of the receiver if the student is indeed willing to learn. So bye bye teacher…. But I have to concentrate on the book and its end result. All the information that is gathered by the reader, by you, yes you…. if there are any, will lead to one final act at the end of this book. It will lead to a super climax inflicting me and my family.So be attentive and see where these facts will lead to. I have to warn you all : the facts in this book will be hard and merciless; as I have been through them…as I have lived them through, leaving horrible scarves on my soul….leaving them as an open end to a healing process to begin…with this book?  I don’t know….And I do not want to know. All I know is that is has been inhuman and even beyond beastly behaviour….men at their best, so to speak.It is now time to start with some kind of structure, so you can get a grip on the facts as they pass by and as they might tell you what the final result will be as the ultimate lines of this book will be written down.

all described in the next pages is part of a fiction novel and any possible resemblance with an actual existing situation or any real physical persons are merely pure coincidental, non valid and thus not existing.

 Life is often worse than fiction can ever imagine.

chapter one : the opening

I am not sure this is going to work.

Too many repeats. Too many times the same blablabla…not to the point. But, tell me something, a book, is it always “to the point”? I don’t think so!

I grant myself the right to be a little elaborate. Maybe you will like it. Fact is that I have to find my way through all.

 Therefore, I left you all alone telling you that I was many things, to start with "being a child". Weren’t we all? Sure. But many of you turned out to be “them”. Many of you were programmed to be or to become “them”. Sometimes I see individuals fulfilling a profession in a such a convincing way that they physically have “become” their profession. They are really a part of the profession they perform. They have grown into their profession, as being part of. A part you cannot or no longer cut off. It sticks to you like an arm, or a leg. "What's that, sir, hanging out of your jacket?? Oh, that's nothing, that's my profession!"I envy those people. Because they are not aware that what they do, determines their lives so much that they stopped being creative and refrained from any critical thinking whatsoever. However, I may not generalize. There are, thank God (I do not believe in God, but I like the expression anyway) , exceptions… Maybe those people have found their way here on this planet. They stopped searching. Because life is giving them what they expect from it.  

In addition, after the long search, through the years, after all I have been through, and what I am going to tell you all about in the next chapters, I do have come to find myself as well, being what I am…"a painter", that is now a complete certainty. I will live my years to come and I will die as a painter, an artist, a visual artist…I do not like the world "artist" that much though, it has of course to do with my being so “shy”…I do not like to think about myself as an “artist”…that sounds so self indulgent…

By finding at last that I can no longer deny that I am a painter, a creative artist, I did find a certain part of me…not all, no, no…there are still some essential parts missing, drifting around in the insecurity of thought and uncertainty of the unstable mind. I need to look for them, and no way I am sure that I will be able to find them before I die…Sometimes I am really afraid to face the final curtain, realizing that I don’t have a damn clue of what I was doing here on earth….at least I would like “some” straight and very clear answers on the way to that last point-of-no-return. One part of myself, I have found.  It makes me happy. It makes me feel a little more assured that everything would be all right. Do you remember those comforting words of some “grown-ups”, telling you, after you suffered a nightmare or some kind of accident leading to exuberant tears shed, that they told you :”everything is all right, don’t cry now, everything will be all right”, which , at that time was a pure lie. I knew this already, at that point, that it was a lie. It did not feel right, it did not feel quite honest…at the contrary, and I found it as being the crying child  a severe violation of the truth and did not understand why those “grown-ups” needed a lie to comfort me.

So, a painter, that’s what I am. Not a famous one, no, no, a very tiny one, but at least I have something to put my soul into; I can run and hide in my creative ruins of not understood paintings, as abstract they are…

  I have to try to stick to a certain time line. Otherwise, I will not be able to tell my story. So I told you that I was at first a child. Then I jumped from child to painter. This is from point a to point z. From alpha to Omega.

In between those two states of my mind, I have been many other things. So, now let us try to proceed the right way. I have to admit, as I said before, that being a child, what I was at birth, as you all were, is something I have kept all my life in me. I, for some reason, did never really grow up. In addition, it is quite a burden to carry, you know. You bet it is. For all those who nicely rolled into their puberty and then stumbled out into final full adultery, this may be very hard to understand. However, I will try to explain: some point I missed the connection to being or becoming an adult. I collected my years as every one else did, but in my head, it could not proceed as persistent as the years did.

No, I was not some "slow" kid. I was as swift as the rest of you. But, at the age of four, when every normal kid starts to ask "why" to his mom, about everything it encounters in life, I did the same. Only, in my head this never stopped. This "why" phase of every child is ending some point in time, in my brain it was continuing to work with growing intensity. Because as older I got, the more questions, why questions I had. So now I am on a point of not knowing anything anymore in my life. Why? I don't know!

I wish I would know. . I am mentally undressing for you, so you could understand to the full what is going to happen in later chapters, why I react in certain ways (and not in other) and why I do as I do, why I did as I did..  (why, why, why....why what? why should we all die?) (Why should I cry?)

So let the story begin....why? Dunno... Guess it's time....time to act.

-------

The building looked like a giant shoe box, it still does, because it still exists. You can see the box when you are driving on the E47, direction Antwerp, a few miles before exit 22, Deurne, at your left side. No windows. At least not at the side facing the highway. Only a sign at the site stands for the main company that had his residence in this building. Now it says "MIXO". In those days, it said "CONIX". It was a huge storage room. We, the company I worked for, rented some offices, cheap offices, on the second floor, no elevator. (see cheap) MIXO handled our goods. But I am running ahead. Again. Mixing up things. Making things hard for you to follow.

I arrived there, early, as usual, because I am always early on an appointment (see my strong sense of responsibility) because I wanted another job. I was at least 10 minutes early. My job at that time sucked. Very hard. That is why I was on the lookout for another one. I was not afraid from changing jobs. I did this before. Several times. And every time, it worked out fine. Till my time came, my specific point in time, every time again, after about five, six years…that is definitely my time…a very important sign in my life, those periods of five year….I have no clue whatsoever what it might mean, but I just could nor cannot  ignore the fact that every five to six years, I, for some reason or another had to change jobs…which I did. Every time there was a huge reason to do so…every time I had to take care of myself and get myself into safety, I needed to protect myself by leaving the company. Which I did. Over and over again…

So I did it again this time:

I had a back that was completely blocked. Stress. Negative stress. All the muscles, and I never knew I had so many on my back, were blocked. Hard as a rock. Caused by an impossible woman. My boss. A fifty year old little bitch, called Meddle, Nicole Meddle. But everyone called her misses Meddle. You could not say Nicole. Never! Ever! Nobody. She had a huge status within this company, in fact it was an organisation of Employers in the metal industry, a kind of very fancy organisation where all those very important people, ceo’s, directors, general managers, real businessmen and women from the finest sort, all brought in with fancy black limo’s, met, joined for dinners and lunches, and had early breakfast buffets, came to lectures and informative evenings, organised evenings with our king, the real one, Albert 2 (“thank God, this lunch was not virtual”, he used to joke around, after his sumptuous, excessive meal – every body laughed, because, If the king laughs, you have to laugh too; this is arranged within a special Belgian law to protect  the standards of our Royal Family,  who are, so to speak, not known for their intellectual brightness) and were being sooo very important and indispensable. This was the highest standard in life one could ever see and meet in Belgium, that is for sure. The ultimate upper class. You actually could see how important all those people were. They all had the same kind of expression on their face. Hard to describe. But the same look. A “don’t you know who I am?” look. Very persistent and threatening. This organisation of “the best” of Belgian mankind, this association, had its own building. A former hospital. Know for its brain surgery. Till they went out of brains to surge upon. A friend of my father suffered a pin bleeding and went in a coma. He was brought into this hospital and they operated on him. They took of his scull! Ok, it was back in the seventies, but still, it was quite a story for me to hear as a child. My , quite vivid, imagination (as I might say so) had some troubles dealing with this. Of course he died, what do you think, without scull ! In those days…I bet they did some other stuff they shouldn’t have done with brains and sculls and all… He only reached the age of forty-nine. The poor bastard… So the hospital was closed down and then bought by this very exquisite club of fine rulers of the Belgian metal industry. They changed the building completely. I must say, they made a hell of a building out of it. Complete renovation. Newest techniques and systems, the future is now. They “make” our future, yes sir, that’s how important they are! You can see that they have a close connection to the financial highlights, the bankers, who were invited constantly in their new, beyond-modern palace, as the final result was at least, more than astonishing, words fail actually.

The chairman, the upper chief of these “happy few”, had some very special deviations in his behaviour as chairman. I think it is not very easy to be on top of all those top people, each and every one of them in the highest position they can get. A second “superman” so to speak.

In the huge entrance hall and in the central gangways on the ground floor and on all upper floors, he had two different light systems installed. A blue and a white one.

On “even” days, day two, four, six etc., we had to illuminate the blue lights. On odd days, we had to lighten up the hall and its  gangways with the white lights.

He was very strict in this. You ‘d better never forget, or worse, mix up, the odd, and even days! He had a severe lack of pigments on his skin, so you could perfectly see it coming when he wasn’t about to like something he saw. He became red as a tomato. And stayed that way for several hours afterwards. That was not good. No sir! He got some pills from the doctor, because, it still  is embarrassing after all, when you have an important meeting you have to lead as chairman, still owning a tomato-head.

 

 And this is one of those moments, where I do not grasp the reality no more…where I lose it…I do not get it…I do not understand, maybe you do, maybe you do, I do hope so…How on earth is it possible that such an upper-class individual, such a unique talent, such a strong representative of real power in society, controlling all those metal orientated companies and factories, is being occupied by this blue and white light thing? Can anyone tell me that this is “normal” behaviour? Maybe this is the way an “adult” should behave? The importance of the blue lights in my life! The child in me likes it, but I cannot understand. Why? Again, why?

Anyway…my boss, Misses Nicole Meddle, former secretary of mr Blue lights (yes, she “worked” herself up the ladder) was responsible for all the conference rooms.

As my looks do not nor ever did work against me in time, I worked at the reception (hey, handsome! Shall we have dinner later? Sorry madam, I cannot, I have to close down tonight and since there is still a meeting going on, I guess it will be after midnight…”ah, my poor boy…ah well next time then…” she said, whilst her driver opened the back door of the limo to let her in) and needed to see that everything was all right : answering complaints, about shortages of coffee, papers, pens, see the people could find the right room to conference in, make invoices, make sure the blue lights are on, on even days…or was it the other way around? etc. Boring things actually. But they had to be done. And since I needed the cash to survive in this society, I needed the job. As simple as that.  I did not feel myself as being mr receptionist, this was not part of me, this was not me. It seemed as if life passed on, right though me, and I just acted without meaning and importance at any time, as if I did not exist, as if I did not matter at all…I was just some utensil people could use, if they needed to. A object to be neglected.. An object with a back of steel…in fact, I blended in perfectly in this organisation with my back condition….

Misses Nicole Meddle could not delegate. She was beyond a pain in the *ss. She was in the *ss. She controlled about everything, from everyone. Constantly, all the time…Mornings, when more than ten people stood before me at the reception desk, asking for the right location to attend their meetings, she used to phone me, giving me urgent tasks to be fulfilled immediately. This, she did every day. One should dare to think she did this on purpose. When I made my invoices, she used to lock me up, so I could work better. When I ordered the sandwiches for our meeting executives, I needed her signature on the fax, so she could discuss the amount ordered.  I crawled on the floor; my back forced me down, after another attempt of her inappropriate superior executive behaviour. I have tons of stories about this woman…she was a drunk…Every morning she was brought to work by her husband. Often she wore sunglasses, by poring rainfall. Or she forgot about the early morning staff meeting. I had the delightful task to inform her about the forgotten meeting, at her arrival, fifty minutes late…I enjoyed her startled behaviour, a bit like mrs Bucket when she got in a panic situation…the sporadic laughs could not relax my back, though…I needed to see a doctor. A specialist. I knew this was not the place for me to be. This was close to hell on earth.

I deserved better than this. I deserved to be alive. So I quit. But first, I had to make sure I had another job. Because without money, no life. So I went to Matrix Systems Inc. They rented some offices in this huge shoe box i told you about. No elevator. I was ten minute early when I opened the office door on my first interview.

 

It wasn’t my first interview ever, it just was my first interview for Matrix Systems Inc. I have had tons of interviews before, as I had worked in several other companies before. In one of those companies I even had the magical word “manager” on my company name card. “External relations and quality control manager”. What a title! The longer the title, the less you had to say within this company. This is all quite irrelevant, so I try keep track . For some reason though, I must admit, some elements of the past and the past places I worked, do play a role in the final outcome. So, when time is appropriate, I ‘ll inform you about those bygone days and their direct input in what is going to take place when the final letters of this book have been put on paper.

“Maybe I am no more then a  construction aid worker, trying to build my own castle…” I thought by myself, entering the Matrix Inc office. “That’s exactly how I feel. Totally insecure, always afraid of those, “them”, who know things better. Who can do things better, who can speak better, who write better English, who are better…at…you name it…I got it…insecure about everything. ”Quality control manager…where is he now huh, don’t see much of him now…external relations…my ass…”, those days were as if never existed… Sad huh…, I even felt pity for myself…worse, I started even to make fun of  the whole situation. Especially me, I had to go down the drain. I was the failure, the one who got the sack….pathetic person. Why don’t you go crawling in your little corner and weep…weep till you sleep, little baby, that’s what you are ,still a baby…a stupid crying baby….”

I know…I know…I should stop this, but still, once again, on the run for my former work, I was a fugitive again, again pleading for myself, trying to sell myself again, to “them”, in order to save my body, to restore and upgrade my physical condition, to get rid of my back of steel. Those moment of truth were difficult for me. Although I tried to analyze the lot, asking myself why all the time about everything that happened, I did not make my life easy. But I should concentrate on the interview. That would be much better. Because that was important right now. Nothing else. As a worm I had time enough later to crawl from underneath the rock of life to try to see the sun again.

Focus, concentrate. Enter…Would I please enter this bloody office now?

I did.

I entered.

I looked around and saw what I expected to see.

Those attacks of insecurity of mind, behaviour and soul came regularly, on unpredictable occasions, making my life miserable...I never had the opportunity, nor found the guts in my life to develop the basic human right to feel a person amongst others. The lethal combination father/catholic church, catholic education (I refuse to use capital letters here, because there are no grounds whatsoever to do so, since capital letters were born and created out of respect for the words they stand for) had left its non-erasable marks on my soul and my mind.

Even now, as I try to enter this office, or try to describe this moment on my pc, these vast lakes of insecurity, these devastating thoughts of total failure, this awareness of the complete uselessness of all these actions, performed by me at this moment in time, make me wonder why I am doing it all..."why", indeed again..."why"...

Anyone wanna tell me? Please?

You can’t huh? Or you are all too full of activity, to living up your own very significant lives? Or you just cannot…Or you never even thought about it…

 

For over six years long, the word “manager” once shined on my business card. I admit, in combination with “external relations and quality control”, but it did mention “manager”. Not that I was at that time very proud of this accomplishment. It was just a title to introduce me to the upper leading class, the upper few, the “leading ones” who for all, stood “above” others, who thought they had everything under control. Conversations on that level amongst these “equals” usually ended up by bragging about the amount of people they had “underneath” them:  “Well, aaahh,, I have been given a new challenge in my career, and I have now fifty people directly working “under” me…”,  rather then the ultimate grade of responsibility they had to represent within the company and towards all staff.  Usually till business drops, that is…Then they all start to protect their own jobs rather than looking how to preserve the companies results…I became a “manager” because there was no one else at that time to do this shitty job.  “Quality control” meant in fact that I had to answer and deal with all possible complaints. In a former life I used to work in the German and Belgian tourism industry, and because I had my share of outdoor problems in different holiday countries as a professional tour guide (five whole years on several holiday locations worldwide), I was the man on the right spot to grab the title of “quality control manager”. Because the reorganisation of that moment of that specific company had just driven someone into his premature retirement (to get rid of the burden of his high salary), the words “external relations” were, without extra payment (what did you think), added to my business card. I did not taunt to say anything. At that time. It was, as it was called: a real challenge for me to stand up to. “They must have thought very highly of me, to grant me such a title, so suddenly… “I could have thought, the thought of a total inexperienced, naïve company individual. Because, before that,  as a tour guide I have had my total freedom. I had my customers, my dear holiday seekers, travelling along with me to take good care of; but with my high level of customer awareness and sense of liability, this was not a real task for me, it was the evidence itself. The nature, making me the first of five children, had made a fine tour guide out of me. Very fine indeed. A very fine, exquisite, high standard, fully reliable tour guide. No-one can take credit for that but nature itself. No man, no person made me, nor created this high sense of consciousness and responsibility I carried self-righteous within me, because, yes,  I was proud of myself, back then…at that time, alone, in those vanished days of my former life.

 

Of course, "they" did not think highly of me, back then. I was just in time at the right place to take over the sh*t of others on a payroll that was divided by three, to fulfil a job, formerly executed by two. Sometimes I think I am really stupid. Or I was stupid at that time, at many times, actually. Maybe I am. Maybe I still am. As dumb as a naked pee. Still  dim-witted, brainless, a genuine retard… I like to think it was because I am, or I have been so naïve, immature and adolescent all days of my life up til then…because there was no reason whatsoever  to create or build up defendable systems within me to protect myself against others, against "them"....…  not yet….

I had no idea whatsoever at that time how malicious and spiteful people could be, how disgusting and repulsive, self orientated and self protective “them” could respond, pretending they were “working together” for the same company.

For me, I had only one goal: my customers, my clients. They had to be satisfied, they had to be content. I did everything to please them. And I did a lot to fulfil their needs. Doing this, I had no clue that many of my fellow colleagues were not really very interested in the grade of satisfaction that our mutual customers were experiencing from our efforts to please them. And I did not care about this. As long as I saw my results in the happy faces around me, the nice letters they wrote afterwards, the compliments they gave me, the money  they slipped in my hand whilst descending from the bus or plain after another successful roundtrip…that was my goal, an that of the company…

Later on I learned that many people really do not care about this at all. When I first found out, I was devastated. I could not believe this. I, again, lost at that time a tiny piece of my innocence.

Over and over  again. And every time a piece of the child in me died.

This, my dear friends, is murder. Nothing more, nothing less.

It's as simple as that.

Murder.

Plain murder.

 

 

 

 

Chapter two : behind the door of Matrix Inc.

“Sometimes I wished I was born and living in the States,…”, I was thinking, closing the door of Matrix Inc. behind me. “Then I would sue the catholic church for all the harm she caused me and my self esteem…, persecution because of intentional  blows and wounds,  for all the opportunities I had let go because I was too shy to act appropriate…”  I would make them pay. My God, yes I would…”

A huge reception counter, with no one behind, stopped me from entering the office.

Matrix Inc. was inside as dull as it looked outside. If you rent a few offices in a shoe box of another company, you cannot expect it to be the newest and most excentric trendy designer office on the market. The office was just an office as you are able to imagine yourself with the least of all efforts; behind the counter, there were three desks formed together as an “island”, as they use to call this here in Belgium, and some more desks were scattered over the place, one by one, probably for the upper “them”,  some hidden behind the most hideous closets I had ever seen in my life. They must have been very cheap. Everything must have …. It was in fact, one big room, with some dull office furniture in it…The high counter put in front of the  entrance door, was strategically placed there  to prevent diligent and exaggerated  customers or visitors to enter directly into the room, whilst the other side of it was to be used by the insiders as a cupboard. Now they had to wait till some good soul stood up from one of the desks in the room, to proceed forward. No one just goes without consent or admission behind a counter. Not in Belgium they do not. We all stay at the right side of the desk and we kindly wait till we are being helped. They did not pull a line on the floor to indicate where you should wait, assuming there would be someone before you.

I waited at the counter. No one stood up. At the island, some extremely beautiful girls were talking. To each other. They didn’t even notice my coming in.

Behind a high locker, some slightly irritated and mature female voice aroused: “can anyone please check if someone came in to the office, please? With a strong emphasis on the please part, the second “please”, so I knew that this lady definitely was pissed of… Because I could only hear her, she must have been one of “them”.

The beautiful talking ladies at the island interrupted their vivid conversations and looked both in my direction, as if I cam from outer space.

“Hi..”, I tried…

“Hi..”, they both replied. The one with the dark long hair stood up and came towards me. “Ah, you must be Patrick then.” , she said. She reached out for my hand, so I gave her mine. “Yes, you are right, how did you know?”, I wondered.

“We were waiting for you.” “But you are early.”

“I know, ten minutes…” I said.

“Ah well it doesn’t matter. Maria, the office manager, she is in, and she is waiting for you, I ll take you to her.”

I felt the eyes of the other Island lady hitting my back and undressing me as I was taken to the big chief.

Maria was a good looking woman in her mid forties, sitting behind a hidden desk, in one of the corners of the office. She was playing with her mouse.

“Sit down.” She urged, after welcoming me with another handshake.

“This is my play yard…”, she continued, “I scroll down in our lists of systems, tracking down which might fail or are failing, and then I order them in the States…”, she added, as if I knew what the hell she was talking about. I knew Matrix Inc. was situated in Nevada, Nebraska, with an own home plant, where they made their own brand systems for the automotive market. Automotive means all things that roll from their own.

“We, in Belgium, we take care of the European market.”, Maria continued, “all our systems arrive in the port of Antwerp, twice a week.” , which seemed logical to me.

“Anissa and Inez take care of the customers.” “They need urgent support for our German market.” Then she leaned over to me and whispered: “they especially need someone who is more mature in the business towards our costumers, because they are a bit young and they sure lack experience, that’s the least I can say about them...;” she said, not quite unprejudiced. “Our customer Service needs some serious aid from someone who really knows how to handle a customer. Quite often things are now not what they should be…” she added mysteriously, obviously not quite satisfied with those two beauties. I had no idea what she was talking about, she did not explain to the full extend. “I suggest  you go now to our account department, to Tanja, she will tell you a bit more about the company and then you have a talk with your future colleagues…, when you ‘re done, you come back to me, then.” She said.

“Ok, fine for me.” I agreed, wondering how smooth this conversation really went for a first talk on a possible future job, that is….

I had not seen Tanja before. She also was hiding, in another corner of the office behind some strategically placed cupboards.

 My God, she was ugly. Her ugliness struck me like a sledge hammer, I could not speak a word.

I honestly have never ever seen a more hideous women in my entire life, and you bet I have seen quite some women up till now. Tanja was that kind of women where an extreme makeover would absolutely fail because you would not know where to begin first. Teeth, ears, hair, neck, nose, eyes, hands, breasts,…they all had something they should not have had…Her teeth pointed in all directions; her ears she used to fly home with; her neck was double the size of a normal one; her nose almost touched her chin so she could easily pick her nose with her tongue; her eyes were hidden beyond two bottoms of marmalade goblets; her hands were those from a carpenter and her breasts were reduced to two standing nipples in the freezing cold…I did not dare to imagine how the rest of her body would look like…I admit I gave it a thought for a second but I almost had to vomit, so I grabbed her huge hand and took place before her. She must have been a hell of a bookkeeper, why on earth would anyone hire such a person?  Hundred years ago such persons travelled around the globe as an attraction in a circus, next to the women with the beard…Is there still justice on this planet?

 

When she opened her mouth, Tanja maintained the same level of human creepiness… she did not only speak totally droning and tedious but equally slow, what made me want to get rid of  her and get out of there as soon as I could…I did not have to say anything. Once Tanja started her discourse about Matrix Inc, it was as if nothing could stop her…she went on and on and on as if she was sent from heaven to introduce me by…telling me the most boring company details I had ever heard in my life…

Her unattractiveness quite easily crushed the natural beauty I saw at the island when I came in earlier.  My sense of beauty had suffered tremendously by now, so I longed for my next stop at the customer service.

 

I had no idea how long she kept blabbering, but all of a sudden it was over.

She stopped. I stood up as quick as possible reaching out my hand to her as to make clear that for me the saying goodbye was “serious” and beyond reasonable doubt.

“I hope to see you soon back in this office..;” she said. “I bet you do”, I thought, a bit feeling guilty about judging on a person only because of her appearance, which was, at least to be described as unpleasant to look at, which was the understatement of the year.

I took a seat at what as going to be, or supposed to be my future desk. Right in front of me, my desk made connection with the two desks of the two beauties, Anissa and Inez. Both were foreign origin. No, they were Belgians, but looked foreign. Because of their parents, who came from abroad.  Anissa was a clear exemple of a  Moroccan type, with big dark eyes, and very explicit hips. Her hair was raven black. She behaved a bit awkward and seemed uncomfortable…towards me.

She was dressed in a very fashionable, clearly western way, not one component would refer to her roots. She wore explicit make-up.  Her clothes came from famous design fashion boutiques in the shopping centre, nearby. She looked expensive.

Inez was sheer class from her own. An ode to womanhood. The summum of female elegance. The complete pole of Tanja. On her body every detail was perfect. She was a pleasure to look at. This is, again, an understatement.

The first thing Anissa told me, actually she whispered (the second time that someone whispered to me in this office, a bad sign or what?), was that Maria clearly was the office manager, but that the real manager of matrix Systems Inc. was mr. Poulain Dujournot, a Frenchman. “He travels most of his time….”, Anissa, added, “he also takes care of the French and European customers.” I didn’t quite understand why she made a difference between French and European? Maybe she did not know that France was part of Europe? Impossible. What a thought.

“We never know exactly where he is…”, she continued, “as he never leaves his agenda…”.- Isn’t that a bit weird?  - I though by myself, because I was not in a position yet to question the people who were on the verge of hiring my services….”and sometimes he shows up…, but only once or twice a month or sometimes even less.” “But he is coming in next week, especially to see you and to talk to you.” She added as if I had anything to do with his absenteeism at the office.

 

“Because we really need some support from someone who knows to speak German.

Last year, Mr. Dujournot has hired a German sales manager for the German and East-European market and that’s where you com in…” she said. “This German sales manager, his name is Wolfgang Hansen, he is a real German.” She said, emphasizing the word “German”, indicating that in her opinion a “German” is not quite someone you can easily live with, not her…

“Wolfgang speaks English, but his customers don’t.”, she said almost desperately.

“And they call here all the time”, the beauty of Inez joined the conversation.

“They just refuse to speak English….even if they know we are an American company.” She pointed out to get her truth.

“But I refuse to speak German.”, Anissa said. “First of all, I never had any German language training in school, and I know they all understand English, who doesn’t these thays?” I saw a very determinate, almost fanatic look sparkle in the dark eyes of Anissa as she defended her lack of knowledge. “they are not telling me what language I should speak at the phone…as long as they phone to an American company they better should learn how to speak English”, that’s what I think.

“But obviously Wolfgang thinks different about this and the complaints of his customers have forced him and mr Dujounot to rummage around for a German speaking correspondent.”

“What do they whine about then?” I asked, just to try to comprehend the whole picture.

“Didn’t you hear what I was just telling you?”, Anissa smashed in my face? “That I refuse to speak German at the phone, of course.” There was some wildness in her looks now, I haven’t seen before.

“oh, right…”, I said, slightly shocked by her rude answer, making my heart shrink, which is a feeling that I sooo much not like at all…..this feeling of a cold shower internally spreading through all your veins, making you feel paralysed in words and action, freezing up your mind so no justified and appropriate answer could emerge to correct the unjust situation, clearly not in my favour at that time…

I could not know, nor predict, at this very moment in time that my heart would go through this process of negativism and internal bleeding for far more times than I could ever have imagined in my whole life.…Nor could I foretell that this freezing internal cold, over and over again inflicted by words and actions of Anissa,  would slowly demolish my inner personal warmth and natural kindness I was born with….

“You better go back now to Maria, to make another appointment next week, with mr Dujournot.”, Anissa said, as sweet as she ever could be.

“Ok”, I said and went back to the desk of Maria.

“I see it works out fine”, Maria concluded.

“So I ‘ll be seeing you next week Friday, at eleven o’ clock, for an appointment with our general manager mr Dujournot. When he is in Belgium, he doesn’t come in until after ten.” Maria  explained, “ he likes to sleep.”

 

-Don’t we all? – I thought a bit astonished at the least. But I was happy that all went so smoothly and I was about to say goodbye to my dearest mrs I-cannot-delegate-stress -my -back -a -little –more Nicole Meddle. One more conversation to go.This was the most important thought and most valuable element in the cause of things for me currently.

The awkward elements that occurred during my conversations at Matrix Systems Inc. did not seem subsequently appropriate nor threatening, in no way they would become eventually by cause of time.

As I thought I was now altering my future for the better, in my crystal-clear benefit, I never could have guessed I was accomplishing the complete opposite and that I was working myself into a situation beyond reason, nor association with whatever could have been…

Different signs from different angles were presented to me, on a golden plate, but I did not want to recognize, nor identify them. I “felt”, something at Matrix Systems Inc. was wrong, completely wrong, but I could not grasp what it was, nor did I see its relevance nor its threat to me as a person. For me, the relief to get rid of awful mrs Meddle had such a high impact on my scale of priorities, that all other anomalies and weird irregularities seemed to be even quite all right.

“Here, at Matrix Systems Inc, we like to work with people who are absolute independent and can make decisions of their own. Mistakes, you cannot afford, and if made one, you are the sole responsible to solve the problems you caused yourself.”, Maria told me. This, of course sounded as music of Neil Diamond in my ears, coming from this controle freak of a women Meddle, who even would sign the sheets of toilet paper before using them, if she could do so.

No, no, this was a great moment in my life, I took some specific action to clear my misery and I made it happen that my life would, at last be upgraded to normal standards… I would be able to be feel happiness again, I would be able to enjoy my life again…Matrix Systems would make it possible for me…

Would it?

“Mr Dujournot travels all the time. He visits our customers all over Europe. But he’s fed up with the Germans, that’s why he hired Wolfgang Hanssen.Wolfgang  was a warehouse manager in his earlier life. He worked with one of our biggest German customers. Mr Dujournot bought him out, to represent Matrix systems. So he’s pretty new here with us, for about one year now. But he’s having hard times, believe me, with the lack of direct professional German service here in the office…That ll all change when you come in the picture…”, Maria kept telling….

“I see from your résumé that your German is quite all right…”, she unjustly tore down the unambiguous superiority of my German acquaintance. “We let you do some tests on all major languages, because the candidate we had before you , was such a catastrophe, we did not want to go through such a debacle again…”, she explained. That’s why I had to go through some language testing, which I did quite well, thank you, the results were even beyond excellence, especially my German! Working for over ten years unswervingly with Germans, guiding them through half of the world, gave me the prospect of upgrading this lingo to the highest level. If I mastered anything in this life, then it would surely be my knowledge of the German language. It sounds weird, I know, who the fuck studies and controls the German language anyway, when you are not born over there? Right, not one living soul… Especially with the war and stuff…Wold war two isn’t that long ago, you know…And half of the current Belgium population still suffers today from a huge guilt feeling because their ancestors collaborated…shame on them! shame on them…mine did not, they fled to France. The cowards… but that’s why I had no prejudice whatsoever to study this language. Actually it was a choice I made  out of pure sluggishness.  To my surroundings I must have seemed to be an idiosyncratic freak.

The German language is just a fixation in my life that keeps on haunting me…Up till today. Til this very moment. Maybe it ‘ll even will have something to do with the outcome of this book… I can’t explain actually.  As from the first lesson in class, in the fourth grade that was, were I had three hours of German education, it became crystal clear that this was something that I had in me. It just emerged, just like that, as if I had lived a full previous German life. I scored the highest grades and kept on doing so till the end of my studies. 

“Mr Dujournot is a long sleeper.”, Maria added. I did not know if she found this repulsive or not. Did she want to criticize him on this abhorrent oriental behaviour by telling me this? What on earth do I care about his sleeping habits? I just want this job, that’s all.

“He comes in way after ten, checks his mail and mostly leaves again in the early afternoon.”. I honestly started to think that Maria wanted to emphasize the importance of her position by deteriorating the whereabouts of the general manager of Matrix Systems in Belgium. So her impact and decisions where those that counted.

“I see you next Friday, then…” Maria hoisted herself from her chair and reached out her hand to me. It was over, this charade. We both shook hands and we made it to the door again, because Maria accompanied me as if I could or would lose my way in between all this clutter of desks and drawers .

We passed an empty desk.

“Here sits Rick.”, Maria added. “He took the day off. He plays with models, modelling boats, that is, “she corrected”, noticing my astonished look on my face. “modelling boats on smaller scales, that actually sail. They compete and today there was a huge competition.”

“Who is Rick?” I asked further, because I could not yet place his desk in the whole of Matrix Systems.

“His name is Rick Vijvers, and he is the office engineer. He knows everything about our Matrix systems; so if a customer has any question about this, he is the guy you need…”,she said.

“He is the only one who smokes in this office.”, Maria explained. “Normally this is a non smoking office, as it is now even forbidden by law. But Rickis soo addicted; he can’t do without a cigarette for two minutes. So we installed , we let install of course, a strong filter above his head in the ceiling, so the smoke does not bother the rest of us.” Maria told me.

“Do you smoke, by the way?”, Maria asked me on the verge of leaving…

“No, madam, I do not”, I replied. “I did once but I stopped smoking after I concluded that two packages of Marlboro per day could not be that good for your health. I stopped from one day to the other.”

“Oh, good for you.”, Maria said, “for you and for us.” “A smoking problem less…then”.

“Bye then, see you Friday.”

“Yes, until Friday, then…”

After closing the office door, I went down the stairs with a mixture of feelings; glad on one hand that it seemed that I got the job, or I should be such an asshole during the conversation with mr Dujournot that he trows me out…; but on the other hand somehow distrustful of what I had seen or did not see during my visit at Matrix Systems.

The near future would tell me more…

chapter three : happiness

"Nobody can or will ever feel or understand what I am feeling now as a human being." I was thinking.

"Nobody ever would know anything about how hard it is to be me...", "to be as I really am..."

I definitely was feeling lonely again with my devastating thoughts and feelings and self pity wasn't far away either.

But it was not about self pity only. It was about a state of mind. I was born with. I am born with, up till now. I had no reason at this time to be in such mood. I was being fairly successful, I might say, although grades of success are always to be taken with pounds of salt as they would say in our region, meaning it is not all as hot as the soup is served….meaning, ah well, you know best…. but I did have the chance of my life to make a definite change to the physical demoralizing  position I was in, with someone a mrs Meddle as chief in charge, causing my debacle.

For the first time since long, I would have the prospect and opportunity to be selected again for my linguistic capacities, My German knowledge would save me, once again. But save me from what?  From feeling lonely? Guess not…from feeling less in pain? Guess not….from feeling lost in performance and words, being seated on a secreted island, where not one single sole in this world would know its existence about? Guess not….

It would just save me from mere accumulated   substantial  physical pain and reprieve me from bodily discomfort. I would be able to restore and regenerate the values of my human flesh again. Maybe my mind would pursue these slow steps to improvement of my direct environmental variables …

Maybe I would be able to rehabilitate my state of psyche.

I bite my fingernails.

I still bite my fingernails. All of them. And hard. Till the end, cruelly bitten till the end, the ends of anguish.. Till nothing is left. To bite. Till it bleeds. Till I get dismayed by the looks of my fingers. Would I bite my nails if I were cured? I dunno. Maybe, maybe not...

I could not help it. It was, once again, stronger then myself. As many things seem to be stronger then me. Am I soo weak a person then? Biting my nails was only one of the few elements one could easily detect as a token of my inner devastation and chaos. The inner wreckage shown by destroyed fingers. I have been biting my nails since birth so I clearly know that I was not gifted by any possible powerful creator by a authoritative inner defence system. I have been like this all of my life. Insecure about it all. About everything, about everyone. My fingernails are the worst part of my body. The most nauseating thing you 'd ever see. Appalling...still, sometimes in the cause of time they were actually present in my life. I had once real nails. Very nice ones actually...beautifully capturing the ends of my slim line long fingers. Now they wait there to shock people as rude graveyards of daggered out graves. The bastards...why do i have them? Maybe because all this is not over yet? Maybe because I still have to finish what i have started on these pages? I know I have to write quite a lot more to reveal the horrible truth and painful reality towards it all. But I am patient. Therefore I ate and eat  my nails. My time will come. That is for sure. Not one fibre in my veins will leave this kind of injustice not judged.

-

Are you all still there? Are you still with me? I certainly do hope so. Cause I need y’all. Very hard!  And very much indeed. If you are, you can always inform me by sending me a mail or by leaving your commentary in my “guestbook”. I can always use some help and support in the construction of a masterpiece as huge as I am creating now with an impact I can only dream of. So let know of you…Maybe you ’ll get a part in the story as well. On the right side. On the just side.

Did you know that I actually hate, using this word only after starting to work with Matrix inc., people with nails bitten of? I despise them. They are scum. Big losers; that is what I thought indeed. Deep down I know they are not but they are stored in my brain as human trash, as extremely weak persons, with small or no individuality at all. As you see, I like to shred myself into tiny pieces. Nothing I would leave in one piece when it comes down to me and myself and I. But this does not mean I will take all the credit for what is going to appear at the closing stages of this libretto. My obvious functional deficiency is not going to be the foundation or reason of it all. It will merely be functioning as the key to the birth of all final accomplishments, clearing up the dark clouds and misty horizons I live in today. My state of mind is only and merely a hinder and obstruction to a hasty outcome. It allows me to set things straight before ending them. It allows me to explain to you all why it had to end this way as it all will do.

I do not like  see myself as a loser. I do not like to see so many deficiencies on me. I wish I knew who I was, who I am, now at this point in my life. Somehow I do need an enclosure to be able to find myself.

I hate mediocrity. I fear mediocrity. It’s boring. It’s bad. It’s sad. And it is making all people who stand above mediocrity, laugh at you. I hate being laughed at. But I am. Still at my age. I am not bringing myself down, no sir. I refuse to do so. However, time has taught me more personal deficiencies and bodily as well  as mentally derisory and inadequate functioning than I ‘d ever hoped for.

The funny thing is, that, seated on a life boat of a cruise liner, being brought back from shore to the ship in an exquisite surroundings like the fjord of Geiranger in Norway, one could believe, it all does not matter at all. The tiny air of swift happiness, floating between one’s fingers, leaving a thrill in the chest behind, not grasping the full extend of all external fuss, is sooo hard to catch or to hang on to. It’s all just a matter of seconds. Seconds that make your day, even your life. Rare they are, these moments of ecstasy. But I had them. Even several times.

Am I thus blessed? Partly yes, I guess so. But I did not yet enter Matrix Inc. for the second time. To see Mr. Dujournot, the general manager of Matrix Inc.  The big chief. This was taking place next Friday. At 10 o’clock, was it? No silly, he likes to sleep till ten, the appointment is at eleven! Be attentive.

Let’s all go to the meeting, to the interview.

Chapter four : supremacy conquers the intellect

Chapter four : supremacy conquers the intellect

I wanted this job at Matrix Inc. I wanted it so badly, you cannot imagine. My forbearance boundaries had been  reached. My back was under medical treatment; weakly shots directly in the cramped muscles should loosen things up and redirect the threat of a cordial dysfunction, since the heart is a muscle too, remember? And I surely did not want any cramp in my heart muscle, that’s for sure. I’d do anything for this job. It was my hope for a better life, nicer hours, a more regular existence from 9 to 5. The endangered nightly returns home with the local tram, filled with shaggy drunks and stoned nitwits, could soon be belonging to the past. Mrs Meddle was on the threshold to be buried alive in the forgotten margins of my memory.

Of course I wondered what I, a former international – why don’t you say  “world” tour leader, a ex cruise ship customer care representative, even a former quality control manager, would or could be of any significance in this company, on this echelon, just above nil; a company that  manufactures an artefact that I did not even know to position in  the  scheme  of things.  I just wanted to get rid of mrs Meddle and all connotations to this atrocious woman. Give me this job, man…ah, come on now…The office looked the same. Same people, same desks. But no Maria. I did not see Maria.

Anissa Hamsa came to me the minute she saw me entering the door. She started to whisper immediately : “Maria has been fired…”, Anissa hushed in my ear. It was almost erotical. “She choose the wrong side…”, Anissa tried to explain in a rush, because if anything would be clear, Anissa gave the impression of being placed under severe anxiety and performed like haunted wild meat on stage.

“she tried to defend us, here at the office…”she added, seemingly at the end of her tether and seeking to finish the whole story before our big chief would appear from behind one of those scattered and  dispersed desks.

“…against mr Dujournot…it was no use…”she kept whispering, still close to my ear, so close my trousers started to shrivel up for its content.

“she urged to get some sun protection, on the windows, that is, but it appeared to be too expensive. For mr Dujournot, that is… It all ended in a terrible tussle and at the end, she was sent away, just like that!”, Anissa hushed again.

“Mr Dujournot just said that she choose the wrong side…he actually said this to all of us…” Anissa whispered, still. It was obvious I walked into a scene I did not want to be part of. Destiny choose otherwise. “She got the sack…”

I, in fact, could not believe what was really happening here…Could this mean I was to fail my job? This question must have been written all over me, because, without even having spoken one single word, Anissa continued : “but this has nothing to do with you…Mr Dujournot is expecting you. He just came in. He was late. He always is late.", she added, kind of hateful. or did it just seem to be like this? Her voice suddenly became sinister and razor-sharp. It shook me up. Out of nowhere or at least from behind one or another cupboard, a small creature materialized behind Anissa. Out of the blue. I did not see him coming. He just stood there.  Saying nothing, just observing Anissa Hamsa and me.

Bizarre, won’t you say so?

Small creature, I said…and so it was. When I say small, it is small. He was clearly undersized.  I have no gain at all by twisting or bending the specifics as they are in real. He had a skeletal visage and his costume appeared too big. I spotted his nose. His nose, my God, did he have a nose! You effortlessly could open any tin can in the world with such nose. Huge and sharp. Sharp as the hateful voice of Anissa and colossal as opposed to his body length. 

His hair gave the impression of being very greasy and appeared to be stuck or cemented on his head. It had a very clear shine, not the outcome of the usage of some creams or hair gel, but of clear plain bodily fat.

His suit, although to big for his tallness, was a high quality big label “made by Hugo Boss” ensemble, probably pure silk, stating his wealthy upper class  position within this strange company.  

Anissa spotted immediately that I was not giving her any attention anymore because I was busy evaluating this rare human specimen at the back of her and she suddenly turned around, as she probably felt the huge nose on her hirsute back. “Mr Dujournot”, she shouted, quite unnatural. “This is Patrick. Patrick, this is mr Dujournot.”, she concluded. We both shook hands. “Shall we?”, mr Dujournot spoke, for the first, and pointed towards a separate room which appeared to be his personal office.

“Thank you, Anissa, thank you…”, he added towards Anissa Hamsa in a way to tell her that her part in this encounter was to be ended. But she did not seem to feel this and kept smiling and kept observing our first encounter. “I’ ll take over from here.”, mr Dujournot added, to make clear what he indicated before. We entered the separate office and whilst I took an offered chair, Mr Dujournot closed the door, before taking the outsized seat in buffalo leather at the other side of a massive hand carved  mahogany desk.  It was an hilarious scene to me. As if he was drowning in his furniture. Like all those shrunk old ladies behind the steering wheels of an American car. But I could not afford to explode into laughter, although the urge to do so, was never so close.

So this is mr Horrible, I thought, whom one should be afraid of. One wrong word and you’re  out. That’s what happened to Maria actually. For some strange raison d'être, I did not feel anxious, I even felt myself quite relaxing and comfy, opposite a midget with power.  Life is a huge lie, can't be otherwise. We all live a lie. Each and every one of us. Some know about this, other do not. This whole society is a gigantic lie. Sometimes, on the most unexpected moments in one’s life, certain “things” happen, things that alter your life or try to change it permanently.

My pc just broke down. First the specialists thought all data were erased, but this seemed not to be the case. They could save the data and thus, now I am working again as I cannot be stopped telling you this story of resentment, hate, human disgrace, pestering and torture.

Many times I have a feeling that I do not even exist. It is a strange feeling, that is the least I can say. Whatever I do or write, or act, no reaction whatsoever comes from no one, not even as to say : hey, you are still alive and kicking…no, nothing. It is as if I live in a parallel universe where people can see me, but the more they see me, the more they seem to ignore me and my whereabouts. These are dangerous thoughts. I could try to cross the road with my eyes closed, see what happens then…would they see me? Would this huge truck driver spot me on the midst of his rushed  expedition to a commercial “just-in-time” triumph? I would never know, I guess…and I value my life at this point too much, so I do not intend to practice these malicious thoughts of mine.

But the harder I think about this matter, the stronger I come to see that most crucial events in my life were completed as a consequence of pure circumstantial luck and not as a result of considerate and proactive performances of mine. I did take some fundamental decisions in life. And they led to drastic changes, but only because of other elements that seemed to join me in my pursuit of human happiness. As a counterbalance to those decisions that caused me to smile more than to weep, I surely had my part of wrong pronouncements that pushed me again and again against the wall of humiliation and despair.

Driven and even obsessed by the urge of gaining money and getting rid of the atrocious and  rotten character of my current superior, I was prepared to take on every kind of job I would encounter. The business of mr Dujournot, the self indulging dwarf right in front of me, was as unknown to me as the life of the elderly and stupid. Do not get me wrong here, I did not, at that period in time, any harmful feelings against mr Dujournot, at the contrary.

Because it was he, who in fact decided to talk to me with the potential of hiring my services for his company, that made me feel even positively strong about him and his managerial capacities. He was my knight in shining armour , my saviour, back then.  And I always have been very loyal in my life towards those people who had but first-class intentions with my person. Especially those in a higher social ranking than me. Although his body language indicate totally otherwise and his nose looked threatening sharp, pointing towards me as an obvious tool he probably used to emphasize his dreadful commands, mr Dujournot had all in favour, back then, back there.

He did not speak a word, just sat behind his too bigger desk, fondling around in his paperwork. There wasn’t much of paperwork on his desk. His desk was as clean and spotless as a surgeons operating table. To me it was clear he did not spend much of his executive time in this air-conditioned and frigid office.  Still, he seemed to have lost something, till all of a sudden, he smiled and stated : “ah, here it is…”, taking my résumé from underneath another pile of a threesome letters in the middle of his colossal working table. He looked at my résumé for about five very long minutes,; till he looked at me and said : “you do have a remarkable past of customer care experience, but then I can see it is merely in the holiday business, in the tourism business, that is…”, “ I wonder why you choose now to come to work for us?”, he added.

“Well, mr Dujournot, the fact that I want another job has merely to do with my health, since I do not have any free own will at my present job, I even have to let sign my ordering sandwiches sheet, so she can start to discuss about anything if she has it in her. “, I stated, quite honestly, trying to be as straight forward as I could be, not in the least because it was the truth. “furthermore, I do not like the terrible working hours, since most meetings take until late at night, and I have to stay put, till the last man or woman leaves the building.” My family life is not all as it should be at the moment, and I like to improve that too.” I added.

“But what about your customer service, then? How do you see this then?” he tried to find a way to bring me out of balance, but did not succeed, with this additional question.  “I honestly think that customer service is always the same in its essence, that is; no matter what product you deliver to your customer, all customers are the same to you and deserve to be treated equally, not in relation to what or how many they buy from you. The product should be OK, of course, I cannot work for a company with lousy products (I did not know at that time what the quality of the product of Matrix systems Inc was all about, they could be the worst on the market, I did not care back then, my major issue was to get rid of…you know…), the products have to be good.  And when the quality is ok, then all your customers have to be treated in an equal way.

“I ‘d do anything for my customers.”, I added, pretty self-confident, because this was one of the certainties in my life. I even crawled for my customers, as long as they were pleased with my service.

“I have a very clear vision on customer care, and I have been practicing this during all of my career, until now, with success!”, I threw in.

“Whether they come to meet in one of our rooms or whether they go on holiday, or whether they buy your product…, they all deserve the best possible care, and that is what I am always trying to accomplish in my work.”

Mr Dujournot smiled and put my résumé back on his small pile of papers. “Ok”, he said, “for me it’s ok. You can start as soon as your term at your other work has finished. I am happy to welcome you to Matrix Systems Inc.” He stood up, reaching is skeletal hand towards me, bending a long way over his oversized desk. Of course I was happy, it seemed to me the happiest day in a long time in my life. I think I glowed. For pride and relieve. My God, how I would enjoy my saying goodbye to Nicole Meddle, the bitch.

“What about my salary?”, I tried to insert into the development of things. “Ah, yes, Ill pay you what you earn now, plus I’ll multiply it by 13.9, so all extra months and legal requirements are settled, plus do not forget that you are now part of our bonus system, which means that you can earn again one extra months salary on top of this, if the annual results are ok for the States.;”, he declared triumphantly as if he had to pay this out of his own pocket. We shook hands and I left the office, followed by mr Dujournot.

“Patrick is going to work for us.”, he shouted into the office, so everybody know at once the current status of our negotiations. I had a smile from ear to ear, feeling as if I could fly in the air, and I guess that is how I got home, because I cannot remember how I did this. I wasn’t drunk, I went straight back home, eager to tell the good news to those who would benefit.

 Mr Dujournot was a saint. That’s for sure. The ease and decisiveness  he hired me (I did not even had to prove my German capacities) proved to me he was one of the few great leaders of this planet. Boy, was I wrong. How could I ever be so wrong in judging a person, just blinded by the fact that he practically saved my life at that moment in time.

I had no clue whatsoever I survived my first encounter with one of the biggest company orientated hard-nosed  swindler, opportunistic, ruthless liar and human manipulator I would ever see in my entire life. He most definitely was and still is the biggest “master charlatan/con artist” I have ever met.

The character, whereabouts and everyday behaviour of mr Dujournot would commence to reveal itself to my observations and turn out to be and to confirm the worst case scenario ever a person could encounter in his life. But I did not know that. How could I? How should I? I was happy, (Just leave me happy for a second, will you?) The encounters of such malicious individuals and twisted characters cause brain damage. At least to me.

They confirm to me that life is a lie. The life we all lead is a pure lie.

Nothing is true and the truth isn’t even true. It is false. The truth is only true for those who benefit from it. Money changes the truth. Money manipulates the truth. Power violates the truth. Power turns it into lies. The lies of our lives. Why do I say such things. Am I damaged? Sure, for a part, sure. But I am still clear and lucid enough to see things as they are. I still can put them in perspective, to one another, to me, to the world.

Once each and every one of us is born and put on this planet, we are forced upon with rules and instructions, with guidance and control systems. We are raised by “big brother”. By big “money brother”. As long as money and power is involved, as good as anything is allowed. For those who have money and power. They set the rules, they conclude our standards. They call it “school”. Now they speak about “long life studying” projects, since school time is not sufficient anymore. We need more time to absorb all guidelines and rules and agreements money and power inflict upon us. And mr Dujournot turned out to be the perfect answer to all these immoral and de motivating, depressing but true thoughts I dared to describes in the lines above. He embodied the ultimate confirmation that all evil odds in life can be true and existing, vivid and non-erasable, strong and present in our lives, if we want this or not. Even if we would oppose to the strongest of our believes and hopes, iniquity  is amongst us all; so sad this statement  and observation I made, I have to confirm. Since Mr Dujournot confirmed it as well. Through his actions, his thoughts, his behaviour, his manipulative moves, he slowly revealed himself to me, during the months and years to come,  as the existence of profound, intentional immorality and premeditated wickedness.

I do not say this just for fun. This is no fun. This is horror. This has been horror. That is why I am writing these pages to you all, to make you a real witness of it all. So you can participate in the wonder of disbelieve and rejection, in the desperate effort of denunciation and unmistakable but slow acceptance, since prove of horror came and nestled itself in my rebellious and ever struggling brain cells to keep this amount of human devastation out of my clean system. So you would believe. Believe my inner destruction, caused by this real evil. So you ‘d see how this works. How these sick individuals practice their ruthless techniques of self enrichment and self glorification. You 'd be surpised!

chapter five : sales

Chapter five   sales

At times I think it is all in vain. I think life is all in vain. I get the creeps when thoughts start to haunt me that all we do on this planet, is in vain.

I hate these thoughts. Sometimes I do really think and believe, which is even worse, that it all has no reason. No reason at all. If I would have been here or not. If all those brave men, fighting for war in bitter red sands, between scattered houses of disgrace by strangled and raped women, unseen by any authority, passed undiscovered through the eye of the believer, that all ends well, those freedom fighters who are ripped apart by the next self-exploding terrorist who is expecting to get his seventy virgins awaiting at the other end of total emptiness, would believe they were here on a purpose, then I must admit that I do not see the ultimate drive those guys hang on to. I can not be that there is a bigger purpose to it all. We are. Nothing more nothing less. And I am starting to see now that just “being” here, is a bigger challenge then I ever could have guessed in my early days of my existence, where all those “others”, were trying soo hard by each and every means they had, to let me believe the “other” truth of life.

But, since my last technical stop at Matrix systems Inc. They only have become stronger then ever. These thoughts, I mean. Of course, strengthened by the behaviour of super dwarf mr. Dujournot and his disciples. But I should not run ahead of things. I tend to do that. I dunno why. Maybe I’d like to see this story to an end. I dunno. As in I do not know. Actually, I do not know much at all. About nothing. All has been said. Lets not repeat the said. Nor the done. Let’s move forward, firm and strict, keeping myself to the facts. As fact only will enable you to see. To see the end result of things to come. Focus. I will.

Still, at the time being, I was grateful and happy that mr. Dujournot had hired me to be part of his team. I even had a clear objective. To start so to speak from “scratch” to build up the German speaking and new eastern European market, together with our guy in the field, our “sales”, mr Wolfgang Hansen. A real German, of course. No one could be more “German” than our Wolfgang. But I ‘ll tell you later about him.

This was some “improvement” for me personally! I came from a surroundings where I couldn’t even go to the toilet without the written consent of my direct superior. Now I had it all clear and free for me to handle. Mr Dujournot, being part of his international “sales” team, was still combining his job as managing director with the “sales” for France and some scattered European clients, reaching from Island to Northern Africa, to Greece. I bet He like travelling. So he would not be around that much, maybe once, twice a month? Maybe.

For me this sounded like heaven. Freedom at last. Freedom of speech, freedom of handling, freedom of acting. Of course this way of working needed a strong sense of responsibility, but with my background over the years on delivering perfect customer support, even on different levels, I clearly had the odds going for me. At that time. Life was great! It all would turn out fine! At last! Life is a feast! A sumptuous excessive dinner, I only took the wrong doors to get to the opulent banquette, but finally I would have reached my haven of recognition and appreciation of inherent and unmistakable customer care qualities.  So maybe, just maybe, there was a God, then. There.

Was there?

Time was back then like walking on roses, thrown on the floor by a bunch of the most splendid and magnificent Sri Lankan beauties, making up your bed and leaving a “good night sir”back on your pillow, written by freshly picked flower leaves, sooo sweet. The future seemed bright. The sun wasn’t strong enough to match my inner glow of intense happiness and firm believe in all mankind.

The first time I met Wolfgang Hanssen, the German part of Matrix sales and my direct battle companion in our war against all others to obtain world leadership, I wasn’t surprised at all. Having worked several years with our German friends in all possible countries as a former tour-guide, I only had but excellent references and experiences with the German breed. Although, it is true one cannot generalize in describing or  characterizing a people or race, from my personal experience on the field, I may confirm that the broader lines and remarks about the Germans, exist and are conform the clichés build around them.

So one can say, without making a huge blunder, that all Germans are straight forward and do not like to be treated badly without immediate reaction. They act immediately when something is not according to their expectations. If you want me to compare these thought with the Dutch, they are pretty much the same, only they are not so rude as the Germans sometimes appear to be. The Belgians however like to  bade into their own mischief and if, if they decide to say something about it, they will do so, long after the actual discrepancy occurred. Or they stay silent and endure their grief and sorrow. But they never, ever com back to you again for the same services. Belgians are so to speak a bit more false, and artificial in their behaviour:  they rather gossip about the encountered injustice than to react to set things straight. They do not dare to hit the bull by the horns. They prefer to go by the back and hitting it in the ass by destructive gossip and backstabbing whisper. 

But Wolgang was clearly one of the German kind. And I have something with “Germans”. I do not know what it is but I have something going with those people. If their would be a former live possible, I probably would have lived several lives in the former “great German unity”. I dunno. What I do know is that I always was able to handle them. I, the small Belgian guide, with utmost basic self esteem, was able to control and handle the brutal Germans. It blended in perfectly. Our actions and words coincided as ying and yang. But do not get me wrong here. I just was an observer of this factum, just as you are now. I could do nothing but acknowledge myself of these facts that would change my life forever. We matched, the Germans and I, a marriage of the better kind.

Wolfgang confirmed all clichés possible by his tongue and deeds. He was a bit younger than I but in no way this would appear a disadvantage to him. His elaborate self  esteem combined with his direct handling approach put him miles above me and in a strict hierarchic  way of speaking, this would serve him well at the end, since outdoor sales representation is still highly regarded above indoor sales support. Yes it is. No need to argue here.

Wait till I put some figures on it. Like the way Matrix systems Inc remunerated both opposite (in and out) sales sides completely separately and differently. So different it blew my sock off. How did I know? How did I find out, you may wonder, quite correctly. All figures and numbers were to be found in our computer system. There was no reading protection, nor a password protection whatsoever build in our system for those supposing secret data of personal salaries and bonuses. Of course I did not find this out from day one. It took some time to get me familiar with both the inside people and the used system to be able to detect what I came to witness in the months to come. Anissa Hamsa knew this. And told every one. If I would have known this on day one, I wouldn’t have started to work for Matrix Systems Inc at the first place. Running ahead again, am I? Yes sir!

Back to Wolfgang. We came along perfectly. Also due to my apparent inherent perfect way to German adaptation. We formed a real unit. Inside and out. Like resilient partners from some daft American police series. Together on the coach, the front seat in a police car. Sticking up for one another. Wolfgang liked me. I Liked him, as a German that is. I did not like him enough to be a friend. Therefore he was too blunt. Too straightforward. So straightforward that the way he acted became even impolite. At times. Many times. This wasn’t my stuff. But with my shy attitude, we both matched together as if it was all meant to be. He liked me because he needed me. He needed my support at the office. Boy, did he need me in the office. Wolfgang came on the Matrix train one year before I joined in. He was very happy with my presence and my future customer support he would get. He never had decent support before. This bygone year has been extremely awful for him. There was no one who spoke German at the office. This was at the least a major catastrophe for all German clients and all German speaking clients. So they all called Wolfgang. For trivial and insignificant office matters. They bothered him. He got pissed.  He could not behave. So God sent me in. To rescue Wolfgang.

One day I sat next to him in his dark blue Audi A6, a beautiful German car (a true German always tries to drive a German car) on our way to meet some of the most important German customers. I noticed some hard dehydrated stains on the dashboard, right in front of me, in front of the passengers front seat. I was still wondering what this dried out filth could be or how it could have  emerged on the dashboard, when all of a sudden the answer was given to me. Wolfgang started to make some real roaring sounds as if he would be a bear, when he spitted some fluids out of his mouth, combined with a direct load out of his nasals, directly into the palm of his right hand, which he cleaned with one straight move on the dashboard in front of me. “Excuse me”, he said, “no handkerchief.” And that was it. I became sick.    

Great guy, Wolfgang. I mean it. .I liked him. Not his dashboard action, not his blunt behaviour, but his commercial, professional attitude. We worked well. Together we achieved what we were hired for. Wolfgang did not make much out of his first year. He desperately needed back up at the office. Back up that failed last year. Back up that made me come to Matrix Systems Inc.

This all sounds as if I was the great savvier of this German market. None is lesser true. There was practically no German Market. Besides of a few single operating customers in Germany, we had no real “market” whatsoever. So no market could have been saved by me. You cannot save a market that does not exist. We had to start from zero. This is what I liked. To really build up something from the beginning , knowing that what you did, really had an impact on the whole. My desk was part of an island, together with the desks of Anissa and Inez.

The plan was that those two girls – I can speak here of girls, since they both just left school and were in their early twenties – would disclose all customer secrets to me. At first, I thought that I was a bit over exaggerated by my new challenge ahead, that I did not seem to get all the information from my two beauties in front of me, the way I should get it; they systematically seemed to ignore me as a person and the necessary information flow never outgrew a premature level of constant asking and splintered updating of my knowledge to become a feasible unit within Matrix Inc. In stead of actually helping me becoming a member of their “team”, they apparently did everything to obstruct and delay this kind of operation.

They laughed a lot. At each other, with each other. They had a lot of fun. They talked a lot, not about work, in fact, never about work. They both sat right in front of me, facing each other. So the talking worked well, as the ignoring did. They just didn’t want to see in my direction when I was in need for some critical information on a German customer. Of course I picked up all phones from German speaking clients from day one onwards, relieving the pressure of failing knowledge from my blabbering twosome in front of me.

This situation was becoming so gross that at the end of week one, mr Dujournot, still in the house, surprisingly suggested that I should present myself on Saturday morning at the office to be able to receive the necessary PC knowledge in order to make invoices and credit notes.

Apparently Anissa went behind my back to complain to mr Dujournot, that, due to my presence in their island council, they lacked the time to do so. I did not know what I heard.  So I did not ay anything. I was new. I thought it to be wise to follow the first orders of my new chief. Nevertheless I could not help to perceive that something was incorrect here. Those two ladies did nothing but privately chatting about all what there is to talk about in life during office hours, neglecting most of the incoming lines, since I took them after three ring tones at the latest.  

They noticed that. Clever but lazy girls! Quite quickly they observed my customer dedication and acted accordingly, to their benefit. To the benefit of their daily chitchat. What bothered me most was that fact that they did not talk, nor even discuss work and workload with me. They just went straight to the boss to complain about their busy daily schedule. Furthermore I did not like the fact that what they told my boss, our midget chief, was completely wrong, even a huge unmistakable lie. I have never seen two full time occupied woman in an office do so little for the company. They must have known that I saw all this, because I was placed and sitting right in front of them. So how could or would they find or have the nerves to go on telling our superior that they lacked time to train me in my job? Were they not afraid that I would refute and counter their statement?  Obviously not at all. But they knew this was a lie and they knew I knew. This was a complete confirmation that my presence was not taken into account for even one second. I clearly did not exist for them. I was dispensable ballast, some dirt to be cleaned away. Although I came to help their drifting department. I came to relieve them from the burden of every day nagging Germans who felt shortened by the absence of any German speaking  Matrix employee. Obviously and for me quite incomprehensible, they did not see me this way.  At this point, this was for me the first of many incomprehensible attitudes, actions, answers, behaviour, I would have to endure during the upcoming months and years. I was surprised, back then, by these minor but strange office events. Only much later, I realized they all made part of the plan that was being set up to master the individual situation of that moment and of that particular person.

Especially Anissa had something about her I could not immediately place in the right perspective. She was at the least to say a bit “hautin”, “up nose” , the early days of my commencement at Matrix Systems Inc. I agree, she was a beauty and still very young and immature. She was aware of her splendour  uplifting beauty.  But this natural gorgeousness would soon  shrivel to insane undersized proportions so that the awful, frightening and most of all rotten face of the hateful and abhorrence  would emerge. Beauty is clearly beaten by negativism, hatred, revulsion and fraudulent behaviour.  Anissa would become the living prove of this statement. Besides, by total ignoring me as a human being during the day, she already started to see my arrival and me as such as an  “extra volume” of workload, as a substantial change in her life stile,  coming up to her and unquestionably disturbing her every day easy life chatting sessions.  Should I have said something? About this whole unjust situation? I probably should have. But I did not. I stayed silent and observant, as during the first weeks I always wanted to check things out before judging on them or leave commentary that would be inappropriate. I am a prudent kinda guy. My caution never can be large enough. I always think thoroughly about the consequences of my words and deeds. As if it all would have mattered. Looking back, I now know I should have responded immediately. But regret is not appropriate. It is out of its place here. I did what I did or did not what I did not so things went on as they were all set in the reason of things.

Mr Dujournot came by at the island and just asked me if I could come next Saturday morning to Matrix systems Inc at nine o ‘clock to catch up with the invoicing. Anissa would be present too. Nice of her. So se would be able to explain me the details of the system. Without interruption of possible clients. Saturday normally was a closing day. Never worked on a Saturday. Of course this would be no problem for me. I wasn’t the one who was being cross here. I did what I had to do to fulfil my job to the best efforts possible to obtain an as excellent result as it could be. Because I had a mission to accomplish. That is the way I saw my functioning at Matrix Inc.

Wolfgang and I had to conquer the whole German  speaking east European market and I was prepared to take all steps possible to meet up to this standard, set at the moment I was “inaugurated”. Only, I did not expect so soon these somewhat questionable counterfeit manners of my new colleagues, clearly choosing their own personal and private benefit above that of the company. Saturday it was then. Nine a ‘clock sharp. Saturday morning. It was still pretty chilly and half of Belgium still sleeping. I stood before a closed door. A key wasn’t yet provided, so I had to wait. I waited. Ten minutes, twenty minutes, thirty minutes. Nothing, nobody. I started to wonder if I had heard all things right. See, now that is typically me : I always start to look by myself if anything is wrong. It probably would be me, since I had been a distracted professor” all of my life. My mother called me as a child always her “distracted professor”, because I often failed to focus. I was a dreamer, still am. Never could hold attention to the present for more than a few minutes. I had a vivid imagination.  A Very vivid one. So that must have been the reason why I stood there, all alone, before closed office buildings, freezing my ass of, since it was only half April and nights and mornings could be very chilly- damned freezing ice cold I ‘d say - still, although the spring was “in da house” for over two weeks now. The right date was probably next Saturday or the week after? But not this Saturday. No one is more than half an hour late. This would be a token of gross contempt of my person. 

I did not have access to the cell phone numbers of any of my new colleagues yet, therefore our contacts and mutual efforts to make things work, were too premature and short notice so that wouldn’t help either.

All of a sudden a dark brown Mercedes, an old model back from the nineties, came slowly rolling along an approaching the building I stood for. In stead of parking on the parking facilities, fifty meters further on, the Mercedes stopped right in front of the building and silenced its engine.

Together with five other people, Anissa Hamsa stepped out of the car.

“Good morning”, she said, as if nothing could ever be wrong. In the mean time it was practically ten o’clock. She was an hour late, but did not feel the urge to tell me about it. Not one single world. No reason, no apology, no silly excuse, not even a plain lie. Nothing. Total neglect.

“Your are late..;”, I tried. “What?”, she reacted? “Late?” Why? It’s Saturday and normally we don’t work on these days, so it does not matter when I arrive, does it?”

“If you say so…”, I responded, as it seemed to her not of any relevance that I stood there for over an hour, just waiting for Godot and her five companions.

“Why don’t you have a key, yet?” she threw in my face. “I thought you had a key.”

“You should have given my one, according to mr Dujornot, that is.” “He told me so.” I tried to counter her attack.

“Ah, well yess, I guess I should have done so, but I lost mine, so I now use the spare key I had to give to you. Mr Dujournot does not know I lost it, so I still have to make some doubles to get things sorted out.”

“So you know I did not have a key.”, I returned the question.

“No , I did not. You could have received one from him as well, couldn’t you?” she countered, not so pleased with my response.

“no, you should have given me one, since you manage the keys, he said.”, I replied.

“ah, so now I am in charge of the keys as well. Fine, what else do I have to do here in this bloody office that I do not know about? Should I start cleaning maybe?” Anissa literally bit my nose off.

She turned around and stamped her way into the building, hitting the delicate marble entrance floor like a drill borer  with her high heals of disdain and such force, I thought she would be able indeed  to break the tantalizing tiles. Her five companions followed her silently but firm as if she was the leader of a gang.

My stomach shrunk to tiny proportions. What was this all about? I was the one who should be angry because I had to wait for over an hour in the morning cold. In stead of an apology, I got an aggressive wind right up my nasals, presented with an such an appalling attitude that I ‘d better shut up (for all times sake) before anything worse should or could happen. I must admit, that I did not have ever seen such behaviour before in my life. “But, hey,” I thought “it must be some day the first day for everything.” And I followed her on the stairs towards our mutual office, behind those five buddies she brought along.

I thought I ‘d better be quite for a while now, since this was no way to build up some team spirit.

Once in the office, I became a witness of a spectacle that I 'd never seen in my entire life. 

“It is about time we are setting some things straight here,” Anissa started out of the blue (of course she did not know what “out of the blue” meant, because the level of her English was soo pitiable and wretched  she would end up with a monkey when she would plead for missing public toilet paper), “mr Dujournot is mostly NOT in this office.” The emphasize on the word “NOT” was very loud and clearly received by me. “He wants us to be present from eight to six for our customers, but we don’t do that.”, Anissa immediately added, referring to her and Inez at that time. Apparently she wanted me to join in this setup hour stealing fraud, as she clearly wanted to explain explicitly how it worked. And for all, how she got away with it. Although this were my first days and foremost elaborate contacts with some of the employees of Matrix Systems Inc, I could not help to notice that the moral standards and labour principles of Anissa and obviously also of Inez, were situated miles underneath mine. A kind of valid ethical behaviour towards her employer seemed to be lacking completely. To me this was shocking. But since I was new and already had my preliminary portion of anger and conflict, I decided to listen to what she had to say on the subject. I did not converse. I observed and listened. Because of my damaged self esteem, I did not want to impose my personal believes and basic human values to those whom probably never heard of such words before in their entire but yet short lives. What bothered me most in this matter, was her age.

chapter six - sales 2

I think my scrotum has enlarged. On the usual scratching session, this evening, before hitting the sack, i realized that I had quite some amount of skin in my hand. My balls have not enlarged though. They have gained some space. Sometimes on the most impossible moments, one is confronted with some unexpected issues. I do not think this is something to worry about. I just have a huge sack. Nothing wrong with that.

Far more worrying was the attitude of Anissa Hamsa. This was not conform her age. My scrotum is, i guess. It develops with the years. It does what it is supposed to do. It expands. This is disgusting, isn’t it? Or is it nature?

Anissa Hamsa’s behavior sure wasn’t nature. It was premeditated malice.

I have left you all for some days now, haven’t I? Ah well, yes, a man has got to do what a man has got to do. I told you I am a painter. That is what I am sure of now. So whilst my memory is trying to recollect the best of both worlds and is assembling all data to make the picture work, I still have to see that I do not starve these days, because this is not exactly bringing me any money. So I had an exposition to take care of. That is why it took some days for me to continue on my script. I do not own a laptop. So I can not write along the way. Nor whilst I am driving my car or guarding my paintings.

The thing is, when I feel bad, I tend to eat too much. So I am gaining some overweight. This is something I do not like at all. It is one of the things that I constantly need to control. Not that I was a fat kid, nooo…I was thin as whatever thin can be. But the hunger is omnipotent and thus I eat…Especially after the brutal intrusion of Anissa and her elaborate explication how things work “her devious but very specific way” around here at Matrix Systems NV, made me even feel more like some chubby and overweighed swine that did not have a decent meal in days…I felt starving and dreadful and amazed and befuddled and for all very curious… Are you?

“let me set some things straight here…”, Anissa began. “We at customer service, we are the only ones who need to be in the office from eight till six in the evening. All the others come around nine and go home around five o’clock.” ‘Yes, that is true…”, I tried to intervene , “it is put that way in my job description.”

“Job description, Jobs description, to hell with your job description…it is mr Dujournot who wants it that way, but I don’t think it is fair…”Anissa added.

“But you can arrange things between us, can you not?”, I tried again.

“Now, you listen to me, we have already arranged everything.” “And you are going to do things our way.” Anissa bit straight in my face.

“Mr Dujournot never ever is in the office. You hear. You know that. Only once a month or maybe once each two months he is in the office for a day or two. So he does not need to know our little secret arrangement. Even the others don’t know.” “Don’t know what???” I wondered?

“The way we’ve arranged things here.” Anissa continued.

“We come in between eight and nine,  just make sure you are here before the others arrive. I am not here at eight each morning. Are you nuts? And in the evening, when every one is gone home, just after five, we just wait five minutes and then we close the place down.” Anissa finished her little scam plan.

“And what if a customer calls before nine or after five?”, I tried to awaken her sense of responsibility. “They ‘ll call back.” Was her simple but yet powerful answer that did not leave any more room for further discussion.

“aha…”, I concluded. I learned a lot this Saturday. Not about invoicing or the computer program Matrix systems Inc is working with, no sir. Not a word until now. Anissa was too busy giving her kinfolk all possible drinks out of the fridge and cookies and biscuits out of a big metal box (that were actually provided for possible visitors) as she left me sitting before my mystery screen of my pc, waiting to get some real instructions on my participation at customer service.

Sometimes I wonder, if those kinda people like Anissa, who deliberately without any restrictions or second thoughts obviously was ripping-off her own employer for at least an hour a day, if they do have some kind of conscience. Or not? Or do they think about their deeds? Or about some consequences later on? Could she be that stupid? For sure it was a first indication to me that she was not that bright at all. I know for one thing that, the moment this book will appear public and will be officially presented to the literary press, newspapers and magazines, some will understand the whole swindle that has been going on for years at Matrix Systems Inc and was up till now covered by mutual lies by those responsible. These words are very important words. They are food of the brain. Mental nourishment .They are words of justice. These words are words of healing. They slowly heal my inner self on the way to total justification on all levels. Because this theft of an hour a day by Anissa’s simple but genius plan, was only the beginning of a series of events and actions which I am going to reveal to you the next chapters. Indeed, the reality is often much worse than any imagination can ever evoke. Because I was new and I had no intention of having a constant fight with Anissa over her behaviour and her counterfeit  intentions and first known despicable action, I decided to be silent and to wait for what was yet to come. Of course, I did not agree on her little plan, but what could I do? I could not change the strongly settled habits of this office; I had no authority to do so. Moreover did I not want to loose this job, I needed the money.The only thing I knew for sure was that you would get the sack immediately for this kind of abusive conduct in all the companies I had worked for before in my life. And I must admit, I have indeed worked for some different companies all over the world. F.I. when I was responsible for the weekly  roundtrips in Sri Lanka, our mother company was based in Swiss but we were fully to report and cooperate with our local  Sri Lankan tourism company in Colombo for all matters whatsoever. Even in this kind of third world country, which Sri Lanka still is, the moral values and ethical standards of the Sri Lankan were way higher and of the finest form than the lowlife appalling set up action Anissa obviously had running at Matrix Systems inc till now.

She threw a booklet on my desk with booking instructions on Navision, the operations system on our pc’s so I could start to learn how to invoice and make credit notes. “If you do not understand something, just ask me and I ll’ help you through the process.”, Anissa said. ”But not now. I don’t have time for that.”

She picked up the phone and started dialling. The next three hours she spoke Arabic. To her relatives in Morocco. I did not understand a word. I only could deviate from the way her voice fluctuate, that many ingredients of the conversation were not based upon friendship, nor love. It even seemed that she had more than one  verbal fight, of which she seemed to loose quite some battles.

I pretended to study my booking instructions. At twelve o clock I took them home. Anissa was still on the phone as her other relatives were scattered over the office desks and creating the whole place into a real mini market, leaving cookie crumbles all over the place. That was not my problem. I only had some other instructions in mind this morning when I came here to be briefed upon my daily tasks. Anissa did not even looked up in my direction when I closed the door of Matrix systems inc. She was too busy arguing with her next of kin in Northern Africa. It must have been an urgent call. Sometimes I had the impression it was a matter of life and death. So passionate Anissa spoke.

One illusion poorer. What a waste of my time. Of my free time. Of my Saturday time. Mr. Dujournot had left the office again on Friday on his next sales mission. Where to you might ask yourself? I can assure you that this was a question I asked myself during the coming five years more than I wanted. With no one to turn to, I just went home to enjoy the rest of my weekend. On Monday I would try to talk to Anissa again. Talk I mean, not argue nor fight. Although it was not sure if this could be avoided. From what I had heard on the phone, combined with the harsh and spicy replies I got into my face this day, I was not sure if a normal conversation could even be possible with this woman. Future would tell me. And in what way! The start of some five incredible years at Matrix sytems Inc was given. It was zero-one, in favour of Anissa Hamsa.

The kick-off was set. I was still kinda lost. But I had no intention to loose this match. I prepared myself to win this game. But I miscalculated myself on the integrity of the referee. And some other players on the field.

“There is something rotten in the state of Denmark.” Was a line I heard when I was a child, back then, very “back then”. I had no idea what it meant, only I felt it would be something I did not want to be related to. Only the word “rotten” was already a reason to back down from getting deeper into the meaning of this phrase. Moreover, I was a child and yet I was interested in such lines that I came across in my childhood and stuck to my knowledge for one reason or another. Now, of course, it is all clear, it all makes sense. This is a sentence spoken by grown-ups, for grown-ups about grown-ups and their despicable behaviour. I could feel on my socks that “there was something rotten in the state of Matrix systems Inc. “ This I could sense from far away and even now, in my grown up years I did not want to have to deal with it as much as I rejected it then, in my childhood years. I am set not on this planet for confrontation, agitation, anger, hate nor revenge. Those words are not part of my world. I only had to let them in, into my life, now and here, at Matrix Systems Inc. ,since obviously they were part of the soul of this company, a soul, as rotten as the state of Denmark.

chapter seven : back to the future

Chapter seven : back to the future

I have to take you all to the present for a second. I have to inform you about some activities and developments occurring at this very moment in time, being a result of what I am unfolding to you in this book. Only I have just been started with my résumé, with my exposé, with my story to let you all in the details of this repulsive, sordid but true chronicle. Between the point where I was landed just last chapter ago, at the point where Anissa Hamsa announced her first hoaxing manoeuvres towards the company by clearly stealing obvious working time, and this very moment in time, lie at least five full years. Yes sir! We go back to April 1999.  Five years of harassment, of mistreat, of pestering and disgraceful human neglect. As I said before, I have the full intention of unravelling all details to you, so you can be your own independent but true judge. Five long years of humiliation and terrorization, intimidation and threats. Five years of mental instability and mental cruelty.  I take you now for an instant to November 2005, because I had some great news coming out of the States. I have to tell you this, I am soo excited. Maybe it is premature, but what the heck, for the first time in all those years I receive a sign of hope, a sign of justice.  (I ‘d better not count on it, because the forces I am fighting are incredibly strong and wicked, their ways dark and totally illegal, based upon back up lies and false deception manoeuvres towards even own internal audit members ) Did I tell you that Matrix Systems Inc. is part of, or better : owned by a huge financial share holders corporation called “Stardor”?  They own many similar companies all over the world and the sole purpose of this corporation is to collect all the potential and feasible profit that all of these individual companies produce.

So “profit” is indeed the magical word here.  The more “profit” we gain, the happier the shareholders are.  It is all about money, and power and wealth. But, because “Stardor” is a 100 % American company, they do have some kind of ethical code valid for and applicable to all its employees in all their companies. One day mr Dujournot came with a bunch of papers in the office, a bunch of at least seventy five pages, every single one of them filled by statements about regulating inside terms and conditions and human behaviour guide lines. “Procedures regarding reports of misconduct or alleged misconduct” was the official elaborate but appropriate title of this scripture we all had to sign to.

Of course we could refuse to sign but then it would be noted in one’s archives, which is, at the least to say not very preferable when you aim high in this cluster of companies. So we all signed up, one by one, that we agreed to the content of this. It was a kind of reassurance that we would be protected by this paper, since our high hot shots in the States declared themselves defenders of the truth and well fare and fare trade and honest behaviour within the company structure. They created an actual internal police office so to speak. Word came around today that they started (at last!) an investigation about the current position and the whereabouts of Anissa Hamsa within Matrix Systems Inc. Furthermore I had a phone call from the Belgian foreign ministry of external affairs and immigration department, that they opened a file on  Anissa hamsa and her family members located in Belgium. The problem is that those kind of investigations take sometimes ages before they come to a conclusion or a profound action, so I probably will have the occasion to go back in time to explain to you all the rest of this shitty tale, as the content is inevitable to get a proper idea and just conclusion on the subject.

So lets go back in time, to the forth month of the year 1999. As soon as something moves in the present, I will not hesitate to inform you on the outcome, even if the structure of this book is ruined by the development of all elements involved. Sometimes it is more fulfilling to jump on the present development of things than to hang on to these times of yore of cruelty and repugnance. How come this investigation on both levels, internally as well as nationally by our own foreign state department? Anissa really must have pulled off some stupid shit this time. I knew she couldn’t go on like this. I doubt it if she knew. Since she must have had protection. Already in 1999, when I started at Matrix Systems Inc, word was spread during those first days that she had a plain fucking relationship with mr Dujournot. They would be on “screwing terms” with one another.  These were more than just rumours..  Fed by the “you – cannot – touch – me” attitude of  Anissa. It came especially from the transport company people who treated the storage of our goods on its final way to the customers. They were located in the same building, in our shoe box.  I guess some of them must have seen or noticed something, sometimes. In the shoebox or outside.  I did not get into this kind of gossip, only it was an clarification for what we endured. This sounds cheap. It is cheap. And I always had my serious doubts about those words of malice but joy for the participants involved. Clearly it could be an rationalization for the astonishing performance and gross  and coarse approach Anissa presented herself towards her colleagues during all those miserable years. She could not be that stupid, could she?

Fucking mr Dujornot? The  midget ?  The  dwarf ? I bet he would have had a hell of a time, screwing darkeyed Anissa. Would he have noticed her hairy back too? I guess he did not care for her back. He had other precious holes to fill. Naaaa, my stomach turned by the thought of it only.

 I knew that this day would present itself as a start of purification. Only the size of the investigation and its results would define the final actions.

chapter eight : in the name of honour

You ain’t seen nothing yet!

It was all on the verge of developing before my wondering eyes. Strict catholic parents have many principles and strict laws of order and care. They imposed these thoughts and values upon their five children. I admit, as the years passed by, they became more flexible as both grand-parents passed away quite rapidly, because of the unknown lethal powers of the wrong and bad  high cholesterols values in the blood vein. So my youngest sister did not have to endure the strict catholic nonsense we had to submit ourselves to purify our souls whilst living. Grand-parents are, when alive, still a kind of watchdog over the way the children handle their lives, even if they are close to fifty. They are self regulatory. They are social watchdogs.  My grandparents died too young. All of them but one. I barely knew them at all. My grandfather (dad of my father) was 57 when he got struck by a brain damage, which caused his death shortly after. I was only 3 years old back then, still I can see him lying on his deathbed. Even now. Because of my shy character, combined with my extremely low self esteem, I endured these laws and inter human regulations between family members. I had such a huge respect towards about ever one and everything I encountered. When the doctor came on a house call to visit my sick mother, all kids were practically and literary driven in the back room of the house, door closed and locked. Till the visit was over. A doctor was for me in those days some kind of incredible intelligent wonder boy with almost magical powers that he used to heal people. He stood next to God, since any possibility to deny or question this superficial creature was totally out of the question. Of course, when years passed by, this all changed bit by bit. But the basics are still there. The force of this early artificial implementation of unnatural thoughts and irrational believes was of such magnitude that even today some elementary traces still hide beneath a wounded skin of realism.

April 1999. The next Monday I arrived at nine. To guard till six in the evening. When I entered the Matrix office, I immediately sensed something was wrong. When I approached our island, I saw that Anissa Hamsa was crying. Her head hidden behind both of her hands.

“What’s wrong?” I dared to ask, this early in the morning.

Inez sat right in front of Anissa and she even smiled a bit.

Anissa looked up and I noticed that she really had cried.  With real tears and all. Nose all full of shit. Eyes totally wet. She looked at me and made me feel redundant again. “Inez is going to leave us.”, Anissa snubbed.

This was not a big surprize to me. It did not startle me, nor made me sad. I kind of stayed completely immune to the message that hit this Monday morning office start-up.  Inez had never really spoken to me directly. Why, I do not know, not even now, six years later.

She never told me. She only spoke to Anissa. My God, did she speak to Anissa. There were days that her blabbermouth never stopped blabbering. But the blabbering only went straight forward towards Anissa, they seemed to be true blabber friends .

I never listened to those conversations, only, at times I could not help it to hear what they said to one another. You know these kind of conversations about all and nothing. Furthermore it was highly hazardous to try to interrupt those waterfall of words Inez produced during the day. Once, our engineer tried to. I was at the time not really aware of what happened, but all of a sudden, I heard Inez voice shouting around the office : “ No, I won’t, you just leave me alone, I am not your secretary, do it yourself!”, where she turned again to Anissa, continuing what was seemingly to be tremendously important she had to communicate to her, back then, back there.

So she never spoke to me. No time left. Only Anissa. It appeared to me that it was quite natural that her message of leaving Matrix would be a disaster to Anissa. I wasn’t really unhappy that she never spoke to me. She wasn’t discussing the job, nor the customers nor the procedures, nothing about all this. Private conversations are inevitable when you are on each others lap the whole day, so I can understand their existence although I never understood the drive and intensity of female personal gossip and common talk. That’s because I am a male, I guess…

So we did not have a real office relationship, actually. There was absolutely nothing between us, nothing at all.  Inez and I, I even doubt it if she noticed me at all. She, owner of a divine beauty, was constantly struggling with her attractiveness and her relation to men. She shared all of her thoughts with Anissa and both they worked on strategically clever plans of attacking the male species in order to manipulate him to their benefits. I just heard.

So I was kind of relieved that she left. Because at times their blabbering was so intense and had so little to do with that what we were in the office for, that it disgusted me to the top, because I had several problems with my picking and shipping orders that the bloody system would not accept, but I dared not to ask Anissa, who was devotedly listening to her major example in life, Inez, who would never accept an interruption of her discourse since her personal problems clearly outgrew those of Matrix Systems inc. Furthermore I did not want to cause such an outburst of words into my direction as our engineer just suffered from.  So I waited. And waited. And waited some more. Till the ladies agreed on something and Inez stopped talking. This was something that happened about twice a day. Then they had to go for a pee to the  lo and I sat there, left alone with my struggle of shipping and picking… After the first few days I even started to think that I wanted to leave Matrix Systems again, because of the blabbering position of both ladies, part of my team, but what team?

There was no team. There was “them”, blabbering “them” and me.

How stupid can one be? Even if it is clearly stated on different levels at the beginning of this novel, that all is fake, all stories are false, all persons are invented, all circumstances sheer imagination, still some people have the unbelievable impressions that some of the stories told are actually about them….What a token of self-indulgence . this is sheer decadence and inappropriate self pity of individuals who think way tooo high about themselves..

Honour. A fine word, a fine aim to live up to. But where does one see the element “ honour “ in the fact that one is digging into trash bins to search for information on a salary a new colleague has acquainted? Where does one see honour in the fact that one is illegitimately looking in a private booklet of your direct superior that has been stolen from his desk during his absence in order to gain illegitimate information on the salary increases of all of ones direct colleagues?  Where does one find honour in the fact that one steals methodically and systematically over a period of several years actual working days from one’s employer by deliberately failing to inscribe the holidays taken,  into the proper booklet, so they are not counted for, nor taken into consideration by the annual remuneration? The nice thing here is that witnesses indeed are existing about all these elements, it is just a matter of pushing them to the point of telling the truth. Where does one find honour in the bursting into the office each morning one’s mood wasn’t  up right for a laugh or a smile? Where does one find honour in unsuitable accusing colleagues of racism as a cheap way to defend and hide one’s gross and foul-mouthed behaviour towards everyone? How much more do I have to endure before this malignant behaviour is forcing me to end my life? Am I a racist when I see all of those things mentioned above and when I react against them because I do not agree with them for the reason that they are against my inner believes and against all I stand for in life? No sir! Am I a racist because I shiver when I hear  the word “hatred”, used on a daily basis by some colleagues to defend a sluggish  and lethargic office attitude? No sir! Am I a racist because some colleague only was trying to abort and avoid all possible workload, diverting it onto other colleagues, partly  due to improper education and lacking training? No sir! Am I a racist when I find people sleeping during their working hours in the back of a container in stead of unloading it? Am I? No sir! This is a fantasy story about inappropriate human behaviour, not about some skin colour, nor about  descendant countries, nor about the origin of some human species. It is a imaginary made-up story about abusive office conduct and misbehaviour towards others, and in no relation to any racial connotation. Racism may not be used here (although this is done so) to defend despicable  and shameful deeds amongst colleagues. To accuse one of racism is only a cheap way to try to hide one’s own wicked and disgraceful technique of demeanour. It is not at his place here. This is my website, where I write and make my fantasy story come true. If some  recognize themselves in what is displayed on these pages, it is very pitiful indeed and maybe it is an indication that one has to alter ones way of daily conduct. Very urgently.

Racism is bad. It is a bad word, it is bad behaviour. Racism kills. Question is : whom does it kill?

I think time has come to inform Stardor. Debriefing is essential here.  About the content of these web pages. Since I am only at the beginning of my more than five year stay at Matrix Systems and many essentials still have to be told. I have to protect myself. As soon as Stardor is able to join in on my fairy-tale, I will have protection granted.

I am kind of curious though, how their ethical code will deal with the methodically stealing of working days, with the intrusion of the paperwork of a superior? I 'll keep you informed.

Witnesses keep me strong now. Firm as a rock, in the desert of the truth. The truth of a fairy tail.  Indeed, I am only at the start of my magical fable. So many things still left untold.  I do have to hurry. Only 50 pages ready, of a book, ending at about 400 pages.  What is there still to tell, tons, my dearest, tons of new intrigues and false pretences…and the marvel of it all is : I did not even have to look for them.

They just unrolled before my very eyes. Every day again. At matrix Systems Inc. 

The best thing though that could ever happen to me and my fairytale, is an official complaint from one of those who think they recognize themselves in all what has been written so far. Even though it is all fake and ingenious. Can you imagine the press attention I would get? Of course I would immediately evocate and present my secret but confident eye witnesses to back me up. And believe me, I do have a bunch of those! Eagerly waiting to contribute their part of this unbelievable story. Because the sad part of my tale is that many others do experience the same kind of irregularities at their offices. Ort even at the same office. Every day again. Confronted with despicable attitude and beastly behaviour.  Can you imagine what grander and splendour triumph I would make when all of this would reach the news papers? I would be “instant famous” and my book would sell by the millions.

May I have a pleasant dream? May I ??? In these dark days of despair, fraudulent  and inappropriate behaviour?

I had no idea how hard it would be to let the truth conquer. It has all been too gross what I have endured these last months. It is in fact quite unbelievable. People with no ethical standards, nor any company loyal attitudes, with no moral codes to live up to, pursuing only their personal gains and individual favours, are being promoted on the back of those who quietly but honestly try to do a normal job. How rude can life be? Does the truth have the strength to beaten this kind of abhorrent attitude? I know my parents always said : “Even when  you produce  a lie with supersonic speed, the truth will catch up with her, yes indeed! “So, eventually, the truth will conquer. I still believe that. I must believe that. It keeps me going. It will survive all threats that are used to try to obstruct, hinder and impede the variables that are necessary to reveal the final elements of truth.

Inez was leaving and Anissa was crying. Why? Quite simple. Because : “I am going to miss her…”Anissa sobbed with a self-pitying grandeur only seen in the big New Yorker theatres. I think she meant it.

Even if this is almost six years ago, I quite clearly remember that our big chief, Mr Dujournot also was quite upset by this notice of resignation of Inez. It was clear to me that he loved beautiful women, and one thing was certain: Inez had a sumptuousness, a dignity and a distinction of the greatest creatures on this planet. She was a woman of the highest standards. The only thing that really disturbed her grandeur was the fact that she was aware of her high class appearance. Mr Dujournot, that Monday morning, where he heard this awful news of her resignation , took Anissa aside on the bench outside the office and asked her : “Anissa, what shall we do?”, “What shall we do now???”, Mr Dujournot repeated, with a clear despair in his voice of an abandoned husband who just got notice of the divorce of his wife.  “I do not know…”,Anissa cried, as if she had become a lesbian, seeing her loved one part forever. Two desperate individuals, sitting together on a bench outside Matrix Systems, not knowing what to do. Pretty pathetic and wretched, huh?

Still, this was about the lone time I saw Anissa and even Mr Dujournot in  a state like this. Mr Dujournot usually never spoke that much. At the beginning this seemed quite convenient, but after some time it became rather strange and turned out to be just one of his major managerial highly executive American paraphernalia out of his tricks box to keep his top position as sole ruler of the Matrix Gang. Furthermore it was quite obvious that the star of Anissa could not sparkle that intense without the full protection of mr Dujournot. There was no other reason that ever could explain the hoarse and unbelievable foul-mouthed attitude of Anissa towards her fellow colleagues. She was so clever or even shrewd  and astute to come up with such  delirious hateful stance when no superior was around or about.

As would appear to be numerous times in the years to come, I miscalculated the despair and seemingly indecisiveness  of mr Dujournot. He turned out to be a very bad loser. But a firm one. Only  moments after the “get-together “of Anissa and mr Dujournot, he re-entered the office and without looking for a second at our island, he just blustered, firm and ice-cold : “Inez, I’d like to see you within two minutes in my office.” His mouth was pinched down to shape only a solid stripe, lips gone out of high negative pressure. Fire lit up out of his tormented eyes. Anissa came in also. Her eyes still as red as a baby’s ass.

She remained silent and took her seat at the island. Inez felt quite correctly that it was no time to ask questions en prepared herself to follow mr Dujournot in the office.

Because he was always so many times abroad, or, at least, not physically present at the Belgian office, it was hard for us to really get hold of mr Dujournot. And what he stood for. What his believes were. As he did obviously  not belong to the loquacious kind, it took me ages to unravel the complex, but in any case enthralling as captivating personality of our “big chief”. Almost “six” years, I would say.

It seemed that he had a soubriquet.  In the office every one called him “the shrimp”, in his absence, of course. Never directly in his face.

Till today I dunno why they picked this name for him.  Maybe for the looks? He was small, skinny and had a big sharp nose. He looked quite a lot like mr. Burns from the American super popular cult series : “The Simpsons”. Surely he was as penny-pinching as mr Burns.

If I had to believe all the stories that were going around about him at the office. Because this is one of the laws of a frequent absent chief : staff will talk about you behind your back any way and the longer your back is turned towards the office, the harsher and more merciless the stories content will be. I noted those stories, never contributed to them. How could I? I had no experience with mr Dujournot going on. Although the short time I had encountered the man, he did leave a definite impression on you, that’s for sure.

Even till this very moment parts of the stories that were going around and about mr Dujournot, never ever have been cleared to me; I even now do not know if there is any truth in them. I guess “some” truth is available, since in every gossip you find elements of accuracy and legitimacy. One of the gossips was that he was divorced. This probably is accurate since we never saw his wife and he had a excessive hunger for the opposite sex, astonishing  for someone of his age. Furthermore “they” told me that his son committed suicide, by jumping in a French river, and drowned. His daughter was married and used by mr Dujournot as a frequent stop on his way from France to the Belgian office. Further gossip tells me that he got a huge personal loan from Matrix USA, to overcome the Burden of his divorce. 

It was absolutely no gossip that mr Dujournot, who indeed was a true  born Frenchman, always stayed in the same shabby tree star motel, outside of Antwerp, when he visited the Belgian office. He had his fixed pre booked room. He was a long sleeper. He liked whiskey. A lot.  Sometimes too much. That was no gossip either. He had this typical morning look on his scrawny face from a severe alcoholic. At least every time he was in Belgium. But he was an alcoholic with a certain “style”. That is probably one of the reasons that he always slept so long. To get at least in the morning hours the final residues of alcohol out of his system. He had a very luxurious cell phone, surely on account of the company. He failed to use all of its functions it captured inside. He always wore fancy suits. Like a great general manager is supposed to wear. Nothing wrong with that.

Nor with his cell phone. It is a gadget that indicates and emphasises  the importance of the bearer.  As general manager, you can hardly use a Nokia of 85 Euros, it would devaluate one’s significance and magnitude on the spot by the first phone call he’d make in public, or in a restaurant.

 

Towards the Americans, Matrix Systems USA, mr Dujournot had a peculiar behaviour. Although they were our direct so called “mother” company, they did not have much of impact on mr Dujournot.  Every time some US phone call, or any phone-call for that matter, came in in his air conditioned Belgian office on days where he actually was in, mr Dujournot always closed his office door. As if he had something to hide from us. During the day, when he was in the office, the same door always stayed open. Till those phones came in.

Now, I am not a suspicious kind a guy. I just thought it to be peculiar. that's all.

 

Of course he had a company car. No doubt about that. The bigger the company, the bigger the cars for their executives. Mr Dujournot had a European Volvo. The biggest on the market. I think he used a child’s seating aid car kit, to help him raise about the steering wheel. No kidding. Volvo’s are one of the safest cars in Europe. Name an airbag and he was hidden somewhere in this car. Because mr Dujournot was still selling Matrix Systems in a numerous part of European countries, as Norway, Sweden, Spain and Italy, he ‘d surely needed the best car possible.

You do not see me envious here. The only thing that bothered me the most about mr Dujournot, was that he cultivated the mystery of silence around him that much and intense , that no one at the office, even dared to approach him on  any of those mentioned themes. There was no social control whatsoever about his whereabouts, nor his company related deeds. He was his own master.

Never ever we at the Belgian office knew where our boss was hanging around when he was abroad. There was no secretary nor any responsible at the office (He had fired Maria on the spot) to keep a diary or an agenda with his scheduled visits through Europe. The only thing we knew, was that he was on the road and that we could contact him on his cell phone, in cases of emergency. No one even dared to ask him where he would be. Never ever I had seen anything similar though in the previous companies I had worked for. And they were pretty big too. Always there was some kind of controlling system on all the employees of the company, even on the managing director. Not with mr Dujournot. He deliberately kept this grey zone around him, this misty, foggy field one was afraid of to enter or to trespass. It enabled him total freedom. Total control. He, surely a part of him, behaved amongst his inferior workmates as a real dictator.  All in Belgium started and ended with him, at his cooled office. This was very clear to all of us.

And it became clear to me, the longer I stayed at Matrix, the clearer it became. Because mr Dujournot did everything to cultivate this “grey zone” around him.  All of his actions and deed he performed whilst being in Belgium were intentional and self-protective.

This I can see now. Very clearly. No Amercian who intruded. Mr Dujournot worked in both ways.  He was the sole and only buffer between Matrix Belgium and Matrix USA. NO direct contact was desired, nor promoted. At the contrary. In every discussion with mr Dujournot, very often he used the USA as a stick to hit with. They were very often the reason of failure. Every thing we knew about our mother company, we learned through the mouth of mr Dujournot. His stories were at least coloured. This is the understatement of the day.

But we could never verify his stories. We did not dare to do so.

One of the major problems with mr Dujournot and our mother company was that he never saw our “mother” company as our “mother”. It was more likely the ultimate “enemy”. On numerous occasions verbal phone fights were the confirmation that the relation Europe-USA was not that of a mother-son relationship it actually should be.

We assumed that, behind this closed door, his  phone conversations were strictly limited to the US or to his clients. Of course this was not so. Even if we could not understand a word he was saying, we could deduct (nor helping to overhear) that the general spirit in which the conversations generally developed was not of the most generous kind. Mr Dujournot was a terrible son. He kinda hated his mother. Afterwards it became again all very apparent that this inappropriate and ungrateful  behaviour was only a premeditated set up to conceal his own private playfield.

According to mr Dujournot, our mother-company was only inflicting impossible budgetarian targets upon us, giving us no structural help, nor any marketing tools we urgently needed, even though a marketing manager was not available at our premises (as far as I knew).

It seemed all a bit odd to me and, to be honest to you, hardly to believe. I could not suppress a general feeling of fair disbelief and honest suspicious doubts about the structural negative attitude mr Dujournot displayed  towards his company “mother”, every time he was in the office.

“The Americans do not understand the European way of trading”, was one of his catchphrases. “They have no idea how Europe works.”

“they lack to see that Europe still consists of highly individual countries with individual needs and diverse characters.”

And, of course, mr Dujournot wasn’t wrong there. Europe still is not some kind of united states of European countries, all for one and one for all.  I only doubted the presumption and belief of mr Dujournot that the Americans indeed saw us as united as that. I kinda felt that mr Dujournot used this cheap hypothesis to his own benefit to cover up up his dictatorial performance  towards all and everything. He did not allow the Americans into his personal managerial decision making. Gossip and hearsay told me that he came from another huge company of the same kind as Matrix Systems, and that he was bought out to restructure the European leg of this world player. When you do that, of course, you do have to grant the man some kind of decisive individuality and private honour. But to me, it was more than that. The unremitting battle with the States was a bit much for me. But that is why I was not a manager and mr Dujournot was, at the time being.

I thought it all should be like this, a game to be played by mr Dujournot, and he played it with devotion and conviction. For himself. Not for us.

Not for us. 

Another rumour that was still hanging around the building of Matrix Systems Inc, was that mr Dujournot did not want to pay for sun-protection shields at the large windows of the office. As if the money came out of his pocket. He did not want to approve the protections so, every minute the sun had a ball, the office submerged in heavy sunshine and its glow disturbed any normal performance since the pc windows became unreadable.  Nevertheless, he did not want to pay. Not a single penny, nor cent. Words came around that Maria had been released for this, since she did stand up for the people at the office.

“Now, you have chosen to be at the other side, and that is the wrong side for you. “ he’d said and then he fired her. At once. Immediately. “Raus”. That is what they said. So no protections shields were placed. We all tried to beat the sun our own way. Changing seating positions, changing pc positions, putting maps up, putting newspapers up to the glass, we did it all. To keep the sunshine out. Out of the office.

Mr Dujournot was not that kind of manager who stood up for his people. If you did not agree on his decisions, you’d better shut up or amend and rectify your believes till they were on one line with his. He was some kind of solitary knight, riding his own sad story. He did not belong to the office crew and showed it perceptibly. He’d attack you, standing next to a customer. He’d humiliate you in front of your colleagues or even in front of strangers.. It were all signals of his untouchable power he possessed on his playground called “Europe”.

 

Mr Dujournot is one of those managers, as there are so many of them, who, once they made it to the top of the managerial structure of the company they work for, firmly believe they are closer to God than to any other human being. They probably even think they shine, when they speak to their “minors”. And since they reached the top, they consider as good as everyone to be their minor and for all their inferior. Once they achieved the highest possible managerial position, they start loosing it, the grip to reality. The persistent contempt of mr Dujournot towards the police, or any other authority for that matter, even towards his direct American superiors, was legendary. He had multiple drivers licences. One for France, one for Belgium. Parking restrictions were never intentional to have any direct influence on mr Dujournots parking manners. He parked his car where even an ambulance would never ever dare to park. Because it could endanger others. What “others”? In the life of mr Dujournot there were very little “others” on an equal basis. So what’s the point of taking them into consideration? It’s a burden, that is. On the highway he systematically used the escape way to pass every traffic jam. As small as mr Dujournot physically was, the magnitude of his person in his proper head was of gargantuan proportions. And he showed it. To all of us. To the Americans. To our customers. To our suppliers. 

Mr Dujournot was a horror for our suppliers. He never was satisfied with the delivery results. And when he was not satisfied, he did not pay. As simple as that.

As if it came out of his own pocket. At the beginning I even thought it would probably be one of the elementary essential qualities of an excellent manager to consider every penny of the company you run, your own. Only later I discovered that mr Dujournot just was one of the most stingy and penny-pinching characters I ‘d ever seen in my entire life. For the “others”, that is, not for himself. Mr Dujournot methodically disagreed on all services delivered to Matrix Systems Inc. It was a way of conduct. It was his way of stalling all payments. Sometimes, in fact, many times, it was embarrassing.  

Any question towards mr Dujournot where money was involved or expenses were to be defended, you could be sure of a firm “no”. So why even bother to ask in the first place?

Matrix Systems Inc got a bad name of being a bad payer. What do you think? Matrix Systems Europe had become mr Dujournot and mr Dujournot had become Matrix Systems Europe. We, at the Belgian office, had become his inferior puppets on a string,  which he needed to secrete  his personal business activities with. No one actually knew what he was doing. All those years. All those voyages. Never ever, we heard any feedback of a customer to relate to a visit of our big chief. Or even a short stop. The moment mr Dujournot passed through the door of Matrix Systems Inc, he seemed to have disappeared from these earthly surroundings. May be he was an alien?  He sure looked like one.  

chapter nine : phone fighting

Chapter nine : phone fighting

 

Can you imagine my astonishment during those early days, almost six years ago? I did not know what to think first.

I had questions. Many questions. But I did have also a salary. I had money. And I did live nearby the office. May be it was better for me to just shut the f*ck up. And to let every thing be. As it is. As it was. Who am I to question everything in this new firm? I did have quite some executive experience in big companies, but no one said to me that this version of management would be the wrong one. It only felt that way. To me at least. And it was hard for me not to act against this.  Would you attack the hand that feeds you?

It depends. It depends on how serious the strange and eccentric signals are that you receive from your surrounding variables.

Furthermore was it so that mr Dujournot did not reveal himself all at once. Only bit by bit, day by day, visit by visit at the Belgian office, he exposed slight parts of his personality. Never directly, always in some kind of context where the way he responded or reacted on a certain situation, gave away another part of him. Secrecy has always been  part of him. He never gave himself way, just like that. No dictator would do so. Mr Dujournot by no means was an open book. To no one. Rather a heavily guarded fortress, a national bank. Fort Knox. The pentagon.

There was no company spirit at Matrix Systems. Total freedom was granted by mr Dujournot, if you handled his own set of personal principles :

 

*do as much as you possibly can in as little possible time

*leave me alone – do not bother me with office chitchat

*certainly do not bother me with any real problems

*it is your responsibility to clear all problems

*do not make any expenses

*make sure all of your clients are happy, so they will not bother me

*be in the office form 8 till 1800 hrs

*do not contact the usa

 

Quite cool, huh? I felt quite hilarious with this “from-a-distance” governance of mr Dujournot. I underestimated and miscalculated the effect of those rules on the weaker components of the chain though, as there were quite obvious Anissa and also Tanja.

 

Tanja never got over the sudden departure of her close office friend Maria, just a few months ago. She missed her buddy. Her companion in command. Now she had no one to ask questions to. No one to place some responsibility upon so she did not have to bear it herself.

Tanja could not do without a present chief. She was clearly lost. She could not decide from her own. She felt miserable. She felt the same way she looked and believe me : that is not a pretty site, nor an aim to live up to. She got depressed. She got pissed. She started to hate mr Dujournot. For letting Maria go. She started to phone to the US. Frequently. To complain. As only women can. She dug her own grave.

Stupid women. Ugly too.

 

Yesterday I saw a feel good action movie about honour, friendship, courage and honesty : “stealth”. In one of the scenes the pilot talks to the biggest chief possible, the leader of the ship that carries the planes, after surviving an attack on his life, ordered by his own direct superior, from whom he discovered other severe malfunctioning and says : “ sir, there are a lot of things that you should know about….”

 

 I now, at this very moment in time and place, after a previous attempt was interrupted by some pc hacker, like to repeat those words to the responsible executives of “Stardor”, the rightful owner of Matrix Systems Inc. : “Sirs, there are a lot of things that you all should know about the former and present leaders of Matrix Systems…”

 

Please grant me my dignity, my honesty, my pride, the benefit of the doubt to inform you correctly about what is going on and what is going wrong at Matrix systems Inc. in former and next pages of this book.

Of course, in those early days, mr Dujournot seemed the perfect match for me, leaving me all the office playground for myself. Over the years I had cultivated a very strong customer care sensitivity and build up a real strategy about how to gain and keep and treat customers. I had the intention of implementation of this personal  point of view of which I was certain it would work. And it did work. Marvellously, it turned out to be just the way I pictured it. Sales rose, no, they jumped into the sky. Especially my sales rose. The eastern European part gained customers, importance and sales. You bet that our Wolfgang Hanssen, outdoor Eastern sales executive, was in high spirits. He was more than happy. Of course he did a hell of a  job on the field with even more intensity and professional conviction, because he knew he had office back-up. At last. Real back up. He knew that some one in Belgium was taking care of his customers and their little problems. Or their big problems. No longer unanswered phones, unanswered questions, unsolved problems.

We both grew. Wolfgang and I.  We were a heck of a team. The sales figures confirmed our costumer support. In only just a few months sales doubled, tripled and kept growing. It was phenomenal. Even if I have to say so myself.

 

By the way, aren’t you curious what happened to Inez, after she followed mr Dujournot in his office? I bet you are. Well, it did not take long, this conversation. Of course it took place behind closed doors.

So about the content I cannot inform you, since this happened between the two leading players of that moment in time. And Inez surely did not say anything either to me. Nor to anyone else for that matter. After just a few minutes, she came bursting out of his office, totally shook up and her gorgeous face shredded with tears. She tried to cover up her face but could not disguise her crying. “I can't believe this....he just throws me out…”was the only understandable sentence Inez could produce before taking her coat and left the door of Matrix Systems Inc. Gone, just like that. From one second to another.  

Only a few seconds later mr Dujournot came out of his office, with a big smile draping around his face.

He came straight towards our island. “If you decide to leave Matrix Systems, its for the best of everyone that you leave immediately.”, he tried to explain. “its no use hanging around any longer.” He added.

“So I ‘ve sent her away. End of story. She did not longer want to work here, so…finally it was her decision.”, he said. In a victorious way.

By sending Inez away on the spot, he, the alleged abandoned victim of the previous situation, regained his dignity and control of the situation. That’s what he thought. Sore looser.

 

Those days were strange to me. It all happened during those first days of my work at Matrix Systems Inc.

But if you think that this was the end of bizarre things happening at this spooky company, you are dead wrong, it was only the beginning. One of those striking peculiar things was the way Anissa used to handle her phone calls. As you can deduct from the title of this chapter, it weren’t really phone calls actually, it were ordinary heavy phone fights. Now it was quite clear to me from the beginning that Anissa came straight from school to her first job ever at Matrix Systems Inc. Other than  Inez and Maria guiding her, she could not have had much of professional backing up till now. And since Maria was fired and Inez just left the building, it did seem indeed that she had a severe lack of professionalism to cope with.

As for the contribution Inez delivered on behalf of the professional augmentation of her blabbering mate Anissa, this could be estimated as extreme meagre. The worst conversations she tuned into real horrendous battle fields of words, spoken as true full automatic non-stop gun fire, were those with a transport company, called “Smeulders”. They were responsible for all our transport from Antwerp to France.

We had a delivery date of one, two and maximum three days, depending on the location in France. Quite natural. Of course it happened a lot that goods were not delivered on time. “Smeulders” was about specialized in this kind of failure or late deliveries.  One of the reasons of this systematic deficiency of prime time service, was the fact that “Smeulders”’ had already gained a huge reputation on the market as the cheapest transport company for France. They were so cheap they had to cut on something. And in the case of “Smeulders” it was service. They were always late. Always. They gathered goods till the last minute. To cut on the costs. Now I have learned in my years on the field that the cheapest solution in business mostly turns out to be the  most expensive one on the long run. Cheap never is good. So proved our cooperation with “Smeulders”. The way Anissa handled this transport company was not exactly a way to find improvement in the service they offered.

At the contrary, I would say so. Knowing that in my previous Job, I had served our present King Albert 2, discreet, fashionable,  just, modest, low level, low profile, perfect service, can you imagine my bewilderment when I first saw and for all “overheard”  this kind of mistreatment on the phone? Ok, I admit, it was with a transport supplier and everyone who even only once has had a contact with this transport world, knows it is a separate, rude world,  with own set of laws and ways of conduct. But the way Anissa took care of “Smeulders” was at least one way the transport sector never ever had practised in their lives before. It certainly was a new form of communication. Anissa shouted, cursed, hated, called bad names, asked for superiors (which she never got to speak, what do you think…), insulted her phone mates at the other end of the wired network, in such a horrific and lowlife way that is wasn’t even shameful any longer but straight to the utmost embarrassing for all parties involved. Mostly “Smeulders” hung up in the middle of Anissa’s shouting tirade, which led to another consecutive phone call with even more offence, rudeness and calling very very bad names as a consequence. Agreed, no one had ever said to Anissa that may be this was not the better way to solve any problems. Inez sure never said anything alike. She never cared anyway. I slowly but surely started to understand why Maria had hired my services at customers service. Not only to cope with the German part of the Matrix world but also to cope with the left wing of our island, called “Anissa”. Since Maria was no longer present and Anissa clearly used her permanent absence to strengthen her personal alliance with mr Dujournot till may be a plain f*cking level, I kinda waited to implement my knowledge on the matters described above. I still was in the “learning” phase of my stay at Matrix Systems. And boy, did I learn a lot those days! 

chapter 10 : the original Matrix sales techniques of mr Dujournot an his team

   Chapter 10 The original Matrix Sales techniques  of mr Dujournot chapter 10

 

Belgian newspaper Friday 30 December 2005

 

Quotation : “the German State Baden-Wuerttemberg is going to sharpen the rules for the foreign Muslims who want to become German citizens.  From 2006 onwards they have to pass through an oral exam about values and  moral standards. These values and moral standards are being deposited in a series of law articles of the official German constitution, the “FDGO (die Freiheitliche Demokratische Grundordnung). Since 2000 all new german citizens are obliged  to swear total faith to the FDGO.  The state of Baden Wuerttemberg fears that many Muslims are not serious when they take this oath. That is the reason why they have to perform an loyalty assessment, including a long conversation and an examination. The questions concerned are about “equality between man and woman”, "freedom of religion", "revenge out of honour",   and the 11 November attacks in the US

 

Now, this is exactly one point I want to make clear with these writings.

Without any connotation to any believe or religion or conviction, I only want to emphasize that it is totally wrong to close one’s eyes for the problems we encounter in our western society by not admitting that there are indeed serious problems of action, conduct, behaviour and attitude by immigrants coming from Northern African countries, even if we try to perform the utmost of our abilities to try to make them feel good in our society. There is nothing wrong with these discrepancies as such. Only we need to recognize those differences, those problems and try to deal with them, not ignore them! They indeed have other values, moral standards and explicit believes that do not match with our western culture. These are plain facts. Ignoring them is an act of cheer stupidity.

 

The only way to deal with the rude and inappropriate behaviour of Anissa on the phone, can only be explained by her different personal attitude towards individuals. When you personally use the word “hate” and “hatred” in every single sentence you fabricate, you can hardly detect any form of respect in the same sentences towards those to whom you produce these sentences to. Anissa was a rude and blunt, cold-hearted character, who thought that she could say it all, anytime at any place, the way she thought it to be. To any one. To any one who was not higher in rank than she was, that is. She was clever enough to understand that her behaviour was not applicable towards a higher in rank. It would do her no good, that she quite clearly understood from her own. When she talked to mr Dujournot, it seemed as if she had transformed into another creature. The way she suck up hiss ass was quite legendary but at the same time always embarrassing to see and hear. Only when she thought of you not to belong to this category of higher staff, you’d better beware of her poisoned words of insult and personal threatening attacks. You’d sure become a victim of her verbal devastating  violence , the only question to ask was : when would this happen? The occasion to which this could/would occur, could be anything. From the way the coffeepot was reset on the kitchen desk, to the lacking papers in the copier, to the pressure of unexpected workload: any reason was a good enough occasion for her to burst into a tirade of offensive, wounding words towards her fellow man.

 

When I heard her screaming through the office, my stomach always turned upside down and I got cold inside, feeling off-colour and utmost upset about this kind of behaviour, I never encountered in my entire life, not even in Morocco, during those days where I worked over there as a tour guide for German tourists.

It became clear to me that the verbal abusive manners of Anissa had some resemblances with the general attitude I encountered in Northern Africa.  The have a culture of  totally  “open debate” which means that they discuss about anything everywhere, mostly on the street at any time possible. Although I never ever encountered any personal problems during my stay for more than a year over there. At the contrary, I loved this extra-ordinary country and its inhabitants and they all treated me with respect and all regards possible. Later on I realized, naïve as I always am,  they were that courteous to me because every week again, and again for more than a year,  I brought a bunch (mostly over 40 ) of loaded German tourists along  with me who had the firm intention of spending some of their hard German Marks on carpets, brass souvenirs, leather outfits, perfumes and all possible stuff a fine Moroccan souk till this day offers to their visitors.    May be, I deserved some recognition by my Moroccan tour guides because I was adjusting myself to the standards of my host country and I did not try to intervene in their chaotically organised lives. I had a absolute great time, back then. By the way, if you should have the opportunity to visit the fine country of Morocco, you should absolutely do so. Do not leave the city of Marrakech out of your schedule, since this city is one of the most remarkable and beautiful cities of whole Northern Africa, situated at the bottom of the Atlas, an exquisite  chain of spectacular high mountains with an altitude of over 13.123,36 feet and always covered with snow. If you spot those snow covered mountains from a jeep, situated in plain desert, bathing  in a temperature of over 45°  degrees Celsius,  it even enhances the feel of the extraordinary position you are actually in.

 

Now, this is of course only one option. Only one point of view, only one way to understand all circumstances. I am just trying to comprehend why Anissa behaved as she did at Matrix Systems.

I am not telling you that the verbal abnormalities of Annissa were a direct result of her culture of origin, no, no,  this would be a direct insult to all Moroccan woman. The base of having an “open debate” could, however explain the speed with which Anissa jumped into her defensive but attacking approach with slaughtering verbal waste.

 

As I still an a weak-hearted person, I could not stand this up roaring attitude of Anissa and I felt flabbergasted. Every time again. Especially when she used the word "hate". Which she did all the time.

Besides her verbal violence, Anissa had some other tools she used to intimidate her “equals” or in her eyes possibly “minors” at the Matrix office.

You will find out about them as time passes by.

 

Can you imagine we are still in the year of 1999? Still five full years ahead of me. In this chapter I had the intention of telling you all about the remarkable sales methods used by those in charge of Matrix Systems Inc. Before I can do that, I do need to follow the chronological development of things. As Inez was kicked out as quick as she came in,  she needed to be replaced because it was unthinkable that customer service would be able to cope with its clients with one person less. That is why I came as an enforcement, at the first place. So she needed to be replaced at once. Even if Anissa had a very hard time with the sudden disappearance of her friend.

In such drastic situations, where people were fired and hired, mr Dujournot was around the office, of course. I did not say he was physically  in the office, no, he was around the office. In the mornings, not one of them he came in earlier as 10 o clock. Often it was almost noon. He phoned on his way to the office for his lunch sandwiches, which he ordered always late, so several phone calls had to correct the amount previously ordered for all Matrix staff.  Those sandwiches were paid for out of everyone’s own pocket, what do you think?  Nothing on the account of Matrix Systems. More than often we prepaid mr Dujournots sandwiches and had to insist on getting the money back from him because he tended to forget in his advantage.

The week following the resignation of Inez, mr Dujournot was present. In Belgium, that is. Do not ask me how he did it, but he managed to replace beautiful Inez by an even more beautiful species of the female breed. No one knew where he saw these girls, nor where he found them. They just appeared at the office. And so did Siglunde.

What a name for what a girl. She indeed was still a girl. 21 Years old, fresh from school. The beauty of the innocent. The purity of the unspoiled youth. She was tall, even taller than Inez ever has been. At least  72,83 in. Thin, short hair, lagune-blue eyes, extremely long fine shaped legs, no  table legs. What a catch! Congrats mr Dujournot, you did it again!

 

In no time Siglunde was able to make forget that Inez ever worked at the office. One could suspect Anissa of severe lesbian behaviour. The way she initially flirted with Siglunde was out of this world.

It made me feel uncomfortable, because I had to witness this grotesque interaction between two childlike women, searching for their mutual weaker spot to be touched. It all ended in a fight. Why? I do not know. Possibly because Anissa concluded  after days of deeper personal investigation that Siglunde could not really contribute to her private benefit and thus needed to be crushed by her spiteful words.

This beautiful but sad story however ended quicker than any one ever could have expected. Siglunde had been a model and was even now still trying to achieve a breakthrough in the world of fashion and catwalks.

Furthermore she had no endurance whatsoever to work with our computer system Navision. If you add the crummy way Anissa was training me before to the fact that Siglunde suffered a nervous brakedown and consequently  crashed every time she had to make an invoice, you could feel from here to Tokyo that she was not born for this kind of work. After only one week, Siglunde announced her departure from Matrix Systems, because she had found a better alternative. It was a governmental position, she found, where she had more time to focus on her modelling career, besides this computer programme did not seem to match to her anyway. Bye Bye  Siglunde. Lucky Siglunde.

Lucky Siglunde.

 

This was, of course another setback in the planning of mr Dujournot who saw his obligatory stay in Belgium being prolonged to unknown duration since his initial attempt to replace Inez failed almost instantly.

 

As bizarre and obscure he acted by the first attempt to replace Inez, the more open he seemed this time, since he asked us, at customer service (only Anissa and me left, actually) to participate in the search. He told us he had placed an announcement in the weekend edition of the most important Belgian newspapers of the upcoming weekend and he asked us to be in the office the whole of next week, when he would screen the first candidates. He’d send them over to us and then, we could ventilate our opinion on them. In reality he was fed up with this failure of his own endeavour and was now counting on us, so he could lay the responsibility on us when things would get wrong a second time. Two beautiful species of the female gender had left him in less than a week time and he clearly was not up to a third personal disappointment. Of course, Siglunde left the minute she pronounced her finding another job to mr Dujournot. Seldom seen someone leave the office that quick.

 I wonder what he actually said to her. Probably he had insulted her.

 

It was quite easy, actually, the choice we had to make. In what came bye that week, no one seemed appropriate, nor had the right credentials…  there was only one woman though, and she looked good, so….In fact , even if she might have been elder than the others, she was the better selection. It concerned an enthralling woman in her mid forties, with exquisite raven black long hair,  however an elderly type, still looking younger than her actual age though, with the general looks of a true Spanish gipsy, if dressed that way.

She was pretty small, had a appealing face, a positive attitude,  and she was divorced. This new piece of information was quite interesting for mr Dujounrot. Now he had finally  found someone who was in an absolute economical underdog position, who needed the job and its cash as bad as I did.

 She would not run as fast as the others did before!  Those stupid ignorant and for all ungrateful adolescents!  Besides her looks, she had to offer indeed the  right maturity combined with the necessary qualifications of a true customer care supportive person we were all looking for. We all agreed pretty fast on this female candidate. Her name was Veronique.

Veronique Claessens.

Welcome Veronique.

Welcome to the team.

 

Because she really did look at least as nice as both vanished youngsters, despite of her age, mr Dujournot enjoyed this late triumph of  human selection. When you are in your mid forties and you do look good, you do have  only one problem in life : you recognize that you have great looks and you abuse them. Veronique surely used hers to get what she wanted. I bet she immediately sensed the exuberant weakness of mr Dujournot for female splendour. He fell for her in less than one minute, that is certain. I could live with that, since Veronique not only brought her looks into the office, she seemed to be an intelligent creature as well.

She would truly be a authentic support on our island and make things work for the better. That I was sure of. For the first time since my arrival at Matrix systems, I had a feeling of gratitude and contentment. May be all would turn out the right way.

Just may be.

At that time, it seemed right and good. And I felt good. As did mr Dujournot. Between his legs.

Veronique spoke three languages in such a faultless way Anissa only could dream of and she had the intention of picking up a fourth one through evening classes. She was absolutely  fluent in Dutch, English, had a supreme French control over her Roman brain particles, and wanted to tackle the Italian idiom also. I had a slight inkling she used this multiple language control as a enticement for mr Dujournot since he, being a real Frenchman, did not master any other foreign language, beside the English one. Now, I do know that in general, all Frenchmen do not ever in their entire lives speak any other language but their own, surely not the English one, and this is an historically grown major fact you cannot refute. So the fact that our genuine Frenchman mr Dujournot spoke English, was at least that much of an achievement of higher international  linguistic intellect, that he made it to the position of “general manager” of Matrix Systems Inc.

 You can easily compare a Frenchman with the Germans for that matter. Neither do they speak any other language than their own strong German idiom. Wolfgang Hanssen, our German sales, did not only speak German, but handled the English as well as if it was his own invention. That is why he worked at matrix Systems Inc. He was one of the very few Germans who were able to combine two leading languages of this world in one brain.

 

Both French and Germans strongly believe that their own language is the only possible way to really make it in this hard international business world. They consequently deny the strength of any other language for that matter. Would you believe that, when we arrived at Sudan, one of the poorest northern African countries in the world, where I had to guide the overweight German cruise customers towards dirty open rebuild trucks with only bare benches to sit upon in the heat of about 53 ° noon temperature, they expected the locals to speak German? No kidding. Swear to God. Even if I do not believe in him.

 

Every time a cruise ship enters a foreign port, it is in most cases  welcomed by local dancers or other artistic local citizens to make the cruise participants feel welcome and at home. You can’t expect them to speak the language of every visiting cruise liner. No, you cannot. Only the Germans do so. Till today. Yes sir, indeed. This is no joke.

 

Where was I?

Right!

 

I was on the verge of telling you about the scheming way the Matrix Systems general manager acts to promote his sales activities. Due to the demanding occurrence of multiple events and frequent personnel alteration  during those early days of my presence at this utmost peculiar and questionable company , I will be forced to tell you about this next and again uncommon component of the European part of matrix Systems Inc. in the next chapter.

Chapter eleven : sales promotion techniques part 2 – second attempt

Chapter eleven : sales promotion techniques part 2 – second attempt

 

So we had our first part of shifting populace in those early days, together with some irregular events I had never occurred before in my professional life. Before continuing this charade of the uncommon, I will present you with a short abridgment, in order to keep track.

 

Directly form the start at matrix Systems, I was confronted with some very unusual creatures and their individual behaviour.

 

I was supposed to work as a customer service representative for the Eastern European market. My fellow mates were Anissa, responsible for the French and a few big international and even Belgian clients. Furthermore there was Inez, taking care of the Italians and some other international customers. The three of us were called : customer service. Inez was replaced by  Siglunde and Siglunde was replaced by Veronique.  They were all very exquisite woman. They all looked gorgeous, they were young and tempting. Only Veronique was slightly older but gained by this fact on maturity and dignity. However, Anissa‘s thin layer of alleged beauty diminished by each day I saw her because of her unbelievable rude attitude and foul mouth. She turned into a regular horrendous monster.

She did grow some black long hair on her back. (I saw this myself when she bended over once just before my eyes to pick something up from the floor) Maybe at night she turned into a werewolf and ate her own children.

 

As you already know, my partner in crime was our outdoor sales and marketing manager for the east European market mr Wolfang Hanssen. He was my direct mate in our daily battle of convincing the customers to choose Matrix Systems products. As mr Dujournot, he was always on the road. But, opposed to mr Dujournot, I always knew exactly  Wolfgang’s plans, whereabouts  or where in Europe he was about to perform one of his  very thriving sales talks. I needed to work close together with Wolfgang. We did this fine. We had exactly the same professional notion on customer care. This was sheer luxury. We both knew, without even talking about it, what our common customers needed to be satisfied. I never encountered, besides myself, any other person in my life with the same customer care drive than Wolfgang. Even mr Dujournot never ever showed, nor shared the same "customer care" interests as did Wolfgang and I. I guess a "general manager" has other "interests" and personal goals to aim for than "customer satisfaction." But our combination worked. We, Wolfgang and I,  were indeed a real team. Even if it only consisted out of two individuals performing separate, till complementary and harmonizing  tasks. This team realized amazing results. Which proves that real constructive “teamwork” leads to results. Positive results. It was a blessing working with Wolfgang. I never had to explain why I did some things as I did, to make our customers happy. He was able to see and comprehend the broader picture and the end result of why I performed my customer care tasks with such intensity and professional care. Those kind of people are rare on the market. But I have always had a splendid relationship with all my German contacts, as strange as this may sound. And even now, at matrix Systems, my successful German association that kept following me throughout my entire life, continued  with Wolfgang.

Partly because of Wolfgang  and the astounding sales results we both  as a team achieved, I stayed as long as almost six full years in this atypical company of which I have not even told you  a tenth of what is there to be told.

 

Rick Vijvers wasn’t really a guy of many words. Our in-house technical support engineer did not waste time nor energy in the art of speaking.

You remember Rick, don’t you? He appeared shortly in chapter two where Maria introduced him to me. Rick Vijvers’ energy went straight into his fondling with small boats. Miniature boats. He liked to play with in his free time. At the office he was not really part of the team. Actually he wasn’t part of anything, sitting at his smoky desk behind tons of professional literature about our assorted systems.  He, the only one who smoked at the office, although it was already forbidden by law, smoked if he’d be glad to have lung cancer the next morning. He was a very bitter man. He looked bland and extremely malcontent (which he was, by the way). All the time. He had been with the company for many years now and was the elder one at the office.

I did not know why he was that astringent. He did not tell us. He did not help us either.  He just took care of his own small telephone business. He smoked and phoned all day long. It was clear that he was being avoided by the others. No one dared to interrupt his smoking nor telephone habits, even if it were problems concerning his intervention.

He was so harsh  and inconsiderate to any one of his office mates, that he was being neglected for the better. No one knew the exact reason of this behaviour. I did not like Rick at all. He did not seem to care for anything at all, at the office that is. Probably he went to bed with his small boats and fucked all openings they presented to him, but at the Matrix office he displayed such a tremendous  aura of utter indifference that it begrudged me.   He wasn’t best mates with mr Dujournot either.

It was clear they could not stand each others guts. They hated one another profoundly. At the beginning, I just was able to take note of this peculiar relationship and office attitude of again another member of this extraordinary Matrix team, because I did not know anything about their context, nor any other surrounding variables for that matter.  It is so wrong to use the word “team” here. I better use the word” bunch of tortured individuals”.

Only later it became very obvious to me that Rick Vijvers, being the elder Matrix employee, had become totally frustrated over the way things evolved at this peculiar company and the role he was supposed to play in this part. He had become a strong opponent of mr Dujournot, because he had known him for four years already and knew definitely more than any one else in the office about his devious whereabouts. He knew the truth about mr Dujournot. That is for sure. And, judged by his repulsive behaviour, it did not seem to be a fine truth to know. No sir. Only, I did not know anything, back then, in the year 1999. I just had soo many weird things to observe and register. So I favoured the man who hired and fed me, mr Dujournot.  And I tried to avoid Rick Vijvers as much as I possibly could, as all the others did. On the occasion where mr Dujournot was at the Belgian office, they never spoke to one another. They avoided each other the same way as we all tried to evade Rick, performing our daily tasks. We did not have to avoid Rick for a long time, though.

Rick Vijvers was the next in line to leave Matrix Systems, still back in the year 1999. Rick took the honour and he resigned himself. Only days before his resignation, Rick had been very furious towards mr Dujournot, even if he wasn’t in the office. Mr Dujournot had gone on one of his European mystery tours.

Nevertheless, he wanted to leave a message to all of us at the office. Sales weren’t that good at the time. We hardly achieved about 15 million Belgian franks those days. (only in the year 2002 they were replaced by the Euro) Each month.

He had put an office chair on the central table in our office and pinned a paper sign on the back of the chair, saying : “if you all try harder, you will be able to raise our sales and we will achieve the 20 million franks a month.”

Now, if you should try to avoid one thing, than you better avoid pissing off Rick Vijvers. When he came in that Monday morning and saw the sign by mr Dujournot, he went totally berserk. He started to fulminate in the open and by those aggravated sentences I learned some more about the reasons of disappointment and frustration Rick had encountered during all those bygone Matrix years.

According to Rick, it was the responsibility of mr Dujournot to rise sales. He wasn’t only the general manager of Matrix Belgium, but also the sole accountable sales manager for a superior part of Europe. For the French region mr Dujournot had hired three supplementary sales managers, the same time he hired Wolfgang Hanssen. Only, they did not have the same internal  power, nor responsibility in the Matrix power scheme, as Wolfgang had. Wolfgang had obtained “total freedom” in his attempt to conquer the eastern European market. The French threesome only had to re-conquer all lost sales of an existing French market. This was a huge difference of accountability.

To Rick Vijvers it was all very clear : mr Dujournot and his French threesome together with mr Wolfgang Hanssen, were the sole persons within Matrix Belgium accountable for the sales. Not the people at the office. Even if I did not dare to speak at the time, I could not but agree on this elementary vision. Of course Rick was right. What was mr Dujournot thinking when he put up this sign?  Did he forget about his own task as sales manager? Or, was he not able to combine those two titles at the same time? Where was he anyway? Did any one know? No. No one knew where he was.

Abroad. This we had to say to any one who would ask about the location of mr Dujournot. No details, just “abroad” . That’s it.

How on earth could we raise sales?

 There are ways. Not obvious ones, but there are.

Rick had a point where he concluded that this sign of mr Dujournot was nothing less than solid criticism about the working of the office employees. He clearly said : “if you try harder….” Which meant that he thought we did not try hard enough…we could do more…. I did not really consider this message as a message to me personally, since I just started here. I just couldn’t be more amused by all the reactions these few written words on a note by the boss had evoked by those who thought to be involved in the matter of lesser or more work. Rick Vijvers was one of them.  Rick Vijvers clearly thought he was about personally attacked and fully hit by this public placed comment of mr Dujournot.

In his openly displayed verbal defence Rick counterattacked  mr Dujournots way of mystery travelling, his frequent office absence and the crummy  way he represented his task as sales manager. According to Rick mr Dujournot  never ever visited his clients, he even neglected them very defectively. Rick felt that mr Dujournot was ventilating his own personal sales deficiency on the back of the office workers. He did not deliver any proof of what he said, but you could sense that there was a serious foundation of truth in the things Rick revealed about mr Dujournot. He knew him the longest of us all. That was a fact. Rick was soo frustrated about this remark on the chair on the table that it made him sick and he resigned the next day. Next morning there was no longer Rick Vijvers. Only his letter came by mail.

I wasn’t really feeling sorry for Rick, in fact, I kinda felt quite relieved about his departure since Rick had been a very negative person. He carried a lot of negative vibes around him. He even spread those vibes constantly. The same way as he had been spreading his smoke all those years. Now for once, my clothes would no longer  smell like ten overfilled ashtrays which consequently turned my home into the stinking odour of some vulgar misty pub, every evening again. Rick had left the Matrix team. For good. Rick Vijvers had left a team that never ever even was one at the first place. Nevertheless I was always looking in those beginning days for elements that could indicate the presence of a decent Matrix team. I did not find any.

And now Rick was gone. Hurray!

To me it was as if an obstacle had taken care of itself. The daily smoking obstruction had finally exterminated itself.  And I was happy for that.

Thanks mr Dujournot, your words do have impact.

chapter 12 : momentum of reflection

Maria, Inez, Rick and Siglunde. They all had one thing in common. They left in the first weeks after my arrival at Matrix Systems Inc. Do you think the unexpected exodus stopped after Rick had left the building? No sir!

More were to go. What I did not even know at that time, was that Inez and Anissa were pretty new to begin with at the matrix office and that they had also been replacing others, only moments before my arrival. I do not even remember their names, because I never got to know them at the first place. So it seemed that mr Dujournot was swapping teams in Belgium. Tabula rasa.  His relentless  cleaning operation.  His customer service team was completely renewed  in comparison to some months earlier. Now on top of that, Rick was gone too. Our engineer, who hated to be called “technical support” by our customers, but in fact was, had started another life. Another setback for mr Dujournot.

Every time a person left Matrix Systems, mr Dujournot was obliged to return to the Belgian office from what ever he was doing somewhere in outer Europe. He did not like that. He was consequently very pissed about it and you could tell on his face, mornings where he stumbled into the office with  features of a drunken old bastard. He always behaved gentlemanlike, but had the tormented facial expression he could not hide and attitude of a delirious alcoholic. He did not even invest much in efforts to keep up the appearances. One day his alcohol abuse, mostly black labelled whiskeys he consumed on behalf of the company,   became that worse that he got the typical limping disease, where one of both legs isn’t really cooperative any more to brain instructions. So he limped a lot. Mr Dujournot limped practically always I saw him. He had become an all time shuffler. All those six years. Sometimes it was a bit better, but the next morning, he crawled into the office again, thinking he had gotten away with it, underestimating the power the golden 12 year old Scottish booze. He did not drink during the day. Normally he did not. He had a bar in his airco office. Because he usually came out of his bed only when the day had already passed half of its time, he had intentionally reduced his alcohol free daily period to the least possible. Whenever some clients appeared at the office on one of his prearranged dates, they habitually started their encounters with sharing a bottle of wine or half filled crystal glasses of whiskey, the bottle icily stored in his pesonal office fridge. Then they prolonged the obnoxious alcohol intake at the nearest restaurant, crudely chosen to shun drunk driving as much as possible, where they loudly discussed business matters of the highest importance  consuming their accustomed three course business meal, accompanied with the necessary and obligatory highly intoxicating drinks. “Pousse cafés” were never denied nor left out of this managerial performance of the highest finesse.

The rare times mr Dujournot was physically at the Belgian office, he always seemed to have arranged a special “rendez-vous”, a gathering  with one of his better clients. Mostly they were always the same guys. Mr Dujournot had an intense relationship with only a very few of his clients. He had hundreds of them, really, nicely scattered around Europe, to rectify his intense travelling, but only saw a handful of them. In Belgium. Normally we, at the office, would have thought that mr Dujournot was on the road to visit them, at their home country, in their offices. But he did not do so. He frequently invited his friend/clients to come over to Belgium. Their Belgian encounters were always so forceful that, in fact, it always seemed to be a true  friendship that had to be sealed by both parties with a state of total drunkenness.

Customer care of the deepest concentration,  till the booze knocks us out. Some of those clients came all the way from their country to join mr Dujournot on his excessive booze trip. Of course he did not pay for these customer care enticements out of his own pocket. Every company with any respect for his internal high levelled functioning had separate funds for those kinds of customer care special treats. The monthly expense notes that mr Dujournot presented the mother company were thus quite opulent and every time a clear multiple number of my salary. How did I know all that?  Did I have to sneak around to get this kind of information? No Sir! There were no secrets  whatsoever at this bizarre office. Annissa made sure that even the most secret accountable details were fully exposed on any possible occasion. Sometimes, more than once,  even the salary note of mr Dujournot was left unattended on the copier for several hours so anyone could see how fervent the US responsible of Matrix Inc USA were remunerating our little chef.  Probably they were  very happy with is achievements at this side of the ocean. Otherwise they would not pay him that kind of money. The Americans are known for their extreme high managerial wages. But to see this, with your own eyes, printed black on white, makes one miserable for a second, as my salary was only a infinitesimal fraction of the amount mr Dujournot was entitled to each month. It made me feel small and insignificant. Judged by his huge  salary, mr Dujounrot must  have been a wonder boy of some kind, one of a kind. I only wondered why so many people had left the office. Some thing was not right here. Some things were to be considered even wrong. Very wrong indeed. But who am I? Deducted from the  height of my salary, not a real big shot! Not someone who would consider his career uplifting or on rising as a shooting star.  I guess if there were not to exist a minimum scale for remuneration in the automotive industry, mr Dujounrot certainly would have dared to pay me even less.

But, at the time being, I did not complain. I was even happy, yes, happy indeed I was,  that I even had a salary. That’s who I am. Modest that it hurts myself. I must admit that was and I am not very good at negotiating salaries. I am too shy for that. I should have stood up more for myself. But I cannot. I could not.

Of course you cannot compare the amount of responsibility of our general manager with the impact of a trivial customer care department. It all has its price. I know that. I am not that stupid. Still, it is kind of rude and personally insulting to see those slamming differences. A normal, well functioning mind cannot ever defend the astronomical discrepancies between both salaries. Furthermore did I not have a free card, nor a blanc check  for all my expenses. I had to pay them from my earnings. And when I saw how mr Dujournot in fact was spending his unlimited company expense amount, I was reassured that you indeed had to posses unique hideaway managerial qualities I indeed was not able to  detect on mr Dujournrot, not the way he behaved. This was not a one-time achievement of mr Dujournot. His regular intense customer care boozing dinners were legendary.

I only tried to figure out how mr Dujournot possibly could have convinced the US hot shots about this unlimited expense thing.

He surely had sold himself and the overall impression of his executive capacities matching the highest thinkable limits, towards the US mother company.

Maybe I had missed something until now. Maybe I did not see things as they were presenting themselves before my very eyes, those fist weeks , back in the year 1999. Maybe he had saved Matrix Systems. Maybe he really was a super managing director. Or was it “general Manager”? Or “sales manager”?  Or “Booze and liquor manager”?

 

Annissa, the poor child, had no idea, not a single clue what she had done by leaving the salary note  of mr Dujournot behind on the copier for every one to see. Let me put it even worse, but true as it was: she did not give a sh*t. She could not care less. But I am running ahead again.

Stall. Recapitulate. Organize. Chronolize.

 

 

 

 

chapter 13 : "Next, please!"

Chapter 13   : Next, please!

Who do you think was the next one to leave Matrix Systems Inc?

Because it did not stop with Rick Vijvers, as I told you before.

 

Tanja hadn’t felt well since Maria had left the Matrix family.

Ugly Tanja leading as a sole employer  our account department, considered herself quite lost and alone, since Maria left.  Tanja had been best mates with Maria.  Since Maria was the previous office manager, it seemed very clearly that Tanja used her as a back up for all her accountable decisions to be made. Tanja could not function alone. She could not make any decisions from her own. She needed this feedback from a superior as her oxygen to breathe. To be reassured that everything would be ok. Tanja was quite uncertain. With those looks of her, any one would feel uncertain.  Tanja was now one of the elder almost totally vanished team. Now Rick was gone too. Tanja was the only one to keep the fortress standing. But she felt she could not do so. Tanja felt abandoned.  She kept on wining about this all the time. We, the  new crew however, were kind of happy that there was no supervisor around the house. We all had our little private reasons. Because of my past and my experience I did not really need someone to hold my hand performing my job. It was for me a new challenge to  hit with Wolfgang those new markets. I had a very specific goal set in those beginning days. I had my own private motivation and my own reasons of how to tackle this new assessment. I did not need a nany to guide me. I new exactly what I was doing, where I was heading at. Obviously Tanja did not. Not any longer.

 

Tanja wasn’t best mates with mr Dujournot. She never was. She never had been. Her  profound repulsiveness  was the main reason for this hamper in their relationship. Mr Dujournot adored beautiful women. His dick did too. But sometimes he had to choose for brain content instead of breast content and a pretty face. As they say: real beauty is to be found inside. With Tanja this beauty must have been hiding very, very deep inside, indeed, considering her thick layers of ugliness at the outside.

I for one thing and for sure, never found any evidence of beauty on Tanja.

Furthermore, Tanja had a very peculiar  private lifestyle, she kept us telling about at the office. It was so unbelievable that it had to be true.

Tanja talked a lot. Not about work, she never talked about work towards us, the newbees,  she kept all her accountable stuff strictly for her own as some kind of treasure she sat upon. Now, some elements and figures and data need to be kept and treated confidentially, so  I wasn’t feeling unhappy with her reluctant behaviour to keep her work as secret as she did. What I did not knew, I did not have to consider neither. But Tanja had a gossip nature. She could not resist telling us all kind of stories about the company, about mr Dujournot, since he was never there. He was an easy target. The fact that they both did not match up as real friends, enhanced the urge to gossip even more about mr Dujournot, his past and his whereabouts.

She told us about the painful divorce of mr Dujournot, about his shabby hotel choice, about his deceased son who threw himself in a French river and drowned, about the fact that mr Dujournot never ever talked about this sad fact, never talked about his personal life in general, about a big rent less loan mr Dujournot would have gotten from Matrix USA to help him overcome his divorcing difficulties, about his crappy attitude  towards the Matrix employees…she did not leave an occasion unused to smother mr Dujournots reputation.

 Till the day of today I do not even know if all the stories she told were ever true. About the loan, his drowned son, I never ever got any confirmation that these stories actually were reflections of real life or just wisely chosen elements to deliberately damage mr Dujournots standing.

 

The anecdotes Tanja told us about her personal life, were not exactly of such impact that they would have enriched her personal status. She told us about her beloved husband, some grouchy bear type of guy, who liked to dress up like a real baby with real diapers and all, and that they both went to certain “meetings” where they met similar couples with the same spooky but in her eyes fascinating mental deviations. There they pampered and comforted the as baby dressed grown ups, as they really attentively and loudly cried like authentic babies do, till they get what they want. The bear knocked her up and because she was pregnant, they did not attend those meetings any longer.  I could not help it to consider all this quite sickening.

Kind of creepy, at least “weird”, don’t you think? I know that in this world there exist all kinds of people, but it seemed that they had gathered all together at Matrix Systems. What on earth was I doing here in the midst of these peculiar abnormalities?  So the next one to go was Tanja.

All of a sudden, her pregnant tummy sticking fiercely in front of her, she triumphantly announced her departure. So we would not be able to see what eventually was coming out of her blown up belly, were we? I was happy for that. I did not want to know what kind of creature was to be born out of the seeds of a diapered bear and the womb of  a female humanized Dumbo. Tanja did not leave us at once. Because she was in charge of the whole account department, she could not. She needed time to sort things out. She needed a successor to take over all the files. Rick Vijvers had just left his files on his desk, unattended, because there  was no successor, yet. Technical advice did not seem that kind of priority to mr Dujournot. The account department however needed continuity.

Now, as I previously told you about the phone fighting of Anissa, this wasn’t really the way to handle things. Everyone knew that, every body at the office saw and understood this, but Anissa herself. As a direct result of her exaggerated theatrical performances on the phone, the transport company “Smeulders” did no longer want to perform the deliveries to France. So we had a serious problem. Mr Dujournot had to be informed about this. He had to accept the rates of a more expensive transport company, since no one was cheaper than “Smeulders”. We had expected that he would be quite upset about this change, but, at the contrary, he reacted utmost calm and even compassionate towards Anissa, who had been having very hard times with this unreliable company lately. The poor child. He reacted as a lover boy who would do anything to protect his beloved one. It was at least an apparent indication that something was going on here, between the two love birds. Moreover,  it was as clear as a cup of fine orange blossom Sri Lankan finest tea to all of us that Anissa lacked every form of possible natural sagacity -“Fingerspizengefuehl” - for the sacred  art of comforting a customer. 

I have no idea who came to the initiative of transferring Anissa to the account department, but, in relation to the actual state of emergency at that time, this seemed a reasonable internal solution for all protagonists involved. Anissa could have been fired, I totally agree on that one,  for consistently demonstrating her observable ineptitude on her present job as customer non-care representative, but since we all  knew that between the reigning dwarf and Anissa something beautiful was emerging, this option quickly was erased as non applicable. In fact, this never even has been an option. Anissa even thought that she was handling things as they should have been handled and that she had obtained some kind of “promotion”.  Which was partly true indeed.

I had no idea whatsoever that with this move, all trouble and misery to come had found its fundamental grounds to grow upon.

Anissa was happy. Not even one year at Matrix Systems and she got a hold on some essential career move. A specific accountable education Anissa never had. In school she had learned the absolute basic knowledge between debit and credit and about how to compose an invoice. She never had been aware of the implications, nor essential values of a credit note. But mr Dujournot saw no problem, he believed in some capacities of Anissa. I am even now not sure which capacities he ment. I think she swallowed. Must be.

It was the hard but enforced ultimate task of pregnant Tanja to instruct Anissa and lead her into the secrets of modern accountability. The three months to come were very hard. Both for Tanja as for Anissa as well. Many times Anissa left her desk with tears of pure rage in her eyes and went outside the office, slamming each door behind her. After ten minutes wining and screaming she re-entered and went on, together with an almost desperate Tanja to master the undisclosed matters of her department. Although Tanja had  major reservations about the appropriate competences of Anissa, since she lacked the matching education, not once the newly acquainted position of Anissa had been questioned by mr Dujournot. At the contrary, he believed that she would be doing "real fine".

For some devious reason Tanja did not want to inform mr Dujournot about her struggle to educate and inform Anissa of all due accountable tasks.

I think it was part of her “revenge” scheme, to use this way as a manner to get even with mr Dujournot who had been a real pain in the ass towards Tanja all those years.

So everything seemed ok. At first sight. When mr Dujournot was around in the office.

Then Anissa behaved and she played the perfect student. As soon as he turned his back and went on one of his mystery tours, she changed into this unrecognizable creature with her beautiful dark eyes filled with hatred and her mouth full of spiteful language. Especially when she had to do something, it seemed hard for her to accept the orders given by Tanja who could not care less about the way Anissa refused to learn all essentials.

Now Anissa was careless and lazy and this is an understatement of the century. She grumbled and shouted and swore and cursed every time she actually had to be doing something in concrete.  As long as Tanja was still in the house, it was Tanja who did the job. All of it. The moment Tanja asked her to participate or asked her on helping her, this charade of the furious untamed Amazon emerged out of the blue. Tanja longed for her departure.

She was fed up with Anissa. 

Poor mr Dujournot. He did solve the exit of Tanja quite elegantly but now he had to look for replacement not only for Rick Vijvers, but, again, for another customer care representative since Anissa had left our island.

So many changes, so many exits.

For one reason or another mr Dujournot did not seem happy with the way we were treated by our handling agent, the owner of the gigantic shoe box store room where we rented our offices. During her time as customer care representative, Anissa had arranged verbal fights with about every possible human creature that came in contact with her. She even had a terrible fight (one of her many fights) with the general manager of MIXO, our handling agent.

She accused him of being a racist. Anissa often accused people of being a racist. It is some defend mechanism she uses. Against any remark she gets, from whomever it may be. Because Anissa did not seem afraid  of anything. Of any one.  Could it be because she swallowed? The real reasons behind some questionable incidents are often the simplest ones. 

Of course did the general manager of MIXO not accept this kind of behaviour of Anissa and wanted to talk to mr Dujournot about this.

Again mr Dujournot protected Anissa on this occasion so fierce, that he concluded that whatever MIXO did for us, we even could do better on our own. We would be starting our own warehouse and dispatching centre. He said these things in the heat of the discussion. We would show them how things were done around here! Bloody racist!

Besides swallowing, Anissa must have been presenting each opening of her body to mr Dujournot, free to use, the unlimited edition.

So, suddely, out of the blue, we were to be heading towards a whole new future with Matrix Systems, running our own warehouse and stuff.

How did mr Dujournot saw this to be happening? Right, by hiring some more people. Since he was suffering already an office indigestion, by looking for replacement for Rick and Anissa, he could, at the same time look for the right individuals to orchestrate the final move towards total independency.

Before that, we were not only dependable from the transport companies who brought our goods to the customers, but we were also dependable on the service MIXO offered us in handling and storing our incoming and outgoing Matrix Systems goods. It was obvious that mr Dujournot really was not that eager to actually perform or do things by himself. He liked to delegate. Everything. They say that the best general manager is surrounded by excellent people. May be mr Dujournot was an excellent manager. Time would tell us all.

 

Both Anissa and mr Dujournot had the same basic attitude towards real work : avoid it as much as you can.

So mr Dujournot announced the vacancy  of a new office manager. His primordial task was to fully orchestrate our sudden move towards independency. He, the poor bastard, was being held responsible for about everything to happen in the near future. He had to look for a new warehouse, for fresh warehouse people, for new, or even better, used warehouse trucks, for the cheapest warehouse installations, for second hand pickup trucks, for third hand picking machines, for a “liaison responsible”  between warehouse and office, for new offices (since we would leave MIXO which meant we would loose our present offices as well which we rented from them).

I had no idea who this person was going to be, no one did, actually, as all conclusions in this matter ware taken so unexpectedly, immediately after Anissa’s verbal fight with the MIXO chief; but one thing I knew for sure : I already felt a tremendous compassion for this man or woman who wasn’t even there but who had to carry all responsibility towards the near future of Matrix Systems Inc.

chapter 14 : Introducing Tessy Jolane and Malvine Jumpers

Chapter 14 : Tessy  Jolane and Malvine Jumpers

I am sure mr Dujournot wasn’t really aware of the major problems he was bringing us all into. You can say things in the heat of a fight but afterwards you can correct them. Or deny them. Or ignore them. Not mr Dujournot. His argument with the chief of MIXO had turned into a regular clash of the titans and not one of both  participants would ever take back even a syllable of what had been said to one another. This was managerial honour we were talking about. I guess this meant “doggy style” tonight for Anissa. At least her honour was saved.

I had just accepted my job at Matrix Systems, partly on location grounds, since the office was only a quarter mile from home, so during summer I could easily go to work with my bike. Goodbye bike.

Anissa had some good news. Good news for mr Dujournot.  Her girlfriend was eagerly  looking for a job and she thought that “customer care” was something that corresponded  perfectly with her. I just wondered how a person like Anissa, who had no clue at all what real customer care really is all about, could be able to judge upon the capacities of another person, whether it might be her girlfriend or not. But strangely enough mr Dujournot immediately agreed upon  this constructive proposal of Anissa and he instantaneously wanted to meet  this girl, especially when he got to know her age. Anissa was as clever as to bring a picture of her as well.

Malvine Jumpers was a very beautiful creature. This, mr Dujournot had noticed at once, the moment he had laid eyes on the picture Anissa had shown to him. Anissa was quite eager to get Malvine into the Matrix team.

This way she would be able to enforce her position. About the real capacities of Malvine Jumpers nothing much was being said.  She  was invited into the office of mr Dujournot without any delay and 10 minutes later her contract had been signed. Malvine Jumpers was not a born Belgian lady. About 10 years ago her family came to Belgium, probably running away from their political instable country of former Moldavia. Only a few years ago she definitely choose  for the Belgian nationality. Welcome Malvine Jumpers! Each country who is able to add such kind of extraordinary pair of hooters to their patrimonial, should be very happy indeed. Just kidding! But, as you could detect from the speed of contract signing, Malvine was indeed an extremely beautiful sampling of the human race. She had a supreme pair of exquisite thick lips and a pair of fantastic titties  you only see in the movies. I think Anissa had presented  herself with some strong  competition.

In any case, mr Dujournot had done it again, now with help from his most faithful companion, Anissa Hamsa. He had replaced worlds ugliest woman by a variety  of the best kind. At this point he almost started slobbering, thinking of the potential he had left, replacing Rick and searching for the liaison employee yet to come! I bet he had come to the point where he dreamed of a whole team of mannequin like women, all willing an eager to just fulfilling his personal needs and desires. He even forgot about the office manager, may be this could be a woman too. Maria had been a women with equal function. Only she possessed more male hormones than an average body builder. And this was something mr Dujournot did not like. He was right about this. Who would like such kind of overdeveloped female that brings you but fear? Who would not function any better in a place filled with exquisite breasts all around you? You could call it “breastville” if you wanted too. The only thing that could happen with an office filled with Malvine like characters, was that mr Dujournot would not go on tour again. He would gladly stay amidst the breasts he had chosen himself to permanently surround him.  

Only, Anissa lacked those breasts. She only had an undersized handful of those, twice. But therefore she had some hips, a horse could ride upon. J.LO could have learned from the hips of Anissa.

I really hoped some intellectual qualities were attracted too into this office besides the glamour and pleasure of having daily eye contact with  fine bodily curves, dressed with outstanding nipples of the premium sort.

Only, replacing Rick just was not that easy. An engineering trained brain mostly does not fit in the head of a corps where exquisite physical  advantages are to be found in both upper and lower bodily regions.

Thus, It took some time to find replacement for Rick.

At the same time, mr Dujournot had to search for this liaison manager who would be the direct contact person between our office and our new warehouse. Up till now MIXO delivered those services, but as you all well know, mr Dujournot was not quite happy any more with the service they provided.

Tessy Jolane presented herself. She had been working at MIXO’s for six months now and her contract was, after this probation period, not to be continued for one reason or another. Since rumours travel quickly and follow mysterious ways, Tessy had heard about the managerial fight and the sudden outcome of our abrupt and quite unexpected company departure.

So there she stood, shy and quite wordless at the office door, behind the counter, a bit the same as I must have been standing there, now some weeks before. Tessy was not the skinny type of female. She had consequently appropriate fine hooters. She was legally blond and had a pretty and open face with sparkling eyes. She smiled. I knew at first sight that she would not have a hard time at the office of mr Dujournot. His big booby troopers were to be reinforced by another fine species. I was right. Tessy got the job. Easily. Immediately. My God, mr Dujournot had become quite predictable, had he not?.

Tessy was also very young, about the same age as Malvine and Anissa. After some weeks I found out that the three of them had been in the same educational classes and knew each other from school, before working at Matrix Systems.

But there were some fundamental differences between those three. As Anissa had introduced Malvine, they were really close friends. Something told me in every move, every word Anissa spoke, after Tessy had presented herself, that this kind of friendship was not present between Anissa and Tessy. They knew each other and that was about it.  Anissa had not introduced Tessy at Matrix systems. If she were to be real friends with Tessy, she probably would have done so.

But opposite to the despicable personality discrepancies of Anissa, Tessy appeared to be a really sweet girl.  Her open face told me more than a thousand words. She had her heart at the right place and at the top of her tongue. She said it as it was. She spoke as she thought it should have been said.  Sometimes this led to quite vivid conversations, but never there was any animosity in those words of her. She wanted to learn. She really wanted to be part of the Matrix team. She did not realize at first  that there was no real Matrix team. But she learned quite quickly. And she understood that a team was missing at Matrix Systems. Therefore the presence and visual weight of Anissa was too prominent in sight. It seemed, as if she had been crowned “queen of the proms”.  She behaved as if she owned the place. If he, mr Dujournot wasn’t in. This could only be the obvious result of the close intimate, probably  deep sexual relationship she cherished with mr Dujournot, our dwarf in command.  She acted as if nothing could harm her. She seemed untouchable. Maybe the small brain content she clearly possessed in combination with the recent unexpected promotion to the account department could have made her fly like an eagle. She at least had the same deadly sharpness of the eagles claws and jaws, whenever she opened her mouth. Unless mr Dujournot had filled it with his rocking standing and throbbing dick, ready  to leave his next load of sticky cum behind. Then she had to swallow. I bet this was the only thing Anissa ever swallowed.

As reluctant Anissa was to learn on the content of her new position (which drove Tanja insane by the way, as she was terrified that this new knowledge would probably lead to actual work) so enthusiastic  and keen Tessy proved herself to be in preparing herself to be the first new Matrix Systems Warehouse manager. Welcome Tessy!

And we did not even have our new office manager.

I wasn’t very keen on the fact that mr Dujournrot insisted on having a new office manager, since the office worked fine without Maria.

I could do without. I was big enough, I was mature enough.

Only, with this new challenge ahead, mr Dujounrot was probably right to go and look for a poor innocent creature to be victimized and to be blamed for  all the things that could go possibly wrong in what was about to take place the coming months, our final office move towards total freedom.

The abhorrence of Anissa towards any kind of intellectual of physical effort was beyond possible measurement. Tanja was about to found out due to her daily training sessions where Anissa needed to take over the account department. She had been by far the laziest person I had ever encountered on this planet. In order to maintain such deviant human quality, one needs sometimes to follow mysterious ways and act peculiarly.  It drove Tanja insane.

Tessy, however,  was about everything Anissa was not. And vice versa.

Tessy was eager to learn on her new career and did everything to make things really work. Anissa only had been obstructive until now against any one who came across her. Even Tanja, who had the only intention of passing on her specified knowledge so she could quit the office asap.

One day in the past,  Tanja, who was the main supplier of all possible gossip, had found some discrepancies and irregularities on the expense report of mr Dujournot. In stead of discussing this with the man himself, Tanja fount it to be more appropriate to inform directly her contacts in the US about this. She made up an irregularity report (against her own boss) which was sent to the responsible at Matrix USA but which came back as quick as it had gotten over the ocean. They just had reversed the report to mr Dujournot, to take care of his personal office and staff problems. So Tanja knew from that moment on where she stood in the Matrix world:  exactly,  nowhere. You can imagine that the relationship between those two never had been worse from that point in time onwards. Her unattractiveness just was a confirmation for mr Dujoujrnot to keep the right remoteness  from her. Her proven total unreliability towards him was additionally a verification and certitude that he needed some new dependable blood in this section of Matrix Belgium. Anissa fitted splendidly in this new future office picture of him.

 

At the beginning, we still counted on the services of MIXO, so Tessy just marvellously helped us out at customer service and really added some sunshine into the office variables. Only after our move to total independency, Tessy would be able to execute her new task as liaison manager. In the mean time she perfectly learned how our new office worked. But we still needed an office manager and some handful of warehouse handling people too. Even our new engineer was yet to be installed. As this was the task of mr Dujounrot, it took ages to replace our engineer.  The introduction of Malvine into the Matrix office by Anissa was a well-considered premeditated move.  Of course Anissa knew that the overall East European attractiveness of Malvine, would help her in acquainting the job at the first place, she had other more personal intentions with the installation of Malvine within the Matrix ensemble.  Driven by her sickening languor, Anissa had prearranged the content of Malvine’s initial workload, long before we, at customer care, even could intervene.  Of course Anissa stood much closer to mr Dujournot then the rest of us and, to be honest, I had no urge, nor aspiration to obtain the same grade of intimacy with our little chief as Anissa had.  Although Malvine initially came on board as to replace Anissa at customer care, Anissa had made pre arrangements with mr Dujournot that Malvine would be part time working for the account department as well. The moment Tanja had left, (those were the longest three months Tanja had ever need to live trough in her entire life), Anissa would receive daily support from Malvine. There was no discussion about that. It was for the best. As it concerned real workload, Anissa could step into overacting as if she was to win an Oscar as “life achievement award”. For one way or another mr Dujournot always believed the things Anissa said, even if it was so noticeable that she had plainly lied or forcefully exaggerated.

And Anissa did lie a lot. Honesty was not one of her real virtues. The truth only really mattered as it could contribute to her personal benefit. I am sure that mr Dujournot was aware of that. He wasn’t a retard. But for some conspicuous reason he did not seem to care. From what I had seen from Anissa, the way she embraced treachery and lies those few weeks, in stealing working hours for instance, no way I would ever have installed her as a responsible for the account department. Still mr Dujournot did not see any problems. “On your knees.”, Anissa! Or : “Knees behind your ears”, Anissa!

Malvine was very loyal to Anissa too. They had known each other for many years, it seamed. They were best mates at school. Probably Anissa would have told her all about Matrix, mr Dujournot, his uncontrollable weakness for the female splendour and her sudden but right-on-time promotion to the account department… Malvine kind of looked up against Anissa. Maybe because she had overstated a bit. Just a bit. Or maybe because all stories were but just true. As reality often beats the wildest fantasy.  She did every thing Anissa told her to do. Or asked her to do. Or commanded her to do.

The cheap, obvious trick to gain working hours by entering late into the and leaving early, Malvine just took over from Anissa.

The moment Veronique had come on board, I took the initiative to secure our office hours towards our customers. As mr Dujournot had clearly stated he wanted to office open from 08.00hrss till 18.00 hrs, “no matter hwo you  do it…”, I clearly saw this as an indication that he did not want go get involved in such trivial office details.  He just  left it up to us, his highly qualified and motivated employees. We made up a real fixed arrangement for Anissa, Veronique, Malvine and myself. It was just easily based upon rotation so we would be open at eight and closed not before 18.00 Hrs.

The system was apparent and very simple  :  one week you started at eight and you left at five, the other week you started at nine and closed at six. That was it. Anissa did not say much about my plan to get some discipline and correctness in our mutual daily office presence manners. In fact, she did not follow this rule I made at all, which led to the simple conclusion that the only ones who really took responsibility towards Matrix Systems Inc and its customers were Veronique and myself. Both Anissa and Malvinde always said that they would act according the set scheme, but never did. Both Veronique as myself found out that every time indeed, when they had to open the office at eight, they just did not do so. They always arrived about eight thirty-five or even later. They said” that they had been in the office at eight, although this was a plain and apparent lie. But since they both believed their own lies, it was hard for us to pull this through. In the evening, when they had to close the office at six and the rest of us could leave around five o’clock, they just waited till every one was gone and left then as well. Exactly the same as she had been praticing before. Anissa just  kept on doing what she had been doing all the time, now together with Malvine. I bet she felt strengthened by the presence of Malvine. They both came and went. Like Siamese twins they conducted their daily scam of stealing working hours.

Both Veronique and I were fed up with this unprofessional attitude towards the customers and ourselves, so we quickly decided to leave both girls out of the system. We divided the working time between ourselves. We did not care any longer when those two ladies came in or left the building. It had no use arguing about this, since they  both covered each other up with their lies. Even to Mr Dujournot they lied. One morning, where Anissa and Malvine had to open the office at eight, which they hadn’t by the way , as I had come in at eight and found myself completely alone till they finally showed up at eight forty-five,  he, mr Dujounrot  came in the office, quite upset since he had gotten a phone call from one of his customers complaining about the fact that our office still was closed when he phoned at eight fifteen. I could not believe my ears, nor my visual  annotations which told me that both Anissa and Malvine bluntly stated,  with the candid pokerfaced look of a die hard, that they had both been in the office at the time the alleged client phoned, even before eight o’clock. And that there was something wrong with the phone connection. Anissa was so self-assured about herself and her dominant role in the office that she even lied knowing that I was aware of this lie. She must have thought that I was a pussy. Which I was, essentially, since I did not say one single word at that time. To no one. I left the lie being a lie. Because I was afraid of the repercussions, it might have evoked if I did have said something. Case closed.

  This meant only that we, Veronique and I, equally had to shift our times double as quickly as we used to; but to us, this was no problem, because it enhanced immediately the quality of customer care we wanted to provide to our clients. And they were happy as well. 

Malvine must have been quite happy that she got this job. It was quite understandable if you knew her background as a former fugitive. Driven away from their own country. Times must have been hard for her once. But now everything seemed to fall into places. Partly thanks to Anissa.

That was how mr Dujournot  saw things happening and altering at Matrix Belgium NV as well.

It is all quite easy actually. The new rules that I implemented were very simple and understandable and only created to augment our service to our customers. Nothing more, nothing less. When I started at Matrix, I really had a goal,  a challenge, a purpose, a drive that kept me going and made me do the things I did. We, Wolfgang and I had a huge market to conquer and I had the liberty and the power and the knowledge and the experience to do so. I had my strategy in mind how to tackle those new markets, how to boost our customer satisfaction grade, because at the moment of my arrival it was noticeable that the level of contentment of the Matrix clients was not that bright nor very highly positioned, at the contrary, I would say so…What was important at that time, was the liberty and the possibility I obtained from mr Dujournot, to act accordingly to my believes. Lateron I understood that he gave me this freedom of action to secure himself of a quiet  and uncomplicated way of life, where all the daily office nuisance and customer problems were being taken care off, long before they ever would be reaching him personally. Mr Dujournot was not bothered  at all about these problems. He did not care how they were created at the first place, nor how they were being solved afterwards. Mr Dujounrot sure wasn’t a problemsolver. He got irritated as hell when occasionally but yet very seldom a real problem got through to him and when he noticed that one of his disciples had not been able to tackle the sticky situation before reaching him.

He always started to shout and calling names when this happened and always attacked the people at the office, even before analyzing the problem or  the reason why it had not been solved yet. He did not want to have anything to do with any setback at all. To him they never ever should have existed at the first place. So, again, problem closed. It was our duty to keep him “problem free”. This gave us of course a great freedom of action, as long as the right purpose was met. When he ever got hold of any quandary, or even a smaller kind of minor issue that could be a cause for discussion or debate, he just always  made such a atrocious fuss about it,  that you ‘d wish yourself he’d never ever had heard of it at the first place. He was the perfect guy to make the famous  elephant out of a mosquito.  This was only his way, I learned afterwards, to deliberately drive us towards keeping him trouble free on a permanent basis. 

We were his team of personal “problem solvers ”.

Life is free of problems. And full of titties.  And full of booze. His life anyway.

Only Anissa and Malvine did not participate in this point of view. Since this meant “work”. They both lied their way through all possible inconvenience they encountered. So they were never personally involved.

Anyway, this “time” issue was cleared by my new set schedule, service was improved, only Anissa and Malvine clearly did not want to be part of it. They did not say so, they just acted consequently and continued doing what they were always had been doing: pilfering company time to their personal benefit. And this would not be the last they ever stole from Matrix Systems Inc.

Now, I don’t make a fuss about coming in late, nor gaining some office minutes. But those two deliberately took each morning and each evening more than half an hour, so together more than one hour working time a day. That’s more than five hours each week.

This still is a lot to me. What bothered me most was the way they did this. They did it absolute in the open, as if they wanted to make a statement : “See what we can do!  You cannot stop us, because we both swallow!” “Is there something wrong anyway?” “Is there something you want to tell to us?” They were both more than provocative. That’s for sure. They had a huge amount of pleasure in showing us how they both couldn’t care less about the official opening hours of Matrix Systems Inc and my little new scheme to improve this element of service towards our clients. They just laughed at us.

Malvine was the queen of late coming in the morning. The days she came in after ten o’clock were more common than exceptional.

Now I want to clear one thing, once more :  I am not the kind of guy who starts wining about some time differences in working hours. I have a extreme flexible mind and ditto attitude. But is was soo unfair towards the others in the office. It was office behaviour I could not bear, it was very selfish and bad.

Tessy, the poor child, had seen all of this coming on her first days of employment and surprisingly volunteered to step into the scheme. This was of course quite redundant, since she had to deal shortly with her own warehouse staff and had to orchestrate her own attendance schedule at due time, somewhere in the very near future. It had no use to count her in, as in a few weeks she had to be left out again. But it proved her basic attitude of the  intentional truthful team spirit and willing open mind to participate in any kind of dilemma to be solved.

chapter fifteen the office manager

chapter fifteen

 

The weeks of the introduction of Anissa into the secrets of our account department, it became evident for all of us that she was leaving Customer care behind with no feelings of regret whatsoever. At the  contrary. She had not for once participated in the new office hours arrangement, she visibly turned against those and made clear that this was no longer her cup of tea. Ok, so what?  Only the fact that she drag Malvine along in her daily little theft programme,  messing up our format, did not seem to bother her one single bit.

I think Anissa had known all the time that Customer care never had been her preferred activity. I recall a scene from those days where Anissa had to hand over  a part of her  customers to Veronique. She handed over a map filled with documents.

 “What are those?”, Veronique politely requested?

“-This is the whole file from our Italian Customer “Tia Tipolinni”, a very complicated customer,” Anissa added, a bit strange.

Veronique looked into the file and found but faxes, sent from Tia Tipollinni to Matrix Systems. Veronique started to look into them, one by one and got more flabbergasted by each page she turned aside.

“But these are all complaints!”, Veronique tried to utter her disbelief in what she just encountered and received from Anissa.

Anissa looked up and barked : “I told you it was a complicated customer…”

“He is never satisfied and has always remarks on his shipments…”, she added and thus completed her first belling towards Veronique.

“And where are the answers?”, Veronique asked?

“What answers?”, Anissa replied, clearly not willing to go any further in this throbbing conversation.

“You are not telling me that you never wrote any answer back, do you?”, Veronique uttered quite beyond belief of what occurred .

“There are faxes in the file that are more than six months old!”, Veronique tried to poke Anissa’s guilt feel.

“They must have been from my predecessor then…”,Anissa answered, thinking she had found a way out of this mess. “ I am only just half a year with Matrix Systems…, now leave me alone, will you…this is your client now, not mine!”, she started to snarl again.

“But…., But…”, Veronique stumbled against such grotesque performance of Anissa, “most of the faxes are more recent than that, they date from only a few months ago; I even found one from yesterday!”, Veronique tried to hold on.

“I did not know what to tell them…, they are soo thorny…, oooh, I hate them”, Anissa concluded her defence.

“If I would not get any answer on my faxes for over six months, I would be pissed too!”, Veronique said in vain, because Anissa clearly was not listening any more and had gone up to join the account department for further introduction. She could not care less.

Only later it became very clear for us, Veronique and myself, that Anissa had not been able to answer those faxes at all, because of her significant  related lack of knowledge of the English language. Now our Italian customer Tia Tipollini wasn’t much of an English student neither, because their faxes were filled with common mistakes, but nevertheless, Anissa did not dare to answer them as she never had any training, nor guidance in answering complaints, nor in mastering the English language for such purposes. And she obviously surely never did ask Maria about this, when she had the opportunity or when she still was in the office, since it would immediately demonstrated her total inability to function at Customer Care at the first place. Talking and writing English is still quite different. Anissa knew this.

I think she was even relieved to be able to pass on to the account department. In any normal company you would have been sacked for such a heap of apparent failure and mistakes as a result of lack of proper education. Not at matrix Systems. Here they get you promoted.This, at least, was how Anissa saw the changes ahead of her.

It took Veronique more than a year of extremely hard work and very intense care to regain trust and re-establish a “normal” customer relationship with Tia Tipollini. But she did it!

 Bravo Veronique!

What were those complaints all about, you may wonder, as this is your excellent right as a critical and significant  reader, because I, as a writer with full liberty and vivid imagination, I can write and exaggerate here as much as I want, which I definitely do not, ask the persons involved. Tia Tipollini wrote faxes to us about wrong shipments, about missing goods, about late shipments, about deficient pickings and terrible packing, about defect systems, about defective systems, about anything really, …Tia Tipollini was apparently a very good and for all regular customer of Matrix Systems, which needed all the consideration and exhaustive service we ever would be able to provide to keep things even only as much as going on…regarding their present state of highly irritation  about the “non customer care” Anissa had  been providing out of sheer ignorance and professional failure.

But slowly and efficiently and with much dedication  and professional courtesy, Veronique used all her female advantages to restore their believe and faith and trust in Matrix Systems. Believe me or not but Tia  Tipollini was not the sole case or victim  of customer neglect we received as a bitter and poisoned gift from Anissa as she moved to the account department.

You know that mr Dujournot till was looking for our new engineer. Our “technical supportive unit”. Stinky, smoky boy Rick Vijvers had finally left and left quite nothing to be filled or replaced….there were no massive phone calls from desperate customers asking for technical support or unsolved issues….as mr Dujournot assumed there were.

Now before mr Dujournot found the real replacement for this practical “non-job”, he had discovered another one, also a fully qualified engineer, mr Robert. He was such a short moment in time in our office that I even do not recall his full name. He was as hollow as the invisible man. He had no bones, he had no structure. When he was in the office, you never knew he was in. You could not see nor hear him. He did not smoke, otherwise you might have spotted his smoke.  He was as taciturn and completely silent as a mute person can be. He was not a so called “added-value”. He was pretty pretentious though. “Pretentious? Who? Moi?...”  The minute he learned that mr Dujournot was going to look for a real “office manager”, he had assumed he would be the excellent candidate and the minute he learned that mr Dujournot did not agree on that one, for obvious reasons,  he quit.

Besides, an office manager is not a technical support manager. And when mr Dujournot was again to replace the one vacancy by the other, he had to start all over again which was absolutely out of the question, seen the past complications he encountered in selecting and hiring the right man on the right job.

So mr Robert has no real leading role in this play, right here. His hard-to-find successor however will play a crucial part in this story. But he had not been found yet by mr Dujournot. It would take some time.

Engineers often are very up nosy people. They usually have a huge self-confidence. I guess this is because they master a small technical part of our universe and think they are therefore some kind of “special”.

Mostly engineers acquire  an extreme amount of knowledge about a  very specific detailed and complex element of our society; That makes them “specialists”. It, of course creates of feeling of “superiority” towards the rest of mankind. But at the same time, engineers mostly lack other basic human qualities since they have been neglecting systematically everything but their own studies to become an engineer. Mr Dujournot was an engineer as well. I could have guessed !!!!. He displayed always an overall superior attitude. Maybe the sole exception could be when he is alone with Anissa in the “punish room”, and they both are dressed up all in black shiny leather, with a black tight cape over his head, two holes to give him sight and a zipper over his mouth to let him shut up? Anissa standing firm, with both her legs widely spread open, leaving a hole in the middle of her leather pants quite open as well, and a full leather whip in her hand, punishing him for letting her sit in “doggy style” more than she ever wanted…this could indeed be the sole case where he “acts” inferior.

They say that small man have a huge urge to perform and to demonstrate themselves, look at the various actors and other celebrities, like Prince, and Tom Cruise for instance…I think there is plenty of truth in these observations.

 

I told you Matrix Systems was a real challenge! The challenge grew on us each minute we survived over there.

Now I understand as well that you are starting to wonder about the gross and quite unbelievable attitude Anissa displayed those days towards her fellow office co-workers. I could not help it but just register this at the same time. It was something I had never seen in my entire life. Nowhere. It was, at one hand, quite fascinating, I must admit, because of the exclusiveness  of this process we all lived through, but the pain and trouble we endured  because of her Machiavellian and mostly vulgar and totally bad-mannered attitude was not worth it. I, at first, would not believe what I heard and saw neither. Anissa acted, reacted, demonstrated herself as if she was the “dictators” wife, playing the leading role in a bad US B movie, with dilapidated  actors who once worked in the porno industry and now finally thought and really believed they had made a fantastic breakthrough on the white screen.

At the beginning I really thought Anissa was pulling off an act. You can’t be that horrified in action and words, can you now???! It is always as one says : you have to see it with your own eyes before you believe it.

 Now, I still have some years to cover up here, so with the amount of gathered proof and anecdotes and real stories and gruesome rudiments, I will be painting the total portrait of a monstrous woman called Anissa and her role in this stomach-churning play we all call “life”.

As it takes its time to cover up all yarn to be told, I have forced myself to speed up the creation of the lines of content and to make sure that every single detail will be displayed on these pages as they occurred during the last six years of my life at Matrix Systems. As a hallowed token of  horrifying truth, according to the principles of a tremendously well told  fairy tale, uttered word for word by grandpa, sitting beside the bed,  whilst you are listening from underneath your freshly ironed silk blanquettes your mom just had replaced, bathing in the smell of  French lavender fields.  

Those early days indeed were days of intense sensations. Lots of people coming and going. Leaving and staying. Dreaming and working, cursing and flattering.

Some of the people were of no importance whatsoever for the story I am to reveal here. They just came into the picture of Matrix Systems Inc  as quickly as they went out.

Our new office manager was a small guy. Fat and small.

Now I can hear my opponents think that I am digging my own grave by exaggerating or putting some elements out of its real proportion. For one thing I know for sure is that you never ever can nor may underestimate your reader. This kills you. Of course they can perfectly tell where some consideration or reservation has to be made towards the   value of the accuracy. But they will be able to get the overall picture and they will be able to see, feel and believe the horrendous story here in construction.

And to be really honest with you guys, I have not exaggerated one single bit in everything I have been writing to you. That is what makes it to incredible, does it not? And I have only just begun! Poor me! I even forgot to tell you that Anissa's black leather pants had a second hole at the location of her hairy arse. But I am so polite I leave those details out. Because they are not quite relevant, are they?

Now, I am not a looser! I know that society does not like losers. It reacts like actorJim Carey, shouting with all of his mouth in action, showing his horse white teeth to the utmost : “loooooooséééééérrrrr”!

I am just telling you the elements that have brought me down, before my resurrection made me triumph. This, of course is reserved till the end of this book. I will slowly lead you towards the final outcome, the apocalypse, the grand finale, where I shall be victorious as I have never been victorious in whole of my life. I will let you taste from the bitter sensations I had to endure during those past six years, but I will not leave you behind without the final action, the finishing touch of it all. It all has just begun.

His name was Marcel Van Deuren. He was not a real office manager. He had studied IT. He was a computer geek. A PC nerd. That is how he looked. And that is how he behaved. But he was a nice guy. Not from the beginning.

So he had the looks not speaking for himself. Obviously mr Dujournot had not been able to locate a female to do the job.

Mr Van Deuren was ambitious. He had made a small career in his previous job from IT support to department manager. Now he would run our office. And its people inside. That is what he thought. That is how mr Dujournot had presented him the job. Only emphasizing the benefits. The nice things, the pleasant stuff.

Company car, cell phone, portable laptop/pc, that was about it, besides a special bonus system for the managerial selective species, delivering a multiple of what we got if the odds and the Gods were favourable towards us at the years’ end.

But mr Dujournot definitely did not talk about the “big move” we were all facing in the near future. Nor did  he tell mr Van Deuren his share of responsibility in this action-to-come; which was nothing less than 200 %, he did not want to frighten him from the start.

So mr Van Deuren, who really believed he had hit the jackpot, he had moved up towards the club of the select  executive leaders of our planet, even if his domain was basically restricted to the surface of some square meters where only a handful people were trying to work together, mostly not even in harmony.

You know that, as from a certain level, the executives, the fine rulers of mankind, start to use a different kind of managerial idiom. They just use other very specific words for the same things as we do, but to separate themselves distinctively from  the plebs.

Mr Van Deuren tried to do the same. His first sentence, I ever heard being pronounced from this guy, speaking to mr Dujournot, even before he was introduced to the rest of the office, was : “Are those year – to - date or are those a fiscal year related figures?”

Now, of course, every level has its own difficulty and problematic issues to handle but this does  not mean you openly show off with your inside knowledge as to prove yourself towards your superior. This is exactly what small mr Van Deuren did. He wanted to show off. He wanted to demonstrate that he had already a decent professional history on this kind of white-collar level. So he openly talked to us as if he was to analyze, rectify and modify all our sales and figures as he spoke. We had not a clue what he was trying to say to us, in fact he did not want to tell us anything. He just wanted to blow his own trumpet.

Only he lacked one elementary thing : natural leadership.

When you saw this small fat IT brain, you could not but feel sorry for him. When we later on learned that he had married a Philippine woman, the last shred of feasible respect was vanished even before it was build up. He was one of those pathetic looser types who, because of lacking the nerve or drift to hit on a home town woman, partly due to his phenomenal nerdy appearance, went to the Philippines to buy some poor girl’s love and affection with western wealth and  material comfort. I never had met such persons, I only had seen them on television where a special human interest programme, always reporting about the loosing kind of elements (thieves, homeless people, drunks, violent people,   in our society ) , had shown  us all how those things worked. It was a sad story.

And now we had someone like those lowlife nitwits in our own company. Fine! Nice! And this person would show us how to handle things! He could not  even handle his own wife! You could see by the way he answered the phone, that he was afraid of her. He “honeyponned” her like no one ever had done before!

“Yes, honeyponne, no honypponne, I won’t honeyponne…sure, honeyponne…”

Our office at MIXO’s was not really big. Every possible inch was taken by furniture.

We had thought that mr Van Deuren would have just taken the place and space of Maria, since her desk was left untouched as from they minute she had left the building.

He immediately started to order a much larger office desk, about the largest I ever had seen, yes, even bigger then the one of mr Dujournot, and some high, ceiling touching cupboard, as to create his own personal wall with. By doing so he deliberately took some important space form the office so we all had lesser room to move around in. But so what? We were going to move anyway. Exactly. Did he already know that? Why could he not wait till we were moved towards our new offices? It was quite obvious that mr Van Deuren cherished these little external tokens of power and status. A larger desk, sitting separately, hiding behind a closet, it was all part of a plan to  make us believe he would actually be our superior. He only forgot that his undersized ugly overweighed body which was finished of by a blown-up head of a super geek, in fact told us the complete opposite.

So those first days of his inauguration and settlement into our offices, we all just observed. Till one day he called us all to come and sit in one row before his new elaborated desk. It was very funny, in fact, to see us all sit as little children all in one row at the other end of his bureau.

His opening words were so painful and shameful that it would hurt to repeat them here. We all could hardly suppress our laughter and even before he had said all, Anissa had already left the row and went back, hiding at her desk, calling mr Dujournot, who was not in, of course, to inform him about this silly game mr Van Deuren tried to play with us.

It seemed that mr Van Deuren never had learned that you have to earn respect; you cannot force it upon you, still that was exactly what he was trying to do. Even though mr Van Deuren probably was a very clever boy concerning IT and computer solutions, as from inter human relations and human recourses he had not eaten much cheese at all. This was, to round up a little, a very clear example of attempted power abuse. Especially Anissa was not exactly the kind of woman you could say to what you wanted. Mr Van Deuren got to know this piece of inside information quite quickly. Only few moments later, he got a call from mr Dujournot, whilst we were all but Anissa still sitting in front of him, trying to assemble our forced upon respect for him by the stories he had told us so far  and which I am not going to repeat here as it all would become too embarrassing. His fat head got even fatter when he spoke with mr Dujournot at the phone. He silently whispered “yes sir, no sir, yes, sir…I understand sir…and then he hung up.” Good for him, and just in time, otherwise he”d blown up, that’s for sure. His head shredded in tiny pieces. His brain scattered all over the place, dripping form his new cupboard, whilst his greasy body trembled because of the missing head. His eyes rolling over his brand-new desk.

“Euhh, well, that was mr Dujournot at the phone.” He said, as if we did not know, nor understood.

“Mr Dujournot does not think this little meeting is a good idea.”, he tried to explain.

“You can all go back to your desks and continue your work then;” he tried to conclude.

“We will all have a meeting later…when mr Dujournot is back in the office.”

His head had turned purple. He had breathing problems and took an puffer to keep him alive. Poor silly  fat man. His first attempt to gain power and respect had turned into a gigantic fiasco. The only thing left for him to do was to hide behind his new cupboard. We didn’t see nor heard him again that day, but  for once. When he got a call form his wife :”Yes, honeyponne, I won’t forget honeyponne, see you later honeyponne…”

Matrix Systems Inc, Belgian division was in good hands now. Big, fat hands with sausage like fingers. “Wiener Wuerstchen” from the finest sort.

Mr Van Deuren was an overall pathetic figure, essentially, deliberately chosen by mr Dujournot for all the wrong reasons. Only, he was not aware of this. He only still had to find out. To his own shame and disadvantage.

How do I know? I have the advantage or diadavantage, for that matter, that I was there and that I saw this all happen before my eyes.

Often my eyes could not believe what they say and my ears could not believe what they heard at Matrix Systems Inc. So many irregularities in such a short amount of time. Any other sane person would have fled such place of discomfort, lies and personal preference decisions. It was clear that mr Dujournot did not make the choice of an office manager out of concern for Matrix Systems. His own well being was here at stake. His own “facon the vivre”/way of life  needed to be secured by some unaware naïve power chasing dude to take over all responsibilities of our move-to-come.

MR Dujournot, who in fact had been really good friends with the manager of MIXO, had a terrible verbal fight over Anissa and because mr Dujounrot had lost his temper and had said some crucial things in the heat of the fight he could not take back because of his personal honour, we now all needed to move towards other locations, still to be selected. But this piece of information was wisely left out of the presentation of the job as office manager. Mr Dujournot would inform him whne the tyime would be appropriate. Had Tanja not been asking for a new office manager since Maria left? Mr Dujournot only forgot one thing: he had hired practically a whole new staff in his Belgian office and they possessed  all a pretty individual and tough character , no need of any a parental guidance required. Tanja was leaving us anyway. So where is all the fuss?  I partly had been selected for my job to elaborate the Eastern European market, together with Wolfgang Hanssen because I really wanted a job with free space to develop my already strong abilities of customer care even further, beyond a point of absolute professionalism. It was my mission and I had very strict and concrete plans to develop. I was not waiting for no office watchdog. Nobody was. Anissa neither. She used every vessel of her body to express this feeling of personal resentment. Not directly towards mr Van Deuren.

I was proven right by time. I know what happened to mr Van Deuren. Eventually. You do not. That is why I am now trying to present you with all detailed information so you all will understand what is about to come.

Poor silly mr Van Deuren. He was not a bad person. He just was a nerd who had been at the wrong place at the wrong time. He had the bad luck to encounter the personal drift of regulating mr Dujournot.

You are all to be witness of the most cruel attack on ones integrity. I am therefore creating this piece of writings, a first draft. Of course there has not been any correction up till now, nor adaptation, nor adjustment to a better version. You all are reading here the bare edition, the naked essence  of it all. I think I am sometimes repeating myself and therefore I ask you to forgive me. These repetitions will be corrected later on when all those writings are going to be prepared to be edited in a real book that is going to be published. I just consider it as an honour that You are amongst those first readers of my work. Right now, right here. So you have to endure the repetitions, the mistakes the grammatical uncertainties that will be straightened out later by a genuine English “connoisseur”.

Mr Van Deuren was a softy, who had an erroneous constrain towards shallow power. Power he never got. Not from mr Dujounrot, who’s pleasure it was to humiliate mr Van Deuren on a regular basis, since he was to be held responsible for anything that could go wrong at the office.

In fact, it was quite easy at that time, we had a buffer, a lipid cushion now between ourselves and mr Dujournot. We did not allow mr Van Deuren to have any power neither. His first attempt had been beaten immediately by the phone call of Anissa even the moment mr Van Deuren was in his first move to acquaint some forced upon authority. After this single attempt which never was to be repeated, mr Van Deuren behaved as a severe beaten dog. He had turned into a weakened lamb, that had lost a lot of powerful blood, ready to be presented with chopped off head on the altar by mr Dujournot.

Mr Dujounrot had not hired mr Van Deuren because he (and with him his specialized knowledge)  had been an improvement nor enrichment for Matrix Systems Inc. He had hired him as a play toy, a gimmick, a fat toy boy, a tool to get passed the period of disorder and chaos we all would be going through, due to our sudden move towards total independency.

The one thing mr Dujounrot hated the most,  must have been disorder and chaos. He could not stand it. I think he was even a bit (much) autistic in these matters. The way his desk stayed clean, even in the middle of a working day, the way his car always looked as brand-new, his impeccable way of dressing and behaving, even if he was very inebriated after one of his traditional business lunches. He had some style, that you could not deny. The decisions he made were never in the advantage of Matrix Systems Inc. They had only one purpose : to serve his master, always and everywhere and to secure his way of conduct, his liberty of movement, his freedom of management. Every one who dared to come too near to his personal way of life and could endanger his  strictly set and gained and fully protected personal managerial freedom, was to be slaughtered immediately. He did everything to ensure his present status. He did a hell of a job. He had a fabulous life, back then. Mr Van Deuren had to play along to guide this structure, not to break it. He had to play his part, or get the hell out of here. Mr Dujounrot did not leave any options open about such an important matter. Mr Van Deuren was clever enough to understand the situation, especially when he was finally told we were to move the office to unknown places. He decided to play along. He had no other choice.

We had already one dictatorial ruler above us, so no need for a second one. This uncontrollable yearning after power of mr Van Deuren was quickly resolved into tiny pieces and sent as a bombing package to nowhere land.    One-way ticket.

Chapter 16 : presenting to you mr Gerard Moipatron

Chapter 16 : the new  technical manager, our technician, our dearest engineer

Excuse me! I had a mission to accomplish. In fact, I had not much time to get involved in all those personal chitchats  between those who at times surrounded me in my work.

Of course it is quite comforting to realize that you have your troops who are  willing to fight every  battle for you whilst you lie on some Italian beach, having your back scratched by some exotic Sicilian bobo.

Now we had a major battle coming up and our technical support unit wasn’t even replaced yet.  All technical questions and issuers were directly forwarded to our American unit who took care of this service part with the utmost precision and speed, even if there was a timeline difference of about 10 hours between the two working places. We took care of this internal discrepancy  with the best of our abilities. Nevertheless mr Dujournot was convinced that we should have our own European sized technical support unit. According to him we should not ever be dependable upon the united States and he thought of this as a very hard to bear but necessary temporary solution. He hated everything that ever could be connected to the USA. Sometimes I wondered why he had such obvious aversion against those who had put him up this comfortable luxurious position of general manager in the first place. Anyway, he considered Matrix Systems USA as our enemy and we could not do else but silently let him believe it was true. 

Gerard  Moipatron was French. The same nationality as mr Dujournot.

He came from the failed competition. Bankruptcy, or something like that. Not quite promising. Matrix Systems had worked together with them in the early days, but only for France.  Gerard Moipatron was a small guy. Again not a woman. Those were hard days for mr Dujournot. I guess the minute mr Dujournot wanted some brainy quality in his employees, he immediately ruled out womanhood, the sexist. I don’t think he matches those two up. Knowledge and being a woman. But he estimates the other womanhood qualities to the utmost. Boobies scored very high. The bigger they were, the more credibility he awarded you with. Upstanding nipples were  cause for a raise in pay. A nice slim lined figure stood also high in his ranking. A pretty face was the ultimate selection criteria and the compliance to go along with his in-depth flirting made him finally decide to take you on board or not. So the woman working next to me knew all something about the art of seduction. That I can tell you. Wolgang Hanssen knew this as well. When he was in the office, once every three months, he gladly joined in. Why should he not? He is still a healthy man, is he not? Can you deny a man such fragile and breathtaking pleasures at work? Not mr Dujournot. But he thus did not find a female engineer to take care of our European technical department. It was a department, even if it only consisted out of one person. Mr Dujournot clearly played it big. Big to the outside. That made his personal prominence rise and shine. It radiated as the finest enriched plutonium  and was inflated by each new employee who was added to the new team. Because you cannot any longer speak of the old team. Practically every one was replaced in a few weeks time. Really odd, is it not? I did not ask myself many questions, back then, I just observed. Now I know why I did this. So now I can note everything down to make it part of the chronicle I am telling you folks.

The many changes in personnel  proved one thing to me : mr Dujournot had all power and confidence from the USA and trust to do so.  He had a Blanco cheque. He was the ultimate dictator. No one would ever stop him. Not even the USA. They must have had questions as well when they heard that all staff had been replaced. I do not believe it is part of an sales nor marketing education that says you have to replace all of your staff at once on a regular basis to improve your business. There had to be some hidden reason, to us totally unknown, why these replacements were made. The only person left who knew some scummy details about mr Dujouirnot, about his whereabouts, about his private life and about his history at the company, was Tanja. But now she was gone  too.

We knew nothing about him. We had heard a few stories that Tanja told us, but they were never ever confirmed by the master himself. Only the way he conducted, we could indeed conclude that the truth in what had been proclaimed was pretty to the point. It was not a very happy truth. Some of the stories you have already heard.

In the total picture, it would confirm the way he acted on his daily scene and nothing had been denied up till today.

Lets go back to mr Gerard Moipatron. A small French fellow with restricted English knowledge.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN / A SMELLY FART IN A BOTTLE

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN    A SMELLY FART IN A BOTTLE

 Gerard Moipatron. A name to remember. Even if his English knowledge was to be described as  “rather reduced”. Nevertheless…We had to screen him on his knowledge of English. Orders from mr Dujournot. Gerard  did not seem a dumb person. Not at first sight anyway. Again, he was small. Just like mr Dujournot and mr Van Deuren; I was surrounded by three dwarfs.

Gerard was not slim either. but note so chubby as mr Van Deuren. His English was poor indeed. But he seemed willing to learn. He was still young, in his early thirties, I guess.

He was even eager to move with all of his family from France to Belgium. Again, mr Dujournot must have been selling this job as an opportunity you could not refuse with appropriate remuneration he only could dream of when he would stay in France.

Even if his knowledge of English was meagre at the time being, we had little choice but to accept Gerard to the team. he spoke English, at least, he tried and what he said was understandable. A Frenchman who speaks English is about one of worlds leading comic situations, utilized in many movies and funny series like “allo,allo” as a guarantee for laughter. Gerard was no exception to this. So why would we be opposed to his accepting such a golden opportunity? We did not. We accepted him as our new colleague. Our “technical” unit was operating again. we, Veronique, Tessy and myself were even committed on helping him enriching his English knowledge, so he would be reaching an acceptable level in a matter of months to come.

 

Life is nothing more than a fart in a bottle. When you open it, it smells and it is gone in just a few seconds.

 

What is the bloody point of it all anyway? Can anyone explain this to me? I have tried to understand behaviour of man. I have observed. I have seen incredible things. I could not understand.

Do you know what is going to happen after death? I do not. If I knew I would tell you. Do you realize that, when your body gives up its functioning, you want be able to hear the sea anymore? You will not be able to see the seagulls floating in the wind behind the decks of a cruise liner. You will not be able to touch the soft skin of the one you cherish with all of your heart that has stopped beating. .. You won’t be able to smell the fresh cut grass anymore, nor the cow shit on the fields each spring. When your dead everything around you will be black. Lights out. Only, you will not be aware of it. Since your brain cells stopped functioning. My mom got very sick a few weeks ago. She was already pretty sick with the disease of Parkinson in combination with the disease of, what’s it called, Alzheimer. She got heavy prescript medication. She was partly intoxicated by her pills. .. She took about seventeen of them each morning, noon and evening. New year’s day she hardly noticed her children and grandchildren around her. She barely could speak. She saw as white as a fresh ironed bed sheet. She could not stand up any longer. She could not walk. She just sat there and let the world go by.  Her blood values were  extremely deteriorated by the amount and combination of pills she needed to take from the doctor.  The medicine was fine, individually. In combination with each other they were lethal. That is why she got a stroke. A huge protuberance of blood had blocked her lunges and she was to suffocate. THANK God (even if I do not believe in this guy) she was already taken into the hospital. The doctor at charge saw immediately the problem and gave her the only solution left ; a huge insertion of a special blood lump resolving liquid that could cause other deficiencies such as brain damage but there was no choice left. It was this or die. It took ages, because the fluid went in by a baxter. Her kidneys had already stopped functioning. Both of them. She turned yellow.  The kind of colour one gets just before you die. I had seen this colour before. On patients with terminal cancer.

Her blood pressure was down, way down, seven over five. And it went down even further. Then it stopped. They took her to intensive care. Her eyes were both wide open and gazed in all directions. She did not respond to our calls. Her hands were both wet and cold. She did not move them. She did not pinch back.

Then all of a sudden, slowly her blood values went up again. The liquid was doing his job. The blood bulge was scattered in tiny pieces. Her blood circulated again. Gradually she started to breath normally again. She received new and fresh air into her suffocating lungs. She made it.

She spent one more week at intensive care till all her bodily functions were at an acceptable level again. Her kidneys started to work again.  From their own. The doctors cut heavily on the drugs. Now she needs to take only a handful each morning, noon and evening. Not seventeen anymore. The doses were reduced as well. Now she recognizes her children again. She starts to talk again. She smiles again, she even laughs again. She does not know what actually happened in the hospital. She knows nothing from those moments of transcendence. She almost stepped out of this life into the next. This moment is not existing for her. The Catholics would say that she had been standing before the big gate of heaven. But Saint Peter had to send her back . It wasn’t her time yet. He could not let her in. First of all she was not even noted in the holy book of free entrance. God was not ready to receive her.

I am no Catholic, nor Christian. Nice, when you can believe such childish stories. It may comfort you. The whole rescue of my mother proved to me that death is pretty final. Doctors cannot be God, even if they try so. They even had almost murdered my mother with this lethal combination of tablets. Her body and brain is save now for some weeks, may be months to come. May be she lives another year. Her blood needs to be kept pretty thin. To avoid further lumps.

chapter eightteen : the afterlife of mr Gerard Moipatron

My mother did not see a fancy white light that drew her attention and made her choose for the afterlife. There is no hereafter. My mom did not find it.  She did not see it. She missed the entrance.

When you are dead, you cannot miss your loved ones. You do not even know you had some. You can no longer be afraid, nor be happy. You cannot fuck a Muslim virgin, because they are not over there. They are not awaiting over there to comfort all those silly bastards who had blown up themselves and were expecting about seventy of them to play with. Be honest with yourself : where would they all come from? Where the virgins all alive once? Where did they live then? In Virgin town?   You can’t even feel aroused. Your Willy will not get up because you do not have a Willy any longer. But do not worry, there is nothing left that would remind you of this lack of material. You leave everything behind here on earth. To be burned up. Or put under the ground. Or when you’re blown up, to be eaten away by the starving wild dogs and rats and cats. You  are not telling me that, once you have crossed the line, you are regaining your earthly body so you can start fucking like animals again? If your intention is to master seventy virgins, your fucking behaviour is quite  similar to that of a horny animal. It is known about a lion that he can fuck about 50 times a day. Of course, his play only takes only some minutes each time. The same attitude is to be mastered if you want to please your seventy virgins on a regular basis.

You do not believe all this, do you? Come on, be serious.  I could go along if you would tell me that there is a deeper meaning behind this all.  But, from what I hear and see on an almost daily basis on TV, those suicide bombers really are ready for the big transcendental fucking game. How stupid can you be? This has nothing to do anymore with religion, nor with Mohammed, nor with Allah. It has all to do with earthly powers of those in charge. And preserving them. By sending others into death. Catholics are excellent fairy tales tellers, but Muslims are not bad either. They, for all, have a horny imagination, where as for Catholics all sex is bad, wrong and to be avoided, except  if you do it in the dark, under the sheets, or with innocent children, then it is all right.

My mother tries now, in the hours, days and maybe months left to her, to enjoy our presence as much as she can.  Of course, she is confused. Often she changes and mixes up our names. But you can see and feel her motherly love towards us.  That she could not do when she was over there. In the next world she lacked all tools to be anyone. To do anything. To feel anything.  She had no pain. She was just nothing over there. There was nothing she had taken from the worldly life she just had left.  Good for her, because her body was quite dysfunctional at the moment. She had been dead for some time. But now she is back. A miracle.

So if any one now please can inform me why we are all behaving as real jerks down here? Is it really worth it? Do we need to do so? I guess so. We are all born with quite some deficiencies in our functioning.

We all have needs we do not need. We all have desires we do not want.

Some of us have many, others few. But we do have them. We are stuck with them. We have to deal with them. Only when we are able to handle our deficiency we will be able to attain happiness. This should be our goal of living. Right here, right now. In this life we lead now; Not waiting for some virgin to comfort you when your are blown up in tiny pieces. When your brain is scattered all over the place. No one will ever put you together again. No one has ever come back to tell us about the great time he had afterwards  with his seventy virgins. In what condition, may I ask?

There is nothing  left to tell us. Once you have died, you are dead my friend. Vanished. Gone for good. No memories, no recollections, no spirit to float around.  And when you are so desperate that you have to blow up your lively ingeniously functioning body, there isn’t much left of whom you once were.

Catholicism always has been nothing else but a brutal technique to obtain and behold power. It has manipulated people, abused them, suppressed them, murdered them to keep all powers centred to the Vatican and its clownish representatives, mostly  dressed up with long dark brown dresses to hide little boys underneath who were sucking up their genitals for the sake of God himself. “Let all the children come to me”, Jesus did say, once on his mission to make some essential changes.

Mr Moipatron was small and almost pathetically in search of power as well. But not so in those early days.  He did not say much In the beginning. Partly because his English was still under construction.  He had a shy first impression. First impressions often are the right ones but they also can deceive you. He spoke French with mr Dujournot, which was quite obvious since they were both fellow countryman and he spoke French with Veronique. Veronique mastered the language of Moliere as if it was her own. She flirted in every language. She had taken over France from Anissa and thus committed herself to speak only French with Gerard Moipatron. I spoke English with him. I had the intention to educate him towards a higher level of the English idiom.  He needed this, since he had to establish contacts with our American colleagues and with the other non-French customers with technical inconveniences to be straightened out or solved. That was going to be his job. In a way it would relief our job at customer care, since now we were doing it all by ourselves in connection with the USA. But is was a part of superfluous workload  to us at the moment we could all miss like bleeding toothaches. We were glad Gerard Moipatron took over.

Welcome Gerard Moipatron.

Gerard Moipatron had a pre-life, a midlife and an afterlife at Matrix Systems. He had it all well planned.  I have seen all three stages develop. The nicest he was in his pre-life. Still searching for his values, his capacities, his energy, his adaptation to Matrix Systems and the whole new crew, actually.  He was sitting behind me, at the desk of former boat player and predecessor Guy Vijvers. Gerard was not the kind of person who would immediately start to change everything.  He just took the desk as it was situated. He did not move anything as our new office manager was trying to enhance the weight of his position by creating some separate space within the open office. The overweight of his body was clearly not enough to impress us all. The manner mr Van Deuren estimated himself in the whole picture of Matrix and his job fulfilment was way higher than all of us did together. Mr Dujournot must have prepared him mentally to be able to take over on any occasion, not telling him he would be the joker in the play. Initially, due to the pep talk of mr Dujournot,  Mr Van Deuren saw it big. Not only  his bodily lipid  surroundings with the highest bad cholesterol rates,  but also the values he stood for in our office. We did not know what he was standing for really, it sure wasn’t a lot.

After his first meeting debacle, his self esteem had shrunk to normal proportions.  His body stayed the same. To me he wasn't much more than some waste of moved air. I could do without him.

So could Gerard Moipatron. But we did not know this, back then. Gerard did not show his cards.

 

The first contact between my mate in combat mr Wolfang Hanssen and Gerard Moipatron was not what you could call “from the heart”.

Gerard started to work immediately. Even if his English was still under construction, he was not afraid to pick up the phone and deal with the problems, even if it took him a lot of sweat and tears to get through his first full English sentences, saying more than “yes sir, no sir, I understand,sir…”

Gerard Moipatron was a man of planning. Long-term. He was one of the few people in knew who actually could think ahead for more than a week.  I have a too long forward vision. I look till my death.

chapter nineteen : mr smithers

Chapter nineteen : mr Burns and mr Smithers

He saw as white as my mom when she stood before the gate of St peters.

“What’s wrong?”, I dared to ask.

Gerard still had the horn of his phone in his left hand. He was paralyzed and gazed in the wide-open space before him.  Even if there was no wide-open space, he sure saw one, his eyes told him so.

“It was Wolfgang on the phone, Wolfgang Hanssen.”, he stumbled.

“So?”, I tried to keep him going…

“What did he say?”, I urged.

“He just told me that my answer could have been given by a four year old child. His four year old son could have done better than me, he said..;”, Gerard concluded. It was obvious that Gerard wasn’t used to receive any form of criticism. He sure did not know how to deal with it.

Now I must admit that this answer of Wolfgang wasn’t very friendly towards a new colleague. He could have told him other things. He could have encouraged him instead of attacking him on his first technical inquiry. Maybe Wolfgang had seen some competition in the position of Gerard. I think it was a kind of test to see how strong Gerard really was in his engineering technical abilities. Wolfgang was a salesman. He was capable of defending and even promoting himself to anyone. But he had no large technical background, nor inside product knowledge. So he had expected from Gerard a profound technical supportive answer. Which he did not get, that first time. That is why he reacted that way. He was disappointed.  And when Germans are disappointed they let you know immediately. They tell you at once. So you can share their grief of feeling upset and thwarted.

As much as mr Dujournot physically resembled to mr Burns, a character out of the popular world-known TV show “the simpsons”, the same identical and thus scary physical similarities one could detect between Gerard Moipatron and mr Smithers. Gerard was still young, in his early thirties. He wore glasses and had little overweight. He was as shy and subordinate  as Smithers acted towards mr Burns.

They both had other motivations to do so. In the beginning I thought it was just a nice part of his character as I generally feel more comfortable with people who are not that self-indulgent.  I am pretty shy as well, remember. Always have been.  Till now, till today.

The word “shy” is at least one word out of many, Anissa never ever had heard of.  In her character, the component of shyness had been completely replaced by the word “hatred”. When you hated things in life as intensely as Anissa did, and said all the time, other essentials out of her character had to be erased to provide enough “hatred” space. I think Gerard had about ten times more brain power than Anissa. Where Anissa had the brain of a shrunken dried pee, Gerard clearly possessed a perfectly trained intellect, which was once measured to be a powerful hundred and thirty nine. The only thing Anissa’s microscopic brain ever had been trained in , was deception and erotic seduction. But since that last quality is clearly part of the raw instinctive dimension, her nitwit brain capacity could focus fully on her major master plan to betray Matrix Systems on all levels possible. Mr Dujournot she had already convinced and in her pocket; do not tempt me to ask me how she did this. I guess you all know by now.  As a new, sole player in the account department, Anissa did get hold of more elaborate and intense potential to abuse and exploit her newly acquainted powers for her own benefit only. That is the person Anissa was. There was no room left in her mind for other nicer qualities. Part of her strategy she shared with Malvine. So she could use her too.

Gerard was, because of his higher intellect, not quite an open book to read. His intentions were a well-kept secret to all of us. I did not bother about his intentions. As long as the work was done, I did not give a damn. Gerard took car of his part of the job. He handled all technical aspects of our sales in Europe. He hated it when people called him “technical support”. He did not see himself  as a “technician.” He had the proud attitude of an engineer. I am repeating myself.

chapter twenty : the power of denial

Chapter twenty  (keep them short and clear) the power of systematic denial

Yesterday I saw a movie about a couple who had murdered their own child. I aw how difficult it turned out to be for  the prosecutor, who had severe suspicion about the parents who committed the crime, to prove his conclusion. Of course both parents systematically denied every involvement in the crime scene and action.

The same here. The scary element that you get as a little bonus on top of the disbelief you get, is the fact that the one who accuses,  is mostly turned into a pathetic looser with vivid imagination or at least instable mental deficiencies because he sees things that are not there. Till, at last, finally one clear element hops out of the blue and wakes up one or two neutral outsiders who can confirm the findings and bring the truth at the surface to be recognized by those who initially disbelieved.  I do hope this will occur also in my case. In do not intend to go down as a mentally deranged person with an unstable emotional attitude. My story is therefore still in its originating findings, with a whole lot more to be revealed. At one point those who have been reading carefully along, will be lead to the only  just and appropriate finale. The conclusion of justice.

My mom always said that I had a too bigger feeling for justice and integrity. My sense of fairness had been over developed, in her eyes.

But? Indeed, if you consequently deny all accusations on something you might have done wrong, it is practically impossible to prove otherwise. I did not have any cameras installed in the office to register the unacceptable way Anissa tended to behave. I had not installed any recorders to tape the malicious words she spoke, nor to register the devious ways mr Dujournot often surprised us with. Even witnesses are hard to follow, difficult to believe and mostly every one crawls back in their own corner of self-defence, to protect what has become theirs. Statements of witnesses often are not accepted as valid because one suspects other motivations behind the things that are being said.

So where do I stand? In the middle of providing you all with a registration, a duplication, an impression of what has occurred in those offices between all those involved. I am not an investigator. I was a victim. My only power lies in the art of telling the story to you. To as many people possible, hoping some of you will have the decency to chose my side. Because it is the only correct side to choose for. Because it is only just that this kind of behaviour is stopped for good. Because it is only just that such kind of attitude is no longer accepted in our society. Because it is only just that crime is being punished. Even if it takes me ages to accomplish the impossible.

This universe, with all its elements, its novas, its intergalactic solar systems,  is heading full speed in one direction. That is a fact.  Scientists say that the universe is endless. That it is infinite. That it has no borders. That it is eternal.  How on earth do they know? Why do they say something like that? Did they explore the boundaries of our universe on a spaceship?  Of course not. May be they say this to comfort us. So, What if they are wrong?

Suppose their is a gigantic wall ahead of us. And we will crush against this wall in about a thousand years from now to come. Or in about a hundred years from now. The end of the universe. Even if there is no wall…should we all, here on earth, not be and act more modestly? Towards each other, towards everything that surrounds us? Should we not redefine our place in the whole picture? Should we not stop deceiving each other? Should we not end all lies? Should we not honour the truth as ultimate goal to live by?

I guess there are more people out there who are actually fully integrated in a fake set up life, filled with scam, lies and cheat, promoting own personal wellbeing on the back of others, as those others are weak characters. They deserve to be mislead, to be used and abused, to be sacrificed for the purpose of own gain and profit. Anissa had a fake life. Mr Dujournot had a fake life. Mr Moipatron was building up a fake life. At Matrix Systems INC I was not only surrounded with a bunch of dwarfs, I was enclosed by ruthless  individuals with only one goal ahead : the ultimate private enrichment of their own well being at any cost possible. The truth had only one right of existence as it would contribute to their sickening strategy of pure hedonism. In all other cases the truth would be smothered to a crushed leftover and sole utility of the weak. In a major fraud, the truth has no significance. It is reduced to microscopical proportions. All is done and maintained to keep the scam going. Lies are transformed into truth. Deceiving actions are set up as reality surroundings to create an environment where the swindle can flourish and personal gain can  be harvested.

Because real internal control and check up from our mother company in the USA was as seldom as the existence of the ultimate wall of the universe would ever be, and the trust in the functioning of mr Dujournot  was as always heavily supported by his direct supervisors,  honesty and overall integrity had   no assessment  whatsoever in the offices of Matrix Systems Inc. in Belgium. It was a handicap. It was my handicap.

Mr Dujournot always was very itchy when the “honesty” issue erupted in a discussion. He always took great care that his status as  a general manager never would be intoxicated by the virus of dishonesty. As fake as his life really was, the same false make believe settings he tried to create around him and his whereabouts. He thought, that with methodically abstaining all individual talks and withholding all possible private information, he could maintain his integrity towards those who were in daily combat to keep this office going.

He underestimated the power of gossip. This will become absolutely clear to you all when the actual fundamentals expand into their advanced perspective.  Now our queen of gossip had left Matrix Systems Inc. Tanja had gone. But we were not aware of the fact that the queen of gossip had been replaced by the king of hearsay. Mr Moipatron would demonstrate and reveal himself in the years to come as king of idle talk and word of mouth. By this means and his blabbering efforts we all at the office kept informed about the magical and wondrous world mr Dujournot tend to live in.

The one major mistake mr Dujournot made, amongst others, was his obvious contempt towards all inferior employees. He underestimated us. As all dictators do. See Saddam Hussein, he even now is still shouting and performing without regret, filled with hatred and despise against those who captured him. He cannot see for himself that he is in no position any longer to keep up such attitude. The long and lonely position at the top of Matrix Systems Inc had made of mr Dujournot a similar sole ruler, losing all sense of sagacity, since there was no one on his level to contradict him, nor to tell him he was wrong on certain issues. Because he thought of his employees as lowlife workers to keep the joint going, he surely did not discuss any managerial matters with us. They were all talked about behind closed doors in his airco office. Even then, he just did what he himself thought to be the best for his own sake. Europe was his playground and no American ever intruded. The ones who tried were the happy few who got to know mr Dujournot slightly differently during one of his world famous phone calls. Who would be available to say the opposite to him anyway? Our new office manager? What a joke! You know what he was hired for! And he did not even know this up till now. He was still to be informed. All at its appropriate time. There is a timing for everything.

chapter twenty one finally first circomstantial evidence

Chapter twenty one :   circumstantial evidence

As time went by and we all started to get settled into our jobs, after tasting from each others deficiencies and shortcomings, after installing adapting and ignoring strategies to warrant sole functioning in this group of strong individuals, it became clear that mr Van Deuren was the one to pity. As a newbie, a motivated team leader, he wanted to make something out of his challenge as an office manager. Not only did he not have a team to master or guide but a bunch of individual players who had other concerns than to please the company, he did not have a direct chief  around him either, to whom he could introduce his master plan or his changes he was going to implement to make things work for the better.  Mr Dujournot systematically turned every single proposal  mr Van Deuren came up with, down. Of course he got frustrated as hell. Day by day he got more and more tentative and faltering about his mission at Matrix Systems. The more proposals got turned down, the more he found him self desperate and disillusioned. He waited, as a good office manager, till the day came that mr Dujournot would appear again in the office to discuss his optional changes for the better. He knew he did not stand a chance at the phone so he waited carefully and patiently till he could have a personal conversation with mr Dujournot. As you all remember, mr Dujournot was not much around in the office. So it took mr Van Deuren ages to try to get a consensus to accomplish anything. Since his last debacle trying to set up a meeting, he did not dare to do anything anymore without the consent of mr Dujournot. Mr Van Deuren was intentionally a good person with his heart at the right place and his mind focussed upon Matrix Systems, rather than upon his own personal gain. (which you could not say about some others amongst us) The rare days that mr Dujournot pleased all of us with his presence, mr Dujournot rather talked to the few plants that managed to keep alive in these hostile surroundings, than to mr Van Deuren, letting him clearly feel his almost redundant place in the whole picture. Till the day came that mr Dujournot thought it would be interesting to tell him about the great move we all were to encounter. The moment mr Van Deuren had all information, he came back to life again. He saw again some lights at the end of the tunnel, only did he not know that he had better stayed away from those devious lights. He wanted to be the office manager, so he had to take the responsibility for it. No pity, nor shame.

Mr Van Deuren wanted to make up for his fiasco meeting. He wanted to prove himself a valid office manager. He had found out that our salaries wer not exactly the kind of payment methods you keep your team with. One day or another they would be gone off to another job with higher remuneration. That would be a real pity for him.  Then he had to start all over again. So he wanted to make this the next issue with mr Dujournot. He wanted to convice him that it is better to invest in your personell, that they are part of the whole organisation you run. The way mr Dujournot had been replacing his former staff, did not provide me with any confidence that his plan would be a successful one. Now, I have to tell you as it is, as it has been, mr Van Deuren got us all a raise in pay. Not a tremendous one, but in any case, a raise it was. For everyone. He gained also some more credibility in his actions and office behaviour. Thank you mr Van Deuren. Possibly mr Dujournot had this raise planned before, because it was executable at the years’ end. 5000 old Belgian franks it were. About a whole 125 Euros or a 100 USD each month. Better than nothing. That’s what I say. Always be grateful, my mom would say.  But in comparison to the rest, to the salary mr Dujounrot earned, and not to forget, my good friend Wolfgang Hanssen, it was peanuts. I refused to see it as a scanty gift. We had not proven anything yet. Sales were rising, but not to that extend that we all could cry “victory”. I had no idea at that time, that my sales, realized together with Wolfgang Hanssen, would be on its way to triple itself in the shortest way possible the following months to come.  No one could foresee that my strategy would work that effectively.

Now mr Van Deuren had written all raises down in his black office manual. A black leather agenda which he used for all detailed information on what he was up to the next month. We all knew that, but I did not care. It was his working tool. Not mine. I had enough to do with my rapidly growing sales. All goods had to leave MIXO. Every week again.  Anissa knew this likewise. Shortly after mr Van Deuren triumphantly had announced the breakthrough he accomplished about our raise in pay, without giving us the full details yet, Anissa called upon Tessy and Veronique to come to her. Malvine stood already beside her. It was noon and mr Van Deuren had gone out for a bite.

She had the black leather agenda of mr Van Deuren in her hands and opened it.

 

“What are you doing?”; I asked her, not believing what I saw happening before my eyes.

 

“Don”t you want to know what salary raise you will get?”, she smashed in my face?

 

“You can’t do that!”, I said again. “That is the agenda of mr Van Deuren;”

 

“So?”, was the only reply I got, whilst she was urgently looking into the agenda to find the figures she wanted to see.

 

“If you want to know your salary raise, why don’t you ask him in stead of sneaking into his personal agenda?”, I tried again.

 

“I want to know everything!”, Anissa answered.

 

“I want to know how much you all are going to get. “

 

I was not hearing right. This was sooo wrong. It was a clear illegal intrusion into the personal working papers of her direct superior. You cannot do such things. Anissa could. No problem. She was as clever as to get Veronique and Tanja and Malvine involved in this. They all stood next to her and were as it were, by doing so, first hand silent accomplices in the crime to be committed.  

Mr Van Deuren had been lucky.. He had arranged, together with mr Dujournot a increase in pay that was equal to all of us. So no grounds for envy nor any protest. I stayed at my desk, doing what I was doing and tried to forget what I had been witnessing all along.

After her hunger for information was settled, she deposited the agenda where she took it. Nothing happened. Anissa was very certain that I would tell no one what I had seen. Why could she be so sure? Had she seen the word “pussy” again, written all over my forehead?

She was right. I had no intention on telling anyone. Although you do not do such things Anissa just pulled through, mr Van Deuren should not leave his agenda with personal and confidential office information lying around on his desk. You lock this up. With a key or a locker.

Now, by being transferred to the account department, Anissa was receiving more and more confidential company information  about Matrix Systems as well. Any one in such position should handle and deal with this kind of confident information with supreme care and precision and utmost discretion towards all others. Not Anissa. This was surely not one of her qualms.

I did not know if she was too stupid to understand the importance of this discrete handling concerning certain private classified company information or that she was too lazy to give it a thought or any consideration. I am afraid it was both.

 

chapter twenty two : gathering more evidence

This was not the first time Anissa did something irregular in the office of Matrix Systems. The peculiar thing was, that she did this in public, with all of us to witness. Not all of us. Mr Dujournot never  ever was in the office when she coloured outside the lines. Nor was mr Moipatron. Nor mr Van Deuren. Customer care was some lowlife department she got rid of and the way she behaved clearly showed her reluctance and contempt towards us. Towards the other players she still had some reserves in her action. Only a few weeks earliers, when Tessy Jolé  was negotiating with mr Dujournot about her salary and got installed in her function, Anissa had been deliberately running in and out of the office of mr Dujournot to catch up some private words or to notice some concealed elements. It had been so apparent that as a result, mr Dujounrot even got nervous. : “Anissa will you now please close the door behind you and stay out of my office for the next ten minutes, since I am negotiating with Tessy?”  he urged her. “Thank you!”, he added

 

Somewhere in the emptiness of her hollow brain, Anissa must have thought that she had to be around when the next colleagues were hired to take part of the non-team. Mr Dujournot clearly thought differently. 

But it was too late. Anissa had seen a loose sheet of paper mr Dujounrot used in front of him to doodle upon whilst having his installation conversation. As she remembered from the time she got into Matrix, mr Dujounrot always wrote this salary proposition on this note. Also this time, she had already seen some figures on that sheet of paper. So she recognized  that Tessy, whom she knew from school but wasn’t a really good friend of her, at the contrary, would appear later on, was on the edge of entering Matrix Systems.  Which she did. Mr Dujournot confirmed this only minutes after Anissa had left the air co office.

Because they both had the same educational background, and thus partly shared troubled teen years, Anissa wanted to know absolutely, at any cost possible, what Tessy would have received as a salary proposal. This could never ever be as much or as little as she had now; out of the question. She had made a promotion, she was now head of the account department, whilst Tessy would be head of a department that even did not exist at that time, since we didn’t have a warehouse yet. Anissa could burst of curiosity. If she could, she would burst into his office and rip this paper out of mr Dujournots hands; but she did not do so. She waited, impatiently till mr Dujournot went out of the office for a bite or two and a drink of seven, before diving into his office again. She made sure mr Moipatron and mr Van Deuren were out as well.  She submerged straight into the paper bin since his desk had been cleaned like a virgin.

Triumphantly she came back into the general office space, where we all were trying to do what we had to do, taking care of the needs of our customers. In her hands she held a wrinkled piece of paper.

“seventy-five thousand!”, she screamed out loud. “she is getting seventy-five thousand!”, she repeated unmistakably indicating she did not like what she saw.

“do you know how much I had, when I started?”, she fulminated, forgetting that she just had fulfilled her six months trial period and already had gotten a fierce raise for her nomination as account responsible? I did not know how much she earned and I did not want to know. I had accepted my salary proposal for reasons of my own and of course, because I am not that good negotiator this salary was not exactly a hit! But this had been my problem and not that of others. Anissa tried to get all others in the office involved in her discovery, again, because what she had done, stealing confident information out of a bin, was not exactly an act of faith for someone who would be handling private company information in the very near future. She was looking for accomplices again.

We all looked at her, a nearly hysterical girl of about twenty-two years old, with an aggressive theatrical attitude of a deceived wife who just got to the knowledge that she had been betrayed for many years by her beloved husband.

“sixty two thousand”, she screamed in the open. “sixty two thousand”, she repeated as if we did not hear her first outburst of discontentment. The moment mr Dujournot had set one of his intoxicated feet again in the office, that afternoon, Anissa jumped right at him. “We need to talk urgently”, she sneered at him. Mr Dujournot, expecting a quiet  de-intoxicating afternoon at his office, enjoying his latest realisations of team expansion, did not know what really happened to him and thus they both went straight into his office, closing the door behind them.

As short as it had taken to install Tessy in her new job, the longer took this private reunion between mr Dujournot and Anissa. 

Whne he would not have been that drunk, I am sure he would have showed her every angle of his office and his magnificent mahogany wooden virgin cleaned desk. But he had decanted one too many in his gullet to be able to serve his stiffmeister. I bet he was very angry with himself letting such an occasion pass the day. So they met at night, after office. Anissa exultantly left the office. She smiled like having had three penises in her mouth, at the same time,  and looked very happy. She actually did arrange a second raise in pay, that is for sure. In just a few weeks she had been able to lift her salary level to unknown heights. At least for someone of her age. What she did to achieve this, I can only guess. Anissa showed us all that she had gained what she was after. She did not tell us what she got, but couldn’t suppress her contentment about it, even if she had to bent her knees behind her ears again. Maybe for the first time, back then.

chapter twenty three leaving MIXO

Chapter twenty three : leaving MIXO

Because of a silly fight between two general managers, we had to move. Mr Dujournot was convinced we would do a far better job on our own than MiXO had done for years: collecting our incoming goods from the States and storing them properly in their gigantic shoebox-warehouse along the highway.

Now he had hired mr Van Deuren and meanwhile he had informed him about what was to come. Of course this was a challenge to mr Van Deuren. But you could feel on your nostrils that it would be a complete “mission impossible”. Nevertheless, mr Van deuren  had been quite pleased with this new element in his job description, since in “running the present office”, he had not much of instant success for the time being, at the contrary I would say so.

He had arranged a slight increase in pay, but, as I am very supicioius inthose things, I think mr Dujounrot had foreseen this raise anyway, at the end of the year. But by giving mr Van Deuren the impression that it was he who had accomplished this raise, mr Dujournot had found a cheap way of keeping everyone pleased, but one, Anissa. After she got her second raise in a row, in a time period of no less than six months, she too seemed to have found some inner peace in the nothingness of her mind. 

And so Mr Van Deuren went out to search for an appropriate warehouse location that would please us all.

Now I cannot say that mr Dujournot did not consider our wishes when we discussed the location possibilities.

He was as clever as that he would do everything to keep his new selected team on the job, even in the new location, since he could not afford to change teams again. May be the USA would wake up one day. Mr Dujournot had all freedom possible one only could dream of, as a general manager, but you should not exaggerate those things and certainly not evoke your fate. He did not do so.

He asked everyone individually how far we all would be able to travel towards our new location. What a nice gesture that was! Now tell me again that mr Dujournot was a selfish bastard.  No one wanted it farther than  6,21 miles from the place we were actually working up till now. This did not make it any easier on the searching job for mr Van Deuren. He came from the city of Ghent and wasn’t really acquainted with the harbour city that Antwerp really was. But this was his luck at the same time. Antwerp had storage rooms for everyone. From small individual lockers till gigantic storehouses and oversized depots, the harbour site offered it all.  It was only a matter of selection really. The choice was quickly made. It strengthened the self esteem that mr Van Deuren had practically completely lost on his first general meeting attempt. He could not ever imagine at this moment, that at the end he would be finally sacrificed and executed by mr Dujournot.

Chapter twenty four : on the move

Chapter twenty four : on the move

I wouldn’t wish my worst enemy even a brief encounter with Anissa Hamsa, by far the most Machiavellian, wicked person in this writings, unless you would have a higher social position than she has, so she thinks she could gain something out of the encounter to her benefit. But if you are not able to create the impression that you would be able to contribute to the wellbeing of her lifestyle, I would advice you only one thing : “run baby, run!!!!”  If the devil himself would exist and he would be wandering around on this planet, make sure he has hidden inside the package of Anissa Hamsa. You should meet her to believe it. Or, if your’ lucky,  you should experience her slimy, sticky submissive and obedient   way of how she handles her superiors,  crawling up ones ass with conviction and persistence :” haaaaaai Gerard, how aaaare you this morning?????”, deliberately leaving all other inferior staff out of her worldly life because they werent’ but just a waste of air. Sometimes, mornings, when she hadn’t slept well for some reason or another, you could hear her stamping her feet from far, as if she was trying to break with her heals of anger the two levelled staircase to our now offices in Merksem. At these moments, she did not speak at all, not even to those who could produce a benefit in her little fake world. She had a morning issue, a morning temper, if she woke up, you had to leave her alone for at least two hours. Since she mostly did not turn up before ten o’clock, you could hardly say it was still morning. For her it was. As she felt promoted to the account department, of course, she did not participate any longer in our attempt to make everything easier for our customers, by just being on time in the office, for one thing. She came and left as she pleased, always looking triumphantly into uour direction, where we, at customer care were urgently preparing all orders to enter and leave on time.

I did not care any longer. It had no use to get upset about this. Only, Anissa acted as a little child. She took, and when she noticed it worked, she took some more. You all know the expression of giving a finger and taking an arm, do you not? At the end she just made all her private appointments in the middle of the day, during working hours, without compensating one single minute for them. All her dentist appointments were situated  in the middle of the afternoon, mostly two o’clock.  It learned form the frequency of those scheduled dental arrangements that women from Northern Africa must have been born with much more teeth in their mouth than people from Europe. Her hairdresser could only cut between two and four in the afternoon. No one of her superiors said anything. Mr Van Deuren had too much on his mind because of the move we were all in the middle of. This move caused a lot of trouble. Not to Anissa. She was having her dentals whitened, a tooth repaired, undergoing a second bleaching round, or having her hair cut, repaired, fixed, dyed, having hair extensions placed, having extensions removed, or was enjoying the afternoon sunshine on one of the nice open air terraces of the near city of Antwerp. Or she just went shopping in the “Wijnegem Shopping Centre”, the biggest shopping arcade from Belgium. I don’t know if this was pure luck, but the new offices were only a farts smell away from all these lucrative ways to spend ones afternoon. During working hours of Matrix Systems I mean.

Malvine was integrated in the accountdepartment and had only part time left to help us deal with our rapidly growing order increase. Malvine did all the real work at the account department. In the beginning Malvine was a quiet person. She did not say much. In fact she did not speak at all; she had her hooters that spoke for her.

The initial stealing half an hours in the morning and another half an hour in the evening had swiftly expanded, as her salary had, to whole afternoons, she had to spend on one or the other programme to keep her bodily functions going and kicking. Teeth, hair, nails, feet, massage, you name it, and Anissa had some programme running to keep her in the best shape ever. Her hips she could not make look any slimmer and her small breasts she hadn’t enlarged yet. Maybe she still intended to do so.

Of course she planned her afternoons of bodily maintenance never when mr Dujournot was in. But since he hardly ever was around, she had plenty of time to arrange her private excursions outside the Matrix office.

When she occasionally did stay in the office, she had her MSN connection constantly opened on her screen. I did not spy on her. Where I was located in the new offices, I could spot directly into her screen. It was a pity that it was only too far away to actually see what she was writing all the time and to whom. You all know that MSN delivers a sign each time a message drops in your mailbox, or when someone tries to get in touch with  you. Anissa did not find it necessary to turn this sound of, so we were easily informed each  time she was interactive with private persons around the globe, and you may be sure of one thing; they were not talking about Matrix Systems, nor about the financial situation, nor about our future projects or the whereabouts of mr Dujournot.  The arrogance of Anissa was peaking back then. She did what she thought to be done: nothing.

Where did she find this self-assuredness? This haughtiness, her way of deliberately abusing all possible office conduct; always clearly demonstrating a “you can’t do me anything”-attitude.

She felt protected, that is one thing. And that I for sure. Otherwise you cannot behave as Anissa did. All the time. Not only once. Constantly. Week after week, day after day.

It were busy days, back then, the days of our move. Mr Van Deuren had found a nice location. In Merksem, as you all still know.

The biggest shopping mall of Belgium only a heartbeat away. Fantastic. The only thing mr Dujounrot ever asked us was the distance we would be willing to travel to our new offices. The other issues he only and exclusively discussed with mr Van Deuren, his second in command. Mostly by phone. Distant phone. Because mr Van Deuren had to arrange everything.  As from the moment it was decided that we were going to move and leave MIXO, mr Dujournot left Belgium and only returned three whole weeks after we were already packed and moved towards our new offices. This is hard to believe, I know. Still, ask around, it is exactly how it went. Mr Dujounrot could not stand disorder and chaos. He could not endure irregularities and problems. Even if they are inevitable and rational when you move. To him, they all should have been solved the moment he returned towards the new premises. That is exactly why he waited so long to return to Belgium. He had hoped everything  to be cleared by then. He had calculated three more weeks after the final days of our move to make his grand re-entries into the new offices. We were all settled by then. Our offices were installed. We could work. That was about all we could do. But not without any problems. Not  all problems were already solved, at the contrary. Some of the problems were still accumulating and growing, day by day.  It seemed that every new day in our new offices a new setback emerged. So many things had gone wrong during our move from one location to the other that it is almost too embarrassing to make a list of what went wrong. You name it, and it was a predicament that had occurred. Now, most of those issues were not solved yet, as mentioned before. Mr Van Deuren had clearly underestimated a lot of the side effects of this move. He had also without any doubt overrated his managerial qualities. He had as good as none. That he proved back there and then. We all were silent witnesses, because it all appeared to be too painful to him. His fat body started to hyperventilate as the first phone call came in, reporting a new hitch. I will only mention the most intriguing ones. So did he order too little trucks to move all our Matrix System goods from one warehouse to the other. So did he order too little storage room, too little racks, in the new warehouse to store the incoming goods. So did he not anticipated enough time to unpack it all and place it in order to pick and ship things again from our new location. So did he not hire enough people to do so. Which led directly to unforeseen delays in shipments. So did he order a complete new software package to deal with this new picking and shipping methods we all had to learn. MIXO did all this before, remember? Now we had to do things our own. When MIXO was handling our goods, we only had to check upon the goods. We “plok”ed : particle on location OK. We would all be doing this far better now by ourselves, would we not mr Dujournot? Our new software however, was not properly adjusted to the scattered content of our new warehouse. As a result, all our new orders that left from our new location, were wrong. Too many goods left, too little goods left. Systems were broken, during the move, others were lacking because they had fallen out of their boxes. The packing was horribly done, the pallets knocked out, they broke down because of improper packing foam and film. Not one of those first shipments in the first days after our move, was identical with that what our customers ordered. There were discrepancies, overstock, broken goods, lacking goods and, most of all, delay in delivery because no one knew what to do first. Only Anissa. She kept up with her bodily appointments, every single afternoon, she had the opportunity to do so. The only great thing about this was that she did not run in someone’s way because she was out. I guess she could not stand disorder neither. The times she had not an appointment to attend, she left at noon around one thirty, and returned after three o clock, so her afternoon was broken, and five a clock was approaching rapidly.

Veronique and I and partly also Malvine had a terrible time, those early days in Merksem.  It was just horrendous. We tried to do everything we could and what we had within our means to comfort our customers. Of course, they were upset. We, Veronique, Malvine and I had been able to augment our level of customer care to an excellent standard, those first few months where MIXO still was doing the storage and now all we had build up was being erased as it never ever had existed in the first place. Not one phone call came from a happy client. They all had something to complain about.

Tessy was extremely busy putting her warehouse team together and getting them to do what had to be done. But when it is the first time that something is done, it is just not that easy to arrange things. Especially if the material you have to deal with to accomplish your task, is lacking, or broken, or inconvenient to do so. Of course mr Van Deuren had no authority to buy new picking and packing material. He had to look for the cheapest trucks possible on the market. No wonder they arrived broken at our new location. He had bought them in a broken condition; only he was not informed about it. Then, oil failed. Antiseptic  sterilized water failed. To get those bloody machines running.  They werent’ plugged into the electricity long enough on delivery date so they had to be left unused for the next twenty-four hours to get the batteries charged. Electricity cables were not long enough. The weren’t strong enough. They made the whole electricity chain brake down. Another setback  in time. Large parts of the Matrix goods weren’t even stored yet, they stood in large numbers packed on pallets, even outside our warehouse, as the racks weren’t even finished and the warehouse people started to locate and assemble their first orders to be shipped. What do you think? That it all turned out to be OK? Forget it. Where did they have to look? On the still unpacked pallets outside? On the false locations inside? It took us weeks to get over this mess and to let things work as they should have worked in the first place.

Then it started to rain. Rain poured out of the darkened sky. Upon the unprotected pallets. Mr Van Deuren started to hyperventilate again. I bet at that time he wished himself on another location.Or on the moon for that matter. I bet he would have given a lot of money to be able to sit at his dentists chair. Having his teeth bleached. Anissa’ s teeth glowed in the dark. As if made fluorescent. Now he had to mobilize every warehouse worker to get those bloody pallets inside. They were put where an inch of free space was left unused.  So you could not enter nor leave our precious new warehouse any longer. Trucks that came to collect the goods to be sent to our eagerly awaiting customers all over Europe, could not load because of the chaos inside of our warehouse. Not one single pick up truck could even move. Nor could we. Total chaos. Mr van Deuren went home. Without saying one word. He had spoken enough. He had shouted enough. It all did not help. It could not rectify what he had done wrong in the first place. I knew this would end wrong. He knew this too. Even if mr Dujournot had not been on the new premises for one single minute yet.

On his way home mr Van Deuren started to see what mr Dujournot had been doing with him so far. He had undoubtedly abused him. He had not received  one single word of help nor support of mr Dujounrot. At the contrary. Mr Van Deuren had learned as well that he should not present any problems to mr Dujournot but solutions. Either mr Dujounrot accepted the presented solution and turned it to be one of his own, or he rejected the propositions mr Van Deuren made to solve one of the many inconveniences.  Mr Dujounrot had been far from constructive. He had been obstructive, mostly. He had been acting like a  spoiled child, not getting what he wanted. Mr Dujournot had given mr Van Deuren a very hard time. He did not agree on any money-consuming proposition. So mr Van Deuren had to go and look for some discarding material. He was fed up with it all.

.Not once mr Dujournot had taken his responsibility as general manager. Het had left mr Van Deuren totally  on his own, being submerged in his pool of failure and lack of professionalism. He had let him drown. He had nothing done to rescue him, nor the devastating circumstances Matrix Systems was evolving to. He wasn’t even in Belgium. Not even once he had come over to see how things were going. Of course mr Van Deuren kept the bad news as long as possible away from mr Dujournot. He had tried to solve things. He had failed. The only way both gentlemen spoke, was on the phone. Nobody ever knew where mr Dujournot was. Sure he wasn’t in Belgium. Neither did he visit any Matrix customer. This we would have known. Ah, yes, we would have known that.  Not one single Matrix customer had been visited by mr Dujournot in those days. Where did he go then.?  What did he do then? Nobody knew. Nobody asked. We had our own problems to cope with. Rather than to wonder where our boss might be. It seemed that the USA did not care neither.  They did not wonder either. What a token of conficence they had in the capacities of mr Dujournot.

 

This was not what mr Van Deuren had expected from his job as office manager. He seemed to be the manager of total chaos and destruction. The worst of it all, nevertheless, were the enduring phone calls of our disgruntled customers. As long as the problems were not solved, the phone calls would not diminish. But they were right. That was the hard part. Mr Van Deuren could not live with the fact that he, as a former IT specialist, a PC wizard so to speak, had not been able to install a perfectly functioning software system to deal with the new tasks we had to perform additionally because of the childish row both managers had about Anissa. She did not care. She did not have to work with this new system. Not yet. She flashed her newly polished teeth into her screen. She laughed. She had a good time. Life was good for her.

 

Chapter twenty five : DAMMAGE CONTROL

Chapter twenty five : DAMMAGE CONTROL

We were all, but two (Anissa and mr Dujournot), trying to keep the boat floating, the weeks after we moved to our new premises. The new warehouse, located beside a busy canal, looked great. It was to be found in the middle of a new park of young industries, with all facilities present : quality roads, nice signs, four loading docks, comfortable offices above the warehouse. Mr Van Deuren had made a nice choice. Sadly enough for him, that was about it. He had proposed the selection to mr Dujounrot and even Wolgang Hanssen came especially from Germany to inspect the new location. The price must have been acceptable or even cheap, as it was decided immediately to take on this property. After the selection about everything else went wrong. We  prevented the ship from being sunk. The captain was not on board. His first lieutenant went berserk. He had lost all marbles. We were trying to limit the damage and to rescue what could be rescued. Never ever have Veronique and I so persistently been insulted by our customers. All day long, day after day. Week after week. We both were lucky to have had some experience in customer care so we could place it all in a wider perspective.  Not one of them was satisfied. Also Malvine had her share of the poisoned cake.  Tessy tried to help us too, but as the insults and true allegations about mismanagement could no longer be denied, she focussed on getting her man trained and optimized in picking the right things. If they were placed on the right spot that is. If our software indicated the right location. It all came together and it all was connected with each other. It was as if the chain wasn’t coupled properly. There were too many knots in it, yet. Still. Mr Van Deuren was desperately trying to unfold the knots he had found.  The only thing left for him to do, was to detect the failure he had created and step by step, unravel the obstructing elements to keep things running. Every week, we created at least another week of delivery delay. We could not unpack our containers, since the trucks of the move had not been unpacked yet. It was pretty amazing how we managed to survivce this period of total madness.

Of course even Wolfgang Hanssen had received telephone calls from disillusioned customers who complained about totally erroneous shipments, delivered even way too late on top of the whole story.

This was all pretty bad for Matrix Systems. And for us. We were all pretty mad at mr Dujournot. Every one felt that he had abandoned not only mr Van Deuren, but the whole company. No one dared to say this out loud.

The new offices were larger than we had before and now mr Van Deuren had the possibility to create his own separate office. Even our technical support, our engineer got a separate angle of the working space. Now, when Anissa saw this, she also required for her account department a detached working space. There was only one problem: we did not have that many walls. So mr Van Deuren, in a desperate attempt to keep everyone his friend in times of total war, did everything he could to segregate the office in another disconnected corner for the account department. Anissa loved it what was happening. She saw the desperation of mr Van Deuren growing by the day and enjoyed every single minute of it. She literally kicked on the misery of mr Van Deuren. He was at the verge of killing himself. He had obtained this wild irrational look in his eyes.

As if he could not care less what had happened. I think to one point he had given up. He knew he was to be slaughtered. His death screams hadn’t worked.  No one had responded, nor helped him. We all did our part to keep things going, but the real help he needed from mr Dujournot. Who had been vanished from earth. In stead of help, he got supplementary  negative pressure. The only way ever to reach mr Dujournot was by his cell phne. Mostly he was not connected so you had to say a message into his mailbox. If it fitted him, he’d call you back. If he did not kike the caller, he ignored the call. That is an effective  way to separate you into a save cocoon of regulating order and self-care. Mr Dujournot liked I that way. He was the one that decided whether a phone call was made or a call was returned. Not you! Nor the USA. Because of the time differences, he had no fears. They woke up about 1400 hrs  GMT. By that time mr Dujournot had started to drink again and so he could function again as a normal dictator. Even the customers avoided mr Dujournot. Especially since Veronique and I and partly also Malvine had been delivering quite some good work and they had no reason whatsoever to get him on the phone. Till those dramatic days of chaos and disaster. They called us all day long at the office to get things right, to make new appointments, new arrangements, to get broken systems repaired, to get false delivered pallets removed, to get missing elements sent after; all with the necessary grumbling and  protest. Some of them were so fed up with the disappearing good service they had gotten used to, that they started to call mr Dujounrot and intruded his selective cocoon of wellbeing, somewhere around Europe. Mr Dujournot was furious. He had his reasons. Rather personal ones though.

 

Mr Dujournot let mr Van Deuren bake in his own fat ass. In stead of talking to him, discussing the next steps to be made to get out of this mess. The only thing mr Dujournot came up with was a gigantic general meeting, with all staff, all new warehouse workers, all representatives, the French ones and Wolfgang, to discuss what went wrong and how to solve it. So many people all together cannot work out a rescue plan. It was clear to me and to mr Van Deuren why mr Dujournot acted this way : he had orchestrated an official ceremony, where mr Van Deuren would be slaughtered and sacrificed. All elements would point in the direction of mr Van Deuren, every one knew this. So what is the point of a time wasting meeting where no solutions would be served anyway? It was the only way mr Dujournot could restore his diminishing influence (caused by his persistant absence and enhanced by the failure of thorough functioning of mr Van Deuren since he had to represent mr Dujournot, only, because of the many unforeseen difficulties, it looked that mr Dujounrot was to blame at the end) , his power, his dictatorship over the company, all at once, he would lead Matrix towards a new healing process again, what a saviour he was! And he would accuse mr Van Deuren of obvious and clear mistakes that would make his functioning impossible so he would have to quit.. Mr Dujounrot himself had no idea whatsoever how to solve those problems we were all coping with. In the first place, he did not even want to know the trouble at all. It was enough for him that there were even inconveniences around the office.

If you ask me, it was only a matter of time and timing. Mr Van Deuren had done too many things at the same time and had not foreseen an incubation time where all should fall into place again in the new offices. But panic was raised and mr Dujounrot would demonstrate his divine managerial capacities once more.

You cannot move a whole organisation and start up at the same time a part of a new working process in a matter of hours and expect it to work without any birth diseases. That is naïve. Mr Van Deuren was naïve. He, for all, should have known also that a brand new computer program needs some time to inaugurate itself and needs a period of adjustments and corrections until it is fitted in. Even Bill Gates knows that. We had the honour of working as the World premiere with our newly written picking and packing ordering programme. Guess what happened. Exactly. Not one picking form was correct. Not one picking location in the warehouse was correctly filled. What would you expect?

There was no sun protection in our new offices. This had been the same as before. But now even the air conditioning in the office of mr Dujournot lacked. He did not know this yet, since he had never set foot on these new premises. Only once he had been here, together with Wolfgang Hanssen and mr Van Deuren ,the time they decided they would take it. Since that time he had not been in Belgium again.  Now he would reappear, three whole weeks after we all had already moved. Actually it was in the forth week, after his departure that he would visit us again on the new premises. It would be for the first time he saw his new office because mr Van Deuren had some extra walls replaced and installed to make it acceptable for every department to work in. He had been taken into account every consideration possible made by any of us. But this would not matter later on during the general meeting where he was supposed to be sacrificed. And it did not matter. And he was sacrificed. Poor mr Van Deuren. Never seen a man with so little self-esteem left as he had, when he stood before us all, being accused of all wrongdoings in this world. And if someone knows anything about self-esteem, then it should be me, since  I had to do without it a great deal of my life. But lets not run ahead again, mr Dujournot still had to arrive, yet. In his shiny, newly waxed black Audi A6 filled with the finest white leather furniture. This shallow car description is written without any feeling of jealousy, I swear, I just had to describe you the way he rolled in, that rainy morning  in May, at ten fifty five sharp. Anissa had received a phone call some minutes earlier from him to order his sandwich.

“He’s on his way!”, she shouted, thrilled as a little child who had missed one of her parents on an overseas holiday. “aaaah, He is going to be here in a few minutes!”, she précised her enthusiastic outburst. At that exact moment, mr Dujournot stopped his car in front of his new Matrix Systems cathedral. He stayed in his car. He was on the phone. For at least another half an hour. To whom he talked to, we never knew. We would never know. He always had his car waxed when he came in the office.

Chapter twenty six : wet underpants and other underwear issues

Chapter twenty six : wet underpants and other underwear issues

Anissa was watching mr Dujournot from the huge uncovered window on the second floor, above our new warehouse. She just had to turn her seat of her desk and so she could glimpse all over the wide open space, next to the water canal,  laying  before our new office annex warehouse. Nonetheless, she went close to the edge of the window and stood aside it, as if she liked to hide and cover up her spying activities, which was impossible, since the lacking of any sun protection shields. There was nothing at all to cover up those windows. Mr Dujounrot parked always right in front of the warehouse, at the main loading entrance, where a separate door uncovered the two storey high staircase towards our offices. He never parked aside, on the proper parking space. He used to do this at MIXO’s place, and he did it here.  Now, knowing about his leg problems, his limping history and his boozing attitude, it was absolutely normal, even wise to park the nearest place possible towards the entrance of the building he had to enter. That he often blocked with is black shiny Audi the main gate and obstructed the workers activities,  never occurred to him. Of course, they never ever once had said anything about this unruly way of installing his car in front of the building. They were all afraid of the absent monarch of Matrix. For them, he had become a kind of “Big Brother”,  u know, from the novel of George Orwell , invisible, never seen but always around by eyes of the voice whom you’d only could guess. Tessy took care of the warehouse people. Even if she had only just been twenty two, she handled those partly rough fellows, as if she had never been doing anything else in her entire life (which had been short, but this she did not know). She had been born for this job. The name of Mr Dujournot only appeared in wild narratives and sticky rumours about drowned sons and all. A spooky person. To everyone. Not in the least for mr Van Deuren. He did not see mr Dujournot coming with a smile on his face. Only Anissa seemed exited.

Too exited actually.  She had wet her pants. Like a dog would do that is happy to see his master again, he starts pissing around. Anissa did the same. But not around, just in her pants. It had been a kind of uncontrollable reflex. She had not felt it coming.  “Go and see a doctor!”, mr Dujournot would tell her later, in the privacy of his new office.  She cried, but smiled at the same time. “it will never ever happen again, I swear to Allah!”, she swore to Allah. The fantasy of mr Dujournot had just revealed some unknown potential in his relation to Anissa. “Golden shower” wasn’t just a flower from that day onwards between those two lovebirds.

(you could even detect some indication of revitalizing hair growth on the thinning cranium of mr Dujournot.)

The new guys working in our chaotically structured  warehouse,  were indeed from a breed you ‘d better not encounter after dark. How did this happen? Why were they hired in the first place? Tessy was not that kind of girl that would be afraid of the male species. She herself, had a pretty tough childhood and knew how to stand up for herself and her values. It did not matter to her if you were a man of a woman. Justice was important to her. As it was to me. The real problem was the salary, mr Dujournot was prepared to spend on his picking and packing people. As from the amount he set free for them, not much of respect could be detected. He paid the lowest possible fee. If there were not set any downward limitations  on those paycheques, mr Dujournot would have gone even lower. So, the kind of people you attract to do this kind of work, evaluated as little as it paid, were criminals free on parole, or criminals searching fro a hideout, or criminals intending to perform a major bank robbery, or plain retards. They were not supposed to have any human value, nor quality. If they could count to ten, that would do fine, thank you so much!

Strangely enough, Tessy had them fiercely under control. All of them. Well done Tessy!

She set up time tables, held small individual  and group meetings with her warehouse staff, she managed them perfectly. Till one of them had bleeding haemorrhoids and thought he was going to die. He left with his pants full of blood and we never saw him back. He was replaced by the brother of Anissa. Big mistaka to maka!

Mr Dujournot was pretty satisfied with the way Tessy handled her job, which was, at the least to say, not that easy, seen the devastating working circumstances mr Van Deuren had created at the first place. But he had been the lieutenant in command, for the duration of the absence of the captain. It was a captain of a ships wreck, finally, who came and visited us that rainy day in May, at ten fifty five. And it did not rain but water that day.

Chapter twenty seven : looser

Are we not all losers at the end? At the very final termination of life? What is the point of gathering as much as we possibly can of earthly goods, money and wealth and even power, if we know from the beginning that we all going to end without any of those? Why are we raised with the fake presumption of a “never-ending life?” I agree we can't just laugh at newborns, telling them they are going to die at some point in the future. But may it not be a better idea to focus  on other things than those we cherish now so passionately. The ending of our worldly life is never been a popular subject to talk about. Only, it is part of our lives. If we want it or not. Now, I think most of us are just pretending that they will never ever pass the corner of this temporary circus we were all born into, because deep inside they are afraid. Or they know there won’t be a dozen or more virgins waiting at the other end. Could anyone by the way tell me how a spirit can f*ck? Does he have a dick? Can he get a hard on? Does he still have eyes to see what he is doing?

Do you know already now, since I came up with this questions some chapters ago?

The stories told to us by those who are desperately seeking power and trying to preserve it, are pathetic, false and intentional wrong.

For ages and centuries the Catholics have adjusted and invented lies and make believe stories. Any reasonable human being with any shred of sanity between his eyes, must admit that we, humans are far too infinite, too miniscule to ever know or understand anything about what is going on around us.  Even now, even in the 21 century.  What we know for sure, but what we all so desperately and pathetically try to ignore, by believing every shit that is ever told to us by some dominant power seeking ancestors,  is that we indeed, at the end,  are all the same, losers. Why do we always want more? Do you think it dies better when you know you leave a lot behind?

Mr Dujounrot thought he was  immortal to. His defective bodily functions told him another story though. But some sickening particles in his brain, ignored those impulses and he kept on destroying the essence of life : the quality of his blood. I have seen how the slightest diminishing of the quality of blood directly leads to malfunctioning of the body.  Nevertheless mr Dujounrot must even have thought that his 12 year old whiskey from the Scottish Highlands was a blessing for his fleshly package. He forgot that the blessing ends at the third glass. Usually. With mr Dujounrot it ended at the second glass, considering the content, filled right up to two third of the crystal glass. After refill, he ‘d used to drink immediately a fierce slurp out of his glass, so it would even appear just filled as it should. May be he could not handle the fact that his life was end able.  That he could not take his freshly polished car with him. Nor his cell phone with fax and e-mail function. He had a son dead, still he did not care much for this little bastard who takes away lives. There always would be auctioneers. And when they die, they are replaced by others. Is as simple as that. Unless we hit that wall we are all flying to. Unforeseen. Unpredicted. In the middle of having a great steaming dump. What a finale!

Mr Van Deuren felt not really well. He felt kinda like a loser does. He knew what being a loser feels like. Mr Dujounrot never ever had felt that way. Not even when his son drowned.

Only moments before mr Dujournot, who was still on his pone in his car downstairs, came crawling up the staircase, mr Van Deuren had started his latest offensive to rescue him self before brutal butchery. He came towards all of us individually, with heavy respiratory sounds, asking if we still had any personal confidence in mr Dujounrot. As you all know, I did have my doubts and I did find some striking irregularities in my past efforts of trying to integrate at Matrix Systems, but I could not, now, only minutes before Big Brother would reappear, invent a strategy of definite attack on his power skills. He, mr Van Deuren, should have come up with this much earlier in the comfort of a secret meeting, as there even had been some to slaughter Ceasar at the time. It represented clearly who mr Van Deuren really was : not the true manager we needed most urgently right now since everything went berserk because of his chain of false decisions. He acted like a fish, just gotten out of his bowl. He moved in any possible direction, without any result. He ran out of water.

He was desperate and lost. The meeting was planned at two o’ clock. Mr Van Deuren had no luck on his loyalty question. Nobody answered directly. He felt abandoned. Alone against Big Brother.

You cannot turn an IT specialist into a manager. If you want to be a real manager than you have to possess real managerial qualities. Like most women have from birth. You cannot study to have those.

You have them or you do not. Mr Dujournot had some managerial qualities, only they seemed a bit odd to me. He had a certain way with people. A strange way. A haunting  kind of way.  A dominant way. A patronizing way. A squalid and for all, purely dictatorial kind a way.. he had his age giving him experiential credentials.

He had his career at the competition, supporting his current pole position at Matrix Systems. He had his character, his rudeness, his self defence toward opponents, colleagues and  USA superiors, based upon verbal devastation and combat, similar to the language Anissa used. Only Anissa was clearly more drawn to the word “hatred” as such, and everything that had to do with this kind of destructive feeling as well as pure sentimental disgust. May be that is why they both got along so well. Besides the golden showers of course.

Of course mr Van Deuren  got the sack.  He got canned. He was fired. Thrown out. He could hold on to his cell phone and his laptop pc. As a kind of losers price. Mr Dujournot had no other choice. He had to blame the only one to blame. He had to save his own absent ass by diverting all attention to the sorry ass of mr Van Deuren. It worked. Mr Dujournot was a hell of a raconteur. Especially if it involved  covering up his own surreptitious life.

Writing pc programmes still is something different than moving a whole warehouse. Even with figures that are “year to date”. That was about the lesson mr Van Deuren had learned in those few months he thought he was the office manager at Matrix Systems Belgium.

Chapter twenty eight : self protection

Chapter twenty eight : self protection

Shorter chapters lead to better protection. Against intrusion. Against manipulation. Against hacking, against stalking. Believe me, I have had it all.

The staircase to the offices of our new location were two storeys high. There was no elevator. There was, again, no window sun protection shields, there was no air conditioning. There was no heating in the warehouse. We rented those offices and mr Dujournot had, once again set the standards. He could not care less about the overall quality. He was never in anyway. The office space was bigger though. That was about the only advantage we had in comparison to the old MIXO offices.

Because of the height, the lacking of any utensil to get up and the deteriorating physical condition of little old drunk mr Dujournot, he had to crawl up the stairs. It took him ages. Mostly, after arrival, he held some more phone conversations in the secrecy of his car. Then, when he got out, we knew it would take some half an hour to get up those fucking stairs. He rested every five stairs. He needed to . His heart told him to and his legs refused to go along, so they made him stop.  He hated it.  He hated it when he was accompanied by anyone. Usually he’d say : “you just go on up to the office, I ll be right after you, I have to check something in the warehouse.” Mostly this worked.  It provided him an alibi to stay downstairs for some extra minutes and climb those stair by himself without the curious looks of the physically stable ones. Mr Dujournot was like this kind of Australian bird, sticking his head in the ground each and every time he was confronted with a severe problem. Even when it concerned his own health. May be he is already dead now at the time I try to finish up this book. But there is still so much to write about,  in order make the picture complete for you guys. You have to know how it all developed.  How it all will end. You are entitled to this. Because it is getting worse indeed. Not only the performance of Anissa worsened and got even more  intensified  criminal proportions at the detriment of Matrix Systems but also the dubious deeds of mr Dujournot  would lead him to finally self-destruction and even mr Moipatron would start to strive to control the path of self glorification in the name of gaining sickening supremacy  in a fake competition with his own brother.

At that moment, mr Dujounrot tried to get up those stairs. When he entered the office, he saw as white as a ghosts Blanquette and inhaled as and old filled up squeaking and squealing  chimney. 

“How are you all doing?”, were his first words after four weeks of absence.  The most crucial period of Matrix Systems Belgium, the captain had not been on board. He had left full control to mr Van Deuren, but now, seen the due circumstances, he would have to fire him. After the meeting. The meeting that would prove him right. The meeting that would reinstall him in all his glory as captain of this ships wreck, once again. He would be the rescuer of Matrix. What a man! What a strategy! What a managerial qualities we were able to witness here!

The meeting was horrible. I am not repeating one single word there had been said by most of the participants. It was understandable that all of us were a bit itchy and focussed on those responsible. So it did not take long before the first allegations were made.  Mr Dujournot clearly pointed out mr Van Deuren as sole responsible, since he had been hired to orchestrate this move as one of the first acts to prove his kills as office manager. He had proven not to have those skills.

 

In a very demonstrative way. Meanwhile of course, we had moved from one place to the other. We had received new working spaces, new desks, new pc’s , now software and even an individual internet connection.  All our stored goods were transferred in the mean time as well from point MIXO to point MATRIX in Merksem. Only the way they were stored was not exactly as it should be. And the software was not able to locate anything either. In the harbour of Antwerp some ten ish container were still waiting to be pulled in and collected from the States. But beside these slight discrepancies, we did have contact with our clients again, and the orders kept coming in. Despite of the mistakes that were cumulated till reaching unknown heights ever before.

I (and I mean, really I) knew it all would be a matter of time, not skills , to settle things around here. I suspect mr Dujuonrot to know the same. But he had used mr Van Deuren to replace him during the move and now it was time to kick his ass. Which he did. He had no longer use for him; he could perfectly do without him. Mr Van Deuren had too many own ideas he wanted to pull through. He had not been able to work those out, because he had been having his hands full with his changing locations. Mr Van Deuren had wanted to do too many things at the same time. Even a baby needs also nine months of incubation before breaking out. So mr Dujounrot had laid artificially high pressure upon the shoulders of mr Van Deuren in order to let him fail deliberately. His master plan had worked. Till now. Mr Moipatron stayed low profile. He knew why. Only he did. He was protecting himself, his plan, his wife and his children. He had moved to Brussels by now. He had become a Belgian Frenchman. He had a brother in France. All of his family lived in France actually. He had lived there before his move to Matrix Systems. Till mr Dujounrot had convinced him to come over. Because in Belgium you would have severe tax advantaged; that is what he believed, and why he finally came over. He had hesitated quite some time. He had his reasons to hesitate. His family was one of those reasons. He had a wife at home and four kids. I bet his wife is now pregnant again, knocked up for the fifth time, now as we speak. No need to deny it.  His wife was not working. How could she?  She was one of those really  old fashioned housewives. Guided and protected by the male species.  Wife cooking, man bringing in the money. Mr Moipatron was driven by some very conservative thoughts. Although he had just turned thirty.  Some human species are born with aged genes in their body.  Mr Moipatron was one of them.  He’d die if he would allow his wife go working some place. He’d die of exaggerated protectiveness and jealousy. If he had not have a fireplace at home, he’d sure construct one. To put his wife in front of it. There. That’s the place she belonged! And in bed, with her knees behind her ears. Although he preferred doggy style though. Then he had not to look upon her face all the time. He could not stand the thought that she could see the face he had on him when he erupted into her. He might have been conservative, a vivid imagination he did possess. I guess all French natives do prefer the back attack style. Thirty something and already four kids. So he created the perfect excuse to keep her behind the comforting walls of his protective place called “home”.

 

And the hard cash. That too. He needed those badly. Of course. Who does not?

Let’s not forget about the life-time achievement competition he had running with his brother. A hard one. Brothers honour at stake here. At the moment mr Moipatron was not leading this brotherly game, at the contrary, he was severely behind the professional status of his younger brother. Damned. This situation was not one he could hold much longer. His personal reputation was at stake. His brother had already been promoted to some head of a bank office. Here in Belgium, this means nothing, only that you have to obey even more to the great money licking assholes in Brussels.  But mr Moipatron had only just started as a technical support unit. He hated that. Of course, the fact that he now worked abroad enhanced quite a bit the overall  external impression of his actual job. And he did never ever mention the words “technical aid” when he would be in France, visiting his next of kin.  He was at least the technical engineer, responsible of a whole department. At home they could not know that only he himself was the sole supporter of this entire Matrix division.

Meanwhile mr Dujournot had gotten rid of his first lieutenant.

 

He took care of his own protection.

 

Time to commence a new chapter.

 

To protect myself.

 

Chapter twenty nine : inbound burglary opera called “Anissa”

Chapter twenty nine : inbound burglary opera called “Anissa”

Mr Lloyd called me yesterday. On a Sunday. Mr Lloyd from the undercover investigation cell of  Stardor USA. The mother of all mother companies. Seemed they were on to something. Something big now. They were on to a lead towards Italy. It had to do with irregular account transfers or something like that. He could not tell much in order to keep the investigation going. Top secret. But he wanted me to know they were right at it. Someone in Italy should be getting quite agitated and feeling uncomfortable  by now.  The Italian connection led directly to Matrix Systems Inc. in Belgium. Some “Isabelle” was involved too. But I had no idea what he was talking about, since I never knew a girl called “Isabelle” who worked at our office in Belgium. And he talked about a fax machine that was bought in Belgium by Matrix but ultimately registered in Italy. And had been working in Italy. They were unravelling a bunch of severe knots of so called “areas of conflict of interest” between some Italian company where this fax had been found and Matrix Systems Belgium. It would be clear to them (Stardor) that those devious connections were supported in both countries till today.  More I cannot say, since I still have to enclose myself  more details to you all about those past years after the move, where mr Van Deuren had got the sack. I even cannot tell you about whom mr Lloyd was talking about. I did not know actually, I could only guess.  I knew the person in Italy, but I could not possibly know who was still supporting this illegal connection from Matrix Belgium for reasons I cannot reveal to you at this moment. But it will all fall in its place at the end.  But I have told you all quite enough for the moment. You all know that the ITALIAN link is illegal.  Or has become illegal. Why? Which connection? I will come to that. First Anissa had to do some more stealing from Matrix Systems.

Why do I say such things? May be because they are true? Her thirst for more seemed out of control. Especially now where she got acquainted with the inner secrets of the account department and she got to see all those six-packs of numbers. They danced before her eyes as golden signs of unknown wealth and luxury. Also the monthly wages, paid to each and every one of us, were now revealed to her knowledge, since she had to book them each month on the appropriate spot, under the right account number. She could not handle all this secret information. As soon as Anissa had seen some salaries, that were higher as hers, she called mr Dujournot to appear in his office and arranged another personal raise. She did this several times. I think Anissa had been able to realize the most raises possible a single person ever could have gotten in the smallest period of time. Kind of issue you would publish in the Guinness book of records , chapter :  “strange records”. She used the restricted and classified information she now got hold of purely for her own benefit. The confidentiality that mr Dujournot would expect from someone in this position, Anissa lacked completely. No one told her to adapt her behaviour to a classified level. Partly due to the fact that she even did not have a single clue that this was expected from her. She simply did not know. She was not educated to know this. At the contrary, she started to throw some salaries around in the open. Why would she do that? To cause but envy and “hatred”, something she worshiped as if she were the devil herself. Immediately I got to know from Anissa that Wolfgang Hanssen, as a sales, had about four times as much as I did. As I started even beneath the 2000 Euros brutto each month, Wolfgang earned an easy 8000 euros brutto each month. Now I am the kind of guy that does not question this kind of discrepancies, I do understand that there is a difference in workload, responsibility and power and that wages are dissimilar to cope with these kind of differentiations. But still, it hurt. It did hurt to see and hear this. I did not fell for this kind of entrapment, set out by Anissa. To me the height of Wolfgang’s salary was just a mere indication that there were still opportunities towards the future for me to enhance my salary. I had seen the upper limits.  And I liked those!  YES SIR!  I understood as well that the part of Wolfgang in the sales story of Matrix Belgium, was much more intense on his side than on mine. I was only  attracted by Matrix Systems to function as a “support”.  I was part of a “back office”. The backbencher. Wolfgang was playing the first violin here. I could live with that. It was a matter of responsibilities and priorities. This was not a problem for me. More it seemed to be a problem for Anissa, which had gotten again unbearable to her when she learned about the salary her ancestor had gotten. Again a reason to call mr Dujournot to return to his Belgium office for another shower and raise. Of course I had wished that my salary was higher than it appeared.  It told me more about the way mr Dujounrot thought (not) about the functioning of Matrix Systems and his people. I knew exactly where I stood, when I heard those numbers from Anissa. She even showed me how to look them up in the computer system. I did not ask her to do that. But she did. Driven by her daily search for conflict and anger.  They seemed to be unprotected by any pass word. Easy for all. And interesting. So we all learned also that the French representatives only gained one third of Wolfgang’s earnings. Quite remarkable though. The same function, but severely different salaries.  As ever, I always tried to look for answers and explanations. I did not find any. Furthermore, Wolfgang had unlimited expenses each month. The French sales though,  had to beg and account  for every single penny they had spent and booked on their expense account. Mostly mr Dujournot turned those French requests down.  Expenses refused! Return to sender! Wolfgang’s expense notes were only to be signed by mr Dujournot, as he signed his own equally, before sending them to the USA to be acknowledged.  They were always accepted since it was in their contract stipulated that all expenses were “on the house”, as far as it was Matrix related.  The French representatives clearly stood one huge step behind Wolfgang in the scale of importance, company relevance and money distribution.  My respect and professional devotion to Wolfgang grew with each minute I got to know this remarkable German sales person. Of course I talked to him on this salary issue. I remember that he was not happy that we all knew the amount of his salary and he even tried to look for excuses why he earned this much.

Eventually he thought that it was ones individual quality to take care of ones own salary. To one extend he was right. But at the other hand, not all professions can be rewarded equally since there still is a difference in responsibility and priority in the whole scheme of things. Besides that, I thought that a difference in salary may never depend on the difference in someone’s ability to negotiate. Wolfgang agreed on that one. We agreed upon everything professional for that matter. That is why we got along so well. We did have the same customer care views, as I have told you. We never ever discussed about our customers, they were all saints to both of us. Our mutual attitude towards our customers was the primary foundation of our spectacular growth that first year of our cooperation 1999/ 2000.

 

Anissa felt she had to prove and demonstrate  her incompetence in case of professional reluctance and discretion on classified company information. I bet she even did not know the word, nor its content, nor its connotations, nor its implications when wrongly used or abused. I bet she even now would have to ask for further explanations on the value and meaning of this sentence, once she would get to read it.

One day I saw her brother, who was working as a warehouse employee, packing and unpacking matrix system goods, storing them, now sitting on an emptied desk in our office. Before him was a pile of sheets. In fact several piles were formed, one pile per external sales and one for mr Dujounrot. It were filled in expense notes from our sales people and mr Dujournot that had to be classified and filed.  Of course Anissa had not found time to do this. For more than a year.  She had too much work, chatting all day long with her overseas Moroccan friends and family on MSN. So she came up with the brilliant idea to let her brother file those sheets. Sometimes the expense notes had amounts on them that were a multiple figure of my salary. Especially those of mr Dujournot and of Wolfgang. Of course they both had a lot of travelling to do. In the case of Wolfgang I knew he was visiting his clients all over Germany and Eastern Europe because  I always had immediate feedback, even most of the time when he was still over there. He did not stalk me, but it came close. (friendly joke)  Mr Dujounrot, we never ever heard on the phone. So the filled in expenses (flights, dinners, more flights, more dinners, car fuel, more car fuel, more dinners, more flights), we saw, there was plenty occasion to see those, but any relation to his actual sales work was not ever detected by any one of us, back in the Belgian office. It was not our task of course to look for any connection, but when one is confronted with such irregularities, one starts to wonder. Don’t you think? Peculiar. Is it not? Or was it the intention of Anissa to get us all wondering? Her ways were out of the ordinary.

 

Still, the huge numbers of hard cash, booked as expenses were there and a warehouse worker saw them too. Month after month. With his salary he could not even book one single flight ticket. At those rates.  What was he to think? Must have been soo frustrating. On that one  occasion I could no longer stand this kind of unprofessional behaviour of Anissa and called mr Dujounrot to inform him. Two minutes later Anissa's phone rang.  After a short one way conversation she came by with a glowing red head (I thought she had peed in her pants again) and sent her brother back downstairs, taking him of this inappropriate time bound job. She stamped like a wild horse. If she could she would have barked too.  Like a mule that had been SEVERELY hit on his behind on an early morning Moroccan market.  She had been at least as dumb as a mule ever could be. But I doubt she even realized that.

chapter thirty : upcoming theft still under construction

chapter thirty : upcoming theft still under construction

You want more prove of Anissa’s unprofessional indiscrete attitude? Right on! Coming right up. First this : the more stupidity Anissa demonstrated in her job, the harder both Anissa and mr Dujournot stuck together. He stood up for her. Not out of compassion. I don’t think so. Mr Dujounrot even knew from Anissa’s afternoon recovery trips and wellness corrections, including her numerous  bleaching sessions and tooth repairing appointments.

(when she opened her mouth, aliens were attracted to earth).

I think her teeth had more electric and even atomic radiant power than an average  plant in  Iraq could ever evoke to harass Bush.  In an undercover effort to keep her as long in  the office as possible to ovoid inner conflicts with the rest of the loyal working crew he had, he used to phone to Anissa every single day.  At about a quarter to five.  PM. The phone call ended five a clock sharp so she could leave for home on time. But then he had the assurance she had been at least at that time in the office. He did not care that she had just came in at four thirty pm. That was irrelevant. But by phoning, he had made sure that she did return to the office, for at least that period of time. He never said anything about Anissa’s afternoon efforts to enhance her beauty. Not to her, not to us. He just kept phoning at four forty five pm. I bet he did not like her hairy back either. I wonder though.

Because of the unbelievable content of the previous pages, I really started to wonder who ever had been responsible for installing mr Dujournot as head of Matrix Belgium.  To some extend you could consider it as a compliment that I never had encountered in my entire professional life someone like mr Dujounrot. His actions were at least unpredictable,  incomprehensible, often weird, and his way of life was not exactly accessible nor logical. As I said before, I always tried to understand the decisions that were made.  Mostly they did not make any sense and surely were never to benefit Matrix Systems Belgium. Although I thought it to be quite interesting to see it all happen, deep inside I knew this could not go on like this, because too many irregularities were created in too short of time.  Mr Dujounrot made us believe that he cared very intensely for Matrix Belgium and that he therefore had been at war with the Americans, kind of protection strategy. As I told you before.

I did not buy this shit. It was pure crap. Never heard such nonsense in my life. But I guess he even believed his own lies. For sure he was constantly protecting his own position as great European dictator, with all remuneration included to this position. He did not like, nor allowed any intrusion. He could be quite ruthless. Especially when he felt endangered. I slowly but surely began to comprehend that all actions of mr Dujournot were made in his own selfish personal interest. He had build up a totally fake façade toward the office people and the controlling supervisors in the USA and did anything to uphold this wall of deceit and deception. I never ever had encountered someone who had done as little as mr Dujournot for his company, although he pretended to be the general manager of Europe. Although he was as stinky  as someone even can be, he even agreed on exuberant salaries if they were necessary to uphold his own fortress. I felt very extremely disappointed. My initial believe in mr Dujournot shrunk every minute I stayed any longer at Matrix Systems Belgium.  And if it was not for Veronique, with whom I made a hell of a customer care team, and for Wolfgang, who really had hit the market and brought in some incredible new customers, and for the devotion mr Moipatron was establishing himself, I would have left. But I did not. I stayed. I had a mission to accomplish. I had a dream. I believed in this dream. The sales figures proved my dream to come true. Others were sucking my dream to tiny pieces, but I tried to ignore those malignant signals. Which was not always possible.  Once I had seen through the crappy  facade of mr Dujournot, it all became so obvious and clear to me that it even turn out to be painful. Had they been blind in the USA? Or did they really buy anything mr Dujournot told them?

Sure for some part, they had been afraid of him. Mr Dujounrot was to be avoided at any cost. Mr Dujournot liked that. He liked to be left alone. To be ignored. So he could act as he pleased himself to do so. Mr Dujounrot had real problems with authority. Above him. He saw himself as the ultimate authority possible. Any further way of regulating cells and departments were a plain waste of time and energy.  He, and only he, had hired Anissa and he would take care of her. No matter what the others would say or do. He would divide and rule. If you talked about Anissa to him, he would only look at you and say nothing. Nothing at all. He would not answer you. He would shut up. If you raised an issue or a problem on the rare occasions he had been in the Belgian office,  and he did not answer you on the subject, and just stared or glanced  at you, without speaking one single word, you knew he had no intention to consider your spoken words as valid or registered. You had no choice but taking care of this issue by yourself or together with the colleagues involved.  When it was Anissa, you always knew that the problem would never be solved. She was too fucking lazy anyway.

To solve anything; for that matter.

Anissa took care of or salary reports at the end of the month. Mr Dujounrot had not arranged an automatic salary payment by SR SOCIAL REGULATIONS, our social security payment office, responsible for all salary calculations and legal arrangements; he needed to give his blessing, his authority  on the execution of the payment of our salaries, every month again, month after month. Anissa had to prepare the official forms, and he had to sign for the final blessing. Even when he was abroad, which was about all the time, he had to give his consent to SR in order to pay us. He needed this to feel the power. The immediate power of a possible withdrawal of salary payment. He could do that. Since he had to agree by writing every month. And so every month again, Anissa had to make a list of all holidays taken. Of every day that you had been absent because of sickness or due to urgent reasons. She had bought a little black notebook to keep those dates in. She had seen how mr Van Deuren had tried to do this and now she did it the same way. The only thing she mostly and regularly forgot to fill in, in the little black notebook, were her own holidays and days of absence. Did she do this deliberately? What do you think? Duuuuuuuhhhh!!!!! How do I know? One day, Malvine, who had to do all the real work at the account department, had been  so fed up with the continuous absence of Anissa because of her maintenance activities, and her additional full day holidays, that she checked upon the notes in the little black book. Not one single absence had been noted down when it concerned her person.

So Anissa was not only stealing daily time from Matrix, she deliberately stole whole working days and afternoons, which she compensated as holidays she never had been entitled to.  By the end of the year Anissa still had most of her holidays still open, so she could ask for a payment of those unused days at the end of the year. Double jackpot and bonanza. Let the money roll!  Mr Dujounrot had full trust in the functioning of Anissa at Matrix. Of course, they thought alike.

They were soulmates. He did the same. But on an even much larger scale. That would become clear at the end. Partners in crime. That’s what they were.

 Plain fucking time and money stealing criminals. Obstructing those who wanted the best for Matrix Systems. Who believed in their project. In their dreams. In their methods to achieve major sales growth. And who did it. But not without being hurt by those two. Not without being damaged by the leading scum fraud team. Linked together by a golden shower. And lots of free time.

Chapter thirty one : who cares?

Chapter thirty one : who cares?

Mr Dujournot saw himself as the standard of Matrix Systems, since he was mr Europe himself. He had his own set of regulations and rules he implemented on all of us, independent from those from the States. We had nothing to do with the States. They were evil.

 

He expected full loyalty from his staff. And no problems at all. Tessy was a fine soldier to mr Dujounrot. She arranged everything fine and solved practically every issue even before it became one. Mr Dujournot was happy with her. It gave him his freedom the same way we at customer care did. Because both Veronique and I had a strong basic experience on the matter so he could count on us with his eyes closed. Which he did. We, at customer care, never had long conversations with mr Dujournot. We did not talk about anything. Mostly because he was not around. It looks pretty stupid to talk to a superior who  isn’t even there. We could pretend that he was in, but we had too much work. Work grew on us like a cloned mushroom. Since mr Dujournot had revealed himself over the past months as a person who cannot deal with any nuisance or tricky issues, we clearly tried to avoid every conversation about the daily shit we had to deal with. We solved it on our own. We looked and found ways to get our work done and made our customers happy since they were still the driving force that kept us going. Not mr Dujournot , nor his peculiar behaviour that raised more questions than it delivered us with some answers.  Mr Van Deuren had put us in a messy situation. But we needed to pull  through.  For the customers sake. Veronique and I, we both fought for every order there had to be made, to see to it that it became a correct one. We started to check upon everything we did. We were our own most thorough checker. From content to package to transport, to delivery date, we checked it all ourselves till, after some time, the other departments got the hang of it and started to work correctly.

It took time and sweat and tears and insults from our clients. But we did it. Our way.  With the help of Wolfgang on the field. And from Tessy in our warehouse. Mr Moipatron analyzed the new computer system and threw out all mistakes. Not at once, it took weeks before this device really started to be a helping aid in  stead of a menace. Without any complements though,  we al pulled through, without any notice. From anyone. Only after some time, the clients themselves started to see that we had managed our move and our shipments. Slowly but surely the complaints vanished as it would appear to be spring time. Life and nature started to look beautiful again.

It had cost the head of mr Van Deuren. That was the prize mr Dujournot validated to rescue his own ass. Mr Van Deuren had to deliver his company car in.  Right away. A Peugeot 407 station wagon. Light blue metallic. Mr Moipatron took it. He was at least an engineer and had to do by far the most miles per day from all of us. He had moved to the suburbs of Brussels where the population still speak French. To make things easier on his wife, who stayed at home and did not master another idiom.

It was a logical  and acceptable decision. Mr Moipatron saw the  professional discrepancy between himself and his brother diminish. Since his brother had not obtained a company car. Yet.  Bank directors of some local French bank office mostly stay put. In the office. they do not need cars. They need flat screens. And strong pc’s. And mahogany wooden desks. To encounter their clients.

There was still some work to be done by mr Moipatron to get on an equal level as his brother...With the departure of mr Van Deuren new opportunities were presented and fresh potentials were created.    

The final defeat of mr Dujournot had started with his own underestimation of the capacities of his staff. His intellectual blindness he obtained through ihis managerial top position, which let him feel like the ultimate dictator, made him immune for the remarks and other fine capacities of his employees.  He felt himself miles above the human value we represented, executing the daily treatment of Matrix System orders. He assumed no one ever, besides wolfgang Hanssen, would understand the international relationship Matrix Belgium had with he US. That is why he wanted us to keep as far as possible away from those US monkeys. He did this to protect himself. To make him the sole liaison with the States.

Our saviour. Hallelujah.  Praise the Lord. Al hamdulliliah msef. Allah ou ackbar. Thank God,  we had mr Dujounrot. Freaky counterfeit bastard.

He could not prevent mr Moipatron from calling the States though; it was intrinsic on his job. He had to be in connection with the US about all technical issues, changes and novelties that were presented to the world. Mr Moipatron had his contacts over there. He had more contacts than any of us knew. Because mr Moipatron was a silent guy. He was highly intellectual and did not say much, not to us in the office.  We thought at first that he was only doing his daily job.  We were wrong. Dead wrong. Sometimes he had some trivial would-be discussions on every day life with Veronique. About beauty standards for instance. Or about the English people. As a true Frenchman he did not like the English. As the French don’t since ages now. It is historically  grown and cannot ever be erased again.  It never ever will turn out well between the French and the English.

 

Chapter thirty two : a peculiar intense French-English connection

m

Chapter thirty two :  a peculiar  intense  French-English connection

 

Suppose you have been, out of the blue, for no reason at all,  run over by a BMW cabrio, three series, darkgreen metallic, or by an Audi 4, company car,  on the “Boterlaarbaan” Deurne or on the “Bischoppenhoflaan” and that you have been taken to a nearby hospital.  You are lying on intensive care. The one responsible for running you down, had committed a hit and run,  a clear  flight criminal offence. He or she is completely trackless. The police is all over the place but cannot find  the perpetrator. You are hanging on a dozen wires and needles to keep you alive. The doctor comes in and tells you that you are on your last voyage home. It is only a matter of minutes. He is asking you whom you’d like to see in those last minutes and what you would want to say to them. There is not much time left.

Do you never think of such situations? I do. I really am wondering for myself what I would say to those I loved and would have to leave behind. I would say :

 

 “ I have not understood one single thing of what has been going on  around here and what I have been doing in it. My life had been a complete mystery to me, it still is and it sucked anyway, till the end…I guess it all had to do about love and I did not show it to you enough how much I really loved you...I am sorry...”

 

And if I have some time left I would add :

 

 “I think I messed it all up…, now don’t you make the same mistake as I did and enjoy life as much as you possibly  can…it is way too short...”

 

Then I would gently kiss my loved ones goodbye on their forehead, holding tenderly the heads in both of my shaking hands, that are clearly turning rapidly now into a kind of dark yellowish colour, the colour of death,  the kidneys had stopped functioning, and then I would close my eyes, waiting for someone to turn out the lights of life and giving me back the inner peace I had before birth.

 

Normally you would believe mr Trend Straw, a big, strong, courteous, always smiling American dude, who was responsible for all International  Matrix sales headquarters  all over the world, as we had in South Africa, India, New Zealand, England, Hong Kong, Russia,  Europe (we), Australia, Argentina and Chilé, to be the only and legitimate boss of mr Dujournot. Big mistake. Mr Trend Straw was in his early thirties and it was more than clear that mr Dujournot who already had been visited by Abraham and thus knew where to find the mustard (Belgian proverb to indicate that one has already celebrated their 50th birthday)  (passed 50), was not accepting such a youngster to be his superior; no fucking way.

Mr Dujounrot had been bought away from the competition and this was done by mr Don Martin, a tainted sophisticated English executive of Stardor. As Stordor was to be situated above Matrix in their daughter/mother relationship, it was clear that only Ron Martin would have anything with impact to say to mr Dujounrot, knowing the resentment mr Dujounrot had cultivated towards any USA intervention in his (non-) European activities. No one ever explained this strange inter company relationship between mr Dujournot and mr Ron Martin.  Ron martin was even a bit older than mr Dujournot. He appeared in our Matrix offices, always unexpectedly since mr Dujounrot never found it appropriate to announce anything towards us. He just appeared in the office, always together and accompanied by mr Dujournot. They behaved as Siamese twins. Ron Martin was very friendly, but in a scheming way. He was too friendly. Like John Cleese toward his dominant wife. “Yes dear…”. Ron martin had made it to the top. He was now responsible for all Stardor activities in Europe and a kind of coordination was expected from him. He travelled a lot. Throughout Europe. As did mr Dujournot. They were never together though. When they saw each other, they met in Belgium, in our offices. Occasionally. When something urgent had come up. Like signing the rental papers of our new warehouse. Or witnessing the execution of mr Van Deuren. I had the impression, mr Dujounrot used mr Ron Martin to his personal benefit as he did with all of us. He used him to underline his own omnipotence. As he kept mr Trend Straw on an acceptable distance from his devious self enrichment  activities. By barking at him, on the phone. By insulting him, on the phone. By disagreeing on every USA proposal. Mr Dujounrot had his tricks and he knew by now that they worked.

Since mr Ron Martin had reached a superior high levelled managerial top position, no one of Matrix USA ever openly thought anything could possibly been wrong in Europe with the way mr Dujounrot functioned. He had it all well covered up.

 

Logically mr Trend Straw would have all legal powers over mr Dujournot since he had them over all the other foreign Matrix agencies. For some inexplicable reason England did not belong to Europe in the constellation of Matrix Systems. Do you think mr Dujounrot tried to explain this to us? Duuuuuhhh! We knew that Matrix England was something “special”, since it was immediately connected to Stardor and another English company they just took over. So mr  Ron martin was in charge of all and took Europe also under his wings. Strangely enough Matrix England did not sell but in England.  As we (Europe) sold everywhere else in Europe. Matrix England was historically grown and for some unspoken reason, could not ever possibly be added to Matrix Europe.  As one of his major combat tasks against the USA and against England, mr Dujournot had set himself as major target to protect and defend at any cost the territory of Europe for his and our sales.  If mr Dujournot used any energy in favour of Matrix Systems Europe, then it would have been for this purpose. As more managers do so in Europe, they all believe strongly in a kind of war-game they are playing against each other. To conquer “the market”. To get to be the “nr one” in the “market”. They all want to be or are already “leader” in their specific trade, to which they hold on to in a kind of pathetic way.  Of course England was an enemy of Matrix Europe too. Only when the two leaders would meet, you could not tell as they seemed to be very close friends indeed. Mr Ron martin was a true Englishman. He had the right accent and the right dandy upperclass manners. Only because mr Ron Martin was the direct supervisor (without any supervision)  and superior in command above mr Dujournot, mr Dujournot behaved as we never knew or had seen him behave before. We never knew what both “leaders” were talking about, but they always conducted themselves as if it were the  upcoming destruction of a nuclear plant in Iraq they were talking about. Thank God Ron Martin had such a strong lieutenant as there  existed mr Dujounrot,  to guide with his devine skills over sales Europe, so he could concentrate on other  even more important “take-over opportunities” to add to the smaller and thus weaker England leg of Matrix Systems.

Now, it is quite normal that both Ron Martin and the USA were having a close eye on the figures of Matrix Europe.  We had no clue that we all came out of a kind of “total loss” situation a few months ago. Since sales figures were only growing, since the day I came on board (I did not say I was responsible for the hoist, but it could indicate that I helped the increase a bit anyway the same way as did Veronique and Malvine also in their own specific approach), year after year, on a spectacular basis, Eastern Europe and Germany kind of exploding really, they left us completely alone. They did not bother at all about anything around here. They hardly knew about our existence and our inbound problems we were coping with at that time. As long as the sales figures are increasing, you will not easily arouse an American for that matter. Nor mr Dujournot. And they were, spectacularly. Just go back and look at those sales rates! Impressive huh!

As for the results, one could indeed conclude that mr Dujournot was a hell of a general manager and Ron Martin should  have been proud to have such managerial miracle worker as one of his associates.

To give mr Dujounrot all the credit for his sudden explosive increase in sales,  as we did took in,  the early days of the year 2000 and 2001, would be easy. The Americans like it easy and do not tend to look any further. It suited mr Dujournot well. Very well indeed.  As we never knew anything on this, you could be sure he had sold himself again to be the final one and only true liberator  of Matrix Europe. It had been at least his idea to move the whole damn place away from costly MIXO handling and put it autonomously elsewhere in the first place. Don’t you ever forget that!  The connected problems he had already erased out of his system.  We took care of those. The hard way. As all inconveniences and trouble of our move were attacked  systematically by all of us, but Anissa, since we all were very conscientious in our work and we also liked the fine results, mr Dujounrot started very quickly to see new opportunities for his private unknown activities. He stayed only a few more days after the meeting of crucifixion of mr Van Deuren. All of a sudden, he announced quite officially that he was going to leave us because he was taking  on a major European roundtrip to inform our clients about the move we all made. A bit late, but nevertheless, it could help a bit. This meant of course, that he would be away for at least two months. We did not care. We were happy really, that he wasn’t in. He did nothing but annoying us anyway. Because, when he was in, he kicked on “playing the boss”. He started to ask all possible silly  non relevant questions, so he could impose superfluous new little rules, he could declare strange individual conclusions we all had to follow, since he was our dictator, after all. It was sickening. When he was out, we never ever heard anything of him nor his whereabouts. When he was in, he always annoyed anyone, intensely, but Anissa. So, yes, we were all happy when he left Matrix for one of his mystery tours. We all knew that he lied. He would not see a single customer, those upcoming weeks. We would know, because we spoke our customers on a daily basis.

 

We were not stupid you know. But The sovereignty of mr Dujounrot had taken such proportions, he truly had lost all connections to everyday life. Maybe, just maybe he had fallen in love again.

That would explain a lot. Indeed. We did not know anything about his private life. And since Tanja had left us, this gossip content, had to be filled in by a successor. Not Anissa took over this important self-regulating task, it was mr Moipatron. The silent one. He started to talk. Not abundantly, but bit by bit. As Tanja had been an express train on her hearsay mission, mr Moipatron surely was a train that stopped in every small town. He did not say much, but when he spoke, every single detail was released and you knew with your eyes closed, it all was as true as the content of the holy bible. Even mr Moipatron did not ever know where mr Dujournot would be when he was on one of his European visiting trips. Of course he always tried to find out. Once, he even directly fired the query  into the face to mr Dujournot. As usual, when you asked him that kind of questions, he did  not like to hear nor answer, he always did as if he had not heard you at all. He looked at mr Moipatron as if he came straight from hell and did not speak a word.  Painful silence. You ‘d better not repeat that question though.

 

After the introduction of Don martin in our Belgian premises, we knew they both stuck together like instant glue to cover up for each other towards the USA. The English and the French in a unique bond, especially melted together to conquer the USA. Probably both had a lot to hide from the US. This was the first commitment ever made between an Englishman and a Frenchman in the history of Matrix Systems. Don Martin liked the way mr Dujounrot handled the USA responsible dudes. It liberated himself at the same time, since Europe is one piece of land, to the US. It made him feel stronger, being in charge of the European leg of Matrix. It promoted him to be responsible for all Stardor European acquisitions. He liked that. He liked the support of mr Dujounrot. “Well done, old chap!...well done indeed!” He needed his support. As much as mr Dujounrot needed the support of Don. By playing this game double, they had an even more profound backbone against the threat of interference and unnecessary meddling  fro

the part of the USA.

Chapter thirty three : the raise of mr Moipatron

Chapter thirty three : the raise of mr Moipatron

Although MATRIX Systems  was a hundred percent American company, we had a 200 % Frenchman as our general manager. I tell you even more : the French were in clear  majority as it came down to comparison of Nationality. We had mr Dujounrot, general manager, French, we had mr Moipatron, technical support manager, French, we had our four salesman, three of them were French.  That makes a grand total of four.  Malvine had two nationalities, she was Moldavian and had a Belgian passport since a decade now.  Belgium is one of the few countries where you can have two nationalities. That is because Belgians are weird people who cannot make up their minds. They also always choose the easiest solution when having problems. So if you cannot choose which country is yours as a native country, why not take both? It’s all so easy!  Anissa was born in Belgium, but kept her Moroccon nationality from her parents. Veronique,  Tessy and I were the only true Belgians. We were multicultural. The only pain in the ass in the whole constellation up till now, was undoubtedly mr Dujounrot. Mr Moipatron presented himself in the beginning more like a colleague. The same did the sales reps. Two of those were quite old, actually, mid fifties, Eugéne and Joseph, and one youngster, named Carl. Now, as I told you, those French reps were not exactly of the same competence as mr Dujounrot, nor mr Wolfgang Hanssen, for that matter.  Wolfgang Hanssen was the only German on board. He did not bother. He spoke fluently English and got along with all of us. He was not much in the Belgian office either.  I was there and that was enough. He was on the field. The battle fields of a sales war. We all were hired for our independent behaviour and inbound responsible attitude towards our mission, our goals, our targets. And we all made it work. Even when things went wrong. Even when things went tough to handle. Our mutual believe in our mission kept us going. The sales figures proved us right. Again and again, as I told you already. Am I getting old and repetitive? Tell me if I am. What do I want to say here, really? That things were not so bad after all, those early years in 2000/2001. Besides the regular unacceptable office behaviour and cruel stupidity of Anissa, we did have occasionally some great times those years. Sales were more than promising, they were good, they became excellent,  mr Dujournot had become  a full time  happy traveller in the mystery of nowhere land; he left us alone and he let us do our job as we thought it to be best. The sales results made him, again, towards the US and towards Ron Martin, the top manager, he though he really was himself. His personal ratio input/output was at least spectacular. If he could, he’d fly, only, he limped. Still. He kept on drinking too much, the drunken poor old sod. He wasn’t poor in reality.

We all assumed he ‘d be loaded.

 

Where smoke there is fire.

 Gossip can have a positive influence on the relationship between human species. Mr Dujounrot  dressed himself with a coat of total silence, he moved around in a world of complete mystery and never ever informed us at the office of his intentions, neither professional, nor private. The private part I can understand. The professional part is a harder nut to crack. You could always reach him on his mobile. When he had not turned his voice mail on. As he always did before noon.

When you act as mr Dujournot did, you enhance gossip. You feed hearsay. You nourish unfounded information.

I am not gossiping here. I am telling you all the reasons why things will turn out the way they well do at the end of this book. Because all of this is only the beginning of what is going to happen next. It is the “entrée”, the “aperitif” of a five course high class meal in a fancy French restaurant at the Cote d’ Azure.

If people lack information, they start guessing. They try to analyze the signals they get. They are looking for signs, remarks, mistakes, made by the one who is trying to conceal something. Because, if you are that silent as mr Dujournot persistantly was, you knew there had to be something he was hiding. From us. From mr Ron Martin, from the USA. He also talked too much about “honesty” to be acceptable.

You can be sure that those who constantly talk to you about the importance of “honesty” in a relationship or in business, are the first to taste from the tempting cake of deceit and treachery. By his few words spoken, the clear inscrutability of his insignificant actions and obscure but rare public deeds, Mr Dujournot unmistakably had moved himself in this category of human trash.

Only, he did not realize this himself.

 

Hours Tanja used to talk on the phone with Trend Straw.

About the time she lacked to do her work properly. About Maria who had left and now she had no one to turn to in case she had a decision to make.  About mr DujounroT who did not seem to care at all. About mr Dujournot who was all the time complaining to her that she had not finished her job, but would not help her to solve the problem. About the exuberant  expense notes of mr Dujournot.  About anything really….Tnaja had been a professional nit-picker and whiner. She had at least the face to be that kind of woman.  Everything that should have looked stretched on her face, hung down. Attracted to earth by its gravity. Like her moral. Now she was pregnant, it was high time to get out of here.

 

Even if he knew he had no influence what so ever, nor any power on this European leg of Matrix Systems, he still tried to seek his way in. He had found a full-time complaining companion in the person of Tanja. But since Tanja had left, she had to be replaced; mr Moipatron fitted in nicely.

Of course the overall attitude of mr Dujounrot evoked disgust and resentment amongst all of us. At the one hand we were all happy that he was not around the office since he ‘d be a pain in the ass anyway, so we choose the better solution for our sake and were content with his structural absence. The lack of knowledge about his person, about his strategy, about his commitment towards Matrix, fed the gossip as an eternal everlasting  fountain   in the Ardennes forest. Soon we all started to laugh about mr Dujournot. He started to turn into the fool of the village. We did not take him serious any longer.  We solved our own problems. He ruled himself out. If one of us dared to present him with a nuisance or a dilemma, you’d be sure, you ‘d be occupied with this issue till the end of the week, till his departure. He did never decide at once. He’d started to analyze first. He’d let you wait. He would discuss but he would not listen.  And finally he’d decide just the opposite of what you would do.  Conclusion : no one ever presented him another problem. Never Again. Unless they reached him first, through customers for instance.  Then he usually would start to create some absurd rules that would help to solve the issue. In his mind. In practice his solution would only stall everything for the worse.  He was sooooo slow on everything. His limping had reduced of course his speeding mileage. 

He had time. As all Matrix issues were taken care of for him. We all contributed to this level.  But he did not reveal anything. So the gossiping continued through mr Moipatron. And Trend straw. And the other French sales reps. Of course they stuck together. Quite natural I would say so. So mr Moipatron spent a lot of time on the phone, creating hearsay stories and “would you believe narratives .” the quality of mr Moipatrons chitchat was high.  Mostly he was right. He had noticed something irregular and drew the right conclusions. He had heard some sentences and knew what was going on immediately. He had an IQ of 139. Pretty impressive and thus capable of turning the chitchat into real bedtime stories.

 

Moreover, mr Moipatron would not let go. He was so grossed by the behaviour and attitude of our general, that he kept insisting on information to be given by mr Dujournot. He did not get any.

But false. Mr Dujounrot was as stubborn as a mountain goat.  So he started to lie about his location. That was the easy part to find out. Still, we never knew where he really was.

 

Because of his long overseas conversations with mr trend Straw, mr Moipatron knew what was going on in the word of Matrix spare parts. He also knew the gossip linked to the parts. It was a valid source of information on the undisclosed  life and love of our upper chief. Meagre but valid. Also the way he behaved, his body language, his appointments, his quotes and especially his dinners and late nite escapades on the big international trade fairs of Paris, Munich, and Frankfort, where the world top was present and shining as usual, gave partly away some useful  personal and secret data to our seeking French reps. Together with mr Moipatron, they had made it into a kind of sport to be on the search for the truth about the well kept life of mr Dujounrot. An investigation  that finally would lead to disastrous results. 

 

When he would be around in his Belgian office, limping around  exasperating everyone, upstairs and downstairs in our warehouse, he used to appear about Wednesday, at noon. He would usually leave for the weekend at Thursday afternoon, about two till four pm. On those two days, he would have spend around four to six hours in the office. In total.  It appeared to be sufficient. For the next two till three months. In fact it was a huge compliment to all of us. We managed without our manager. We all contributed to this independent state we were forced into by circumstances beyond our own free will. If you have your own qualities, you are sufficiently skilled of the job you need to practice and if you have the necessary experience to cope with some unforeseen events, then you do not need a supervisor, nor chief, nor general, nor dictator around you to tell you how to do your job. But not all of us were that skilled or educated for that matter; Anissa lacked about everything she needed to perform her newly acquainted job. But she appeared to be shrewd. As we were not to be called best mates, she decided to include mr Moipatron in her scheme of things she could not handle.  For one reason or another mr Moipatron did not seem to mind. To be abused as think-tank for the account department, since  Anissa’s tank seemed to be empty. It never had been filled up. As hollow as the mind of Homer Simpson.

chapter thirty four : mr moipatron takes his chance

chapter thirty four : mr moipatron takes his chance

Tittle-tattle had been one way of finding elements to compose the surreptitious life of mr Dujounrot. His mystery was his insurance of living a quiet and undisturbed day  in Southern Europe.  During office hours. In stead of visiting his clients, as he told us. As he repeatedly said to us. That far they had gotten already. Inspector Clouseau is French too. That would explain a lot. Maybe they have a natural flair of wanting to unfold  the uncovered.  I did not care, I must admit, how and why and when mr Dujournot lived as he lived his actual life. As long as he left me alone, I would be fine, thank you!

Mr Moipatron had more difficulties about this strange way of consuming time and leading an obscure life as a general manager of Matrix Systems.  He wanted to know it all. He wanted to understand it all. I do too, like the aspect of understanding. But what I have been witnessing the last few months, since my start here at Matrix, forced me wisely in the direction of putting a hold on all thoughts concerning this topic. I just did what I had to do, my job and I did it well. Together with mr Hanssen.

Mr Moipatron spent a lot of time on his investigations. He was on the phone all day, occasionally he talked to a customer. Mostly he talked to his French sales reps or to Trend Straw. Often mr Moipatron could not hold back his personal contempt towards it all and you could here him swear on mr Dujournot and his “façon de vivre”.

 

“Gerard, could you come over to my desk for a second?”, Anissa asked about ten times a day. She got stuck again in one of her mails, could not find the right word or translation, or the way to write it down. Name it and she could not do it. Total incompetence. Mr Moipatron came every time she called him. Without any hesitation. Weird. Strange. Bizarre. He really took good care of her. You would not suppose that he….and Anissa….noooo, no way. He was a devoted father of four children and his wife carried number five in her womb. He could not have been tempted by this heap of evil....could he? He could, of course, but then I do not want to know about it…it would make me vomit. Mr Moipatron had some integrity in my eyes. He had been a fine guy up till now. And he kept on helping Anissa where he could. He developed schedules  and rosters, made charts in Excel, all to make things work for Anissa. Anissa had been  completely lost after the departure of Tanja. In the beginning, she did not dare to say anything, but as time passed by, even in the account department it is convenient that you present some figures from time to time. Which she could not do, since she did not know how to do it. Mr Moipatron was a gift of Allah to her. He surely would get his seventy virgins if he’d only would believe in Allah in stead of God. At the end of each month, the closure was done by “Schellekens”, an external  financial account company, responsible for the yearly fiscal control. What Tanja used to do, now was taken over by “Schellekens”. The only thing Anissa had to do was to book a series of numbers, entering the right numbers under the right account numbers. Which was not always easy, since even here she failed to do this correctly.   The actual bookings were mostly done by Malvine. Since she worked part time for the account department. For Anissa that is. Malvine also opened the morning mail. Malvine entered the incoming cash into their appropriate accounts. Malvine checked upon the daily payments. Malvine did about anything that had to be done.

 

Anissa was busy. She had to maintain the verbal alliance with Morocco.  Or with her shopping friends. Who had bought 100 ml of Chanel nr 5 for only 10 Euros.

 

“What??? Where???? Did you buy a bottle for me too? Why not???  Selfish bitch….” They met on MSN. About all day long.

 

Why would mr Moipatron be such a supportive and compassionate colleague to Anissa? I kept wondering. He too, had seen the numerous outbursts of anger, every time she did not agree on a job to be done (mostly it was the pressure of actually doing something, that made her explode like a popcorn, since she was about the laziest bitch on this planet). Still mr Moipatron kept silent and helped Anissa where he possibly could.

Anissa had become a living legend at Matrix Systems Belgium. We all managed one way or another to live with this kind of human peculiarity. We had to. Because of her protection, gracely delivered by our absent head of state. He kept phoning every day. At four forty five pm. Only to Anissa. That was one way of demonstrating that he stood behind her. (with his willy in his hand)

You could clearly hear when she talked to mr Dujournot on the phone, apart from the regular hour. She raised her voice to a level the whole office could listen into. She thought these calls gave her a certain standard. A high levelled position. Because she talked to the boss. She alone. Brainless.

Anissa had her fight with about anyone. Name one person she had not have a fight with. Impossible. She loved to fight. With words. I bet that in the security of her  home, she even used her fists occasionally or even other bodily utensils to strengthen her words. As graceful as she sometimes appeared, the stronger raw beast was hiding underneath.

 

Anissa, the chosen one.  To do nothing. Literally. We had made up a plan to maintain the cleanness of the office kitchen. Each of us would take care of our mutual kitchen for one week, five days in a row. Easy job. Not for Anissa. She systematically refused to keep her part of the job. Or she forgot. Or she was too busy (her words). The kitchen always was a complete mess when Anissa’s turn had passed. As if a bomb had exploded.  I often wished she had blown herself up.  She never did though. Too much trouble.

 

“Gerard, could you come over to my desk for a second?”, The sweater she said it, the huger problem she had to be solved.

One morning, it all became clear why mr Moipatron had been the good Samaritan for the last few weeks. He had some bottles of real French champagne with him. To celibrate his promotion.

What is the matter  with those French guys? Are they all backstabbers? Are they all operating in the dark? Are they all direct descendants from Napoleon? What about openness and  sincerity? Maybe he thought that the behaviour of mr Dujournot had to be taken as the standard around here.

We had not seen this coming. He had prepared his promotion in utmost secrecy. He handed over a letter to everyone personally. It was from mr Dujounrot.  How nice. Our boss talked to us through mail, through a letter.  It all looked official. It damned was! He became the first “assistant to the general manager” of Matrix Systems Belgium. Of course, he was not in to announce this promotion. He probably had other important things to take care of, like removing the fifth peach tasting condom from his shiny shrinking dick, whilst heavily breathing, since he was not that young anymore.  However, she still was.  She was in her early thirties. In addition, she demanded a lot of him, even if he limped. When he was in her companionship, he did about anything to disguise his limping leg. He had invented a story in which he told that he had hurt his leg in a warehouse accident where a pickup truck had driven against it. The stupid bastard!  He had noticed that the function of “office manager” had not worked and he surely did not want to end up the same way. Meanwhile they had moved to Brussels, his wife and kids included. So much at stake here.  Who was she? Anissa had no clue. But she sensed there was someone else in the life of mr Dujournot. We would all soon find out. Not trough mr Dujounrot though. He kept silent, as usual. As always. What did you think. Officially he even was still married. After his son never came to the surface of the Loire again, he had left his wife. That is what had been told, gossipwise. How else should we know?

One thing was absolutely sure about mr Dujounrot; He was not gay. No sir! Just ask Anissa. Or Malvine for that topic.  Her hooters had always more attention then anything else when he was in the Belgian office. He could not get his eyes from them. As if they were silently calling his name : “mr Dujounrot, mr Dujournot…”

Malvine liked that.  If she knew that mr Dujounrot would be visiting us, she always set them free. Like an open invitation to park your bycicle in between. Or even a motorbike. They were firm enough to hold a bike.

 

“Assistant to the general manager”.  What a title indeed.  In fact, it was nothing less or more than the indication that mr Moipatron would be the new right hand of mr Dujournot.  Do you know what he does with his right hand? Not only handshaking! Bwaaarrk. I feel sick. Just kidding. But it indicated that both gentleman made some sort of gentleman agreement. Mr Moipatron had turned the excessive absence of mr Dujournot into a clear advantage for his personal career. Well done old chap!

By appointing mr Moipatron as direct assistant to his managerial function, he had created again, only one person to shit upon, when something irregular should happen at the office. Always handy when you are that often far away from the home office. This move clearly enhanced the responsibility of mr Moipatron towards the big boss. He would now be responsible for all daily crap. However, he got an impressive title and a raise in stead. I was not jealous. I never was. Everything functioned as it did before without mr Dujournot. I did not see why things should change now that mr Moipatron had obtained a larger scale of responability towards it all. He had become “assistant to the general manager”, not assistant to me. He had to help and assist mr Dujounrot where he needed him most. He had intensified their relationship. I new this was not going to work. Now, of course, we never ever saw mr Dujounrot again in the office, since he had installed another pair of blabbering eyes for his sake. He was promoted by mr Dujounrot to be the gossiper of the day, and one of his new tasks was the information flow at the end of the day. Mr Moipatron got the evening calls Anissa used to get. Now he asked mr Moipatron if Anissa was still in the office. He used the ranking he had installed himself.  “Ordnung muss sein!”  Sometimes he still called Anissa first. To comfort her. Anissa knew he had a new love of his life. Women feel that.

Mr Moipatron was on his way up. There was no elevator though.

 

It was time for mr Moipatron to develop his doubled face.

 

Chapter thirty five : reinforcement for customer care

Chapter thirty five : reinforcement for customer care

Of course I could completely understand the personal move mr Moipatron had made. He was still young and ambitious and saw a bit further than his own nose. Why blaim him? At the contrary.

Congrats were on its place here.

We enjoyed the real French Champagne, without mr Dujournot. Anissa and Malvine did not drink because of their religion. They were Muslims and for some obscure reason they may not drink alcohol. It is forbidden by the Koran, their holy bible. Nevertheless, I do know several Muslims, especially men, who drink, alcohol, when it suits them. They mostly hide it by drinking  f.i. whiskey cola, so the drink looks like a regular plain coke.

The only thing I did not like about his promotion was the way he had obtained it. We were a small team. Even if you could not speak of a real team, we were a handful of strong individuals with our own qualities and shortcomings. We had survived the move of our offices and warehouse. Mr Van Deuren had not been that lucky. We all had our individual strengths. We had pulled through and we had made out  of Matrix Belgium a fine working and oiled machinery. We did this without the help nor guidance of our chief.  Nor sous-chief.  Therefore, this change in the office ranking was a bit peculiar.

Neither mr Moipatron, nor mr Dujounrot had previously asked any of us if we would agree on this promotion.  I bet both knew there would be difficulties with some of us if they had done so. I know for sure that Veronique would have disagreed. Me, myself, honestly, I would have disagreed as well, since I did not see any advantage for Matrix Belgium in this promotion.  Again, this promotion was forced for the benefit of mr Moipatron himself, because he got a raise and another title. However, he still had to provide us and our clients with technical support. Of course, this promotion was also to the total advantage of mr Dujournot personally. He got himself another fine first lieutenant. To protect the home fortress. To represent him when he was away on those  Italian killing fields. Now his absence from his home office became legitimate. That is what he thought. That is what he had expected from mr Moipatron. To stand firm as assistant  chief guardian of the home bastion.  I am sure that is also exactly what mr Moipatron promised he would do.

I had not much time to think about the consequences or change that might occur by these office-ranking alterations.

We, at customer care, had both our hands full with the rapidly growing orders of our European consumers. In fact, we could not cope any longer at that level. We needed support. Because of the internal changes, mr Moipatron agreed swiftly on an additional extra help. Part-time that was, since mr Dujounrot kept his hand firmly on the wallet. To keep it closed. It only opened for his own support.

Karine entered the house of Matrix.  My God! What was that?

I could not believe my eyes. She had grown a real poodle dog on her head. She was as ugly as hell.  And she smoked.  Three times “bingo”. Mr Dujournot had instructed Veronique to do the screening since  he was not around the office for some time in the near future. (who would have guessed???). So Veronique had seen and screened some people. Karine appeared to be the better one. For the job she had to perform, no specific skills really were necessary, only a little accuracy and international language mastership would do perfectly, thank you. Karine had said on the screening interview that she mastered French, German and English. So where is the problem?

Apart from her strange deeds, her numerous anxiety ticks, and the poodle on her head, she seemed pretty normal. 

Now I know I am the master in confusion, I am the complete chaotic person, I have always the greatest disorder there possibly can be on an office desk, but I do always find my things. I have a strict order in my disorder.

Karine only had “order”. She had it in a fanatic kind of way. Every morning she placed her package of cigarettes on the same spot. Her lighter on top, in the same direction towards the window. She shook  her shoulders several times before she even switched on her computer. She coughed, like a poodle.  At ten o ‘clock sharp she always stopped working and used the same words: “I think I am going to have a smoke.”  She said it to no one in particular, just in the open. Then she stood up and left for the warehouse, below. To have her smoke. A double one. She was a woman of forty but looked fifty-five. Her skin was wrinkled, wrecked, and dried up by the tons of cigarettes she had already consumed.

As time went by, Karine appeared to be even dumber than Anissa, but that was technically not possible.

If you take her intellectual capacities into consideration, it isn’t even worth mentioning the existence and impact of this woman in the format of things.  Her added value was zero, “nada”, nothing at all, noppes, rien, null, even below zero.

She helped us, that is all. She appeared to be so shy she could not even answer the phone properly. A woman of forty years old!

We made her classify our files, we made her pack the small shipments, and we made her do the simplest things possible that had to be done anyway. This gave us the little room and support Veronique and I desperately needed in treating our customers to the high level we choose for ourselves.  She could do the bookings, entering numbers in a specific prefixed field.  Any deviations on this, she had to report to me or Veronique, so we could avoid major problems and initial mistakes she surely would have made.  We had to keep a close look on her and so she functioned fine.  For now. Like a guided poodle.

Would you believe if I told you that Karine was married?  Twice for heavens sake! To a professional photographer. He photogrephed new cars. Not models. I bet she never had been a model. Nor his model. She even had a daughter from her first marriage, about 18 years old. The most well kept Virgin of Schoten.  

Every time our conversation on the island of customer care was sexualliy related (pretty often , I must say so) , she started to cough and began shaking and twisting her shoulder. She could not stand any word related to the word “sex”. I think she was the first real replica of the holy mother Mary and had gotten pregnant  too through virtual insemination by some holy spirit.  She was absolutely untouchable, frigid like a five star A-rated freezer of Media Mart, not that I ever had any intention about touching her anywhere. No one at the office had ever this urge. She had hair snow. Head snow.  Skull particles hanging loose. She lost her head skin intensely. In tiny white pieces.  It fell on her shoulders, on her desk.  On her cigarettes.  She even had it behind her ears. On her arms and on places I did not even want to hear about. “Psoriasis”, they call it.  The nervous disease of these times. Caused by stress. Negative stress… She had I already before she started to work for us. That was promising! Probably in a few months, she would be starting to fall apart. Mornings, when she had arrived and before taking her seat, she shook her hair like a wet poodle does and all of the white skull snow fell down all over the place. I sat at the desk right next to her. Nice.

Now Karine was stupid and Anissa was stupid. The real difference between them is to be found in the fact that thanks to Karine and her intense foolhardiness, we had our daily portion of incredible laughs.  I know this was not nice of us. But it was unavoidable. She became the motor of all humour in our office.  Thank you Karine, for making my office life a bit more cheerful.

We needed this.

Now I can hear you all wondering why I spend so many words to someone of such little overall importance in the total picture. Now, her individual strength and positive addition to the benefit of our group was nihil. However, her being as such was of crucial importance in the further development of this story. She had been added to customer care as an extra aid. Because we could no longer cope with the workload which was still growing each  and every day.  So we exploied her any way we possibly could. She had not many ways to be used in our advantage. Because she lacked almost any possible quality. So we, Veronique and I, carefully, searched for any possible way to make her profitable for the customer care department. As said, the easiest jobs she took out of our hands. Which forced us to control on her. She could not possibly work without failure, without mistakes. But she was in now and this way, unchanged, she stayed with  for us several years to come. In addition to all those things she had not, she was also incredibly slow. But, since this was one of the major qualities of mr Dujournot, she blended in one way or another. We had to do with her. Don’t you think now that she might have improved with those years of training and practicing, no sir! That would be to much of positivism we ever could handle. Of course we both hoped that she would learn by doing the things she did. But her empty chambers hidden underneath her poodle stayed emty. As a drained and complete unfilled Olympic swimming pool. Minutes before she had dived  in, no water.  Damn. The scars and damages she encountered were hers for the rest of her life.

How much more misery can a human being cope with? I do not know. At Matrix, at least it was not finished yet. It all had to start. Still. I do think it all is a bad dream I am about to wake up from.

It cannot possibly be true to be surrounded by such a bunch of unbalanced people as at that time at Matrix Systems Belgium. If, out there, is to be found any other such person in a similar position as I was back then, please, contact me immediately because I think I need to start with a talking group where we can share each others experiences to keep us upright in this environs of total lunacy and big boobies. Karine was the “cherry on the pie”, as it is said in Belgium, meaning : she was the ultimate  lunatic of all.   She became our mascotte. She already had the right equipment on her head. She looked like the chain smoking twin sisters Patty and Selma (hair included) of “the simpsons”. My God, I had been projected in one of the “Simpsons” episodes and I was not aware of it. I had already found mr Burns (mr Dujounrot), mr Smithers (mr Moipatron) and now Karine was a duplicate of those twin sisters. Karine was alone, she had no sister. (>Thank God for that! Alhamdoulilah!!! Msef – or msev) See, I had to be dreaming all along. Wake me up please! Hit me on my head, pinch me in my arm, but wake me up. When I first started at matrix Systems, I could never ever have guessed to enter such a community of total weirdness and insanity. Maybe I am becoming insane. Help meeee!!!!

Take it easy now. Relax. Breathe, slowly, in and out…that is better… But would you ever believe this? Not one single saine sole on this planet would ever believe this story...it is too incredible to be acceptable. Still it is true. How can I ever prove this to you? May be by just adding the elements that came, one after the other, towards me (in my dream or in reality???), so you can all be witnesses of a heap of pitiless circumstances you would not ever consider to be valid, in the first place. The sheer existence of someone like Karine is nothing more or less than a living cruelty.

Where did all normal people go to? They surely never did apply for a job at Matrix Belgium.  I may possibly belonged to the insane class too! May be this was hell an I am already in it. Mr Dujounrot must have been in the hooters heaven , then.

Who would I be, which character would I represent in “the simpsons”? I would not know; REALLY….

Karine was in and that was that! We had to cope with her for the next three years. Dreams or reality, who the fuck cares? 

chapter thirty six : customer payment control

chapter thirty six : customer payment control

“No one cares for losers”. That is a fact. That is the truth.

Therefore, I Have no intention whatsoever to end this story as a loser. No sir.

I will be victorious.

Creative people are no good bosses. See for yourself.

Check upon your company you are working for. All people in charge, on the ultimate top, are all close by dictators, with huge, tremendous egos. On their way up, they have eliminated all competition and are mostly surrounded by bunches of ass licking wannabe’s.

 

Those egos in charge only allow approach if you are any use to them. If they feel, get or expect immediate advantage for their personal well being. They are all only trying to establish their own royalty world of private luxury and  human individual supremacy.

Artists are not involved in that kind of trivial earthly stuff of gaining power and wealth and more command and more capital. They are looking for answers they will never find. They know that. Still they go on looking. They are mostly stubborn.  They are creating objects, paintings, beauty, and immortality without a price but also without an answer. They work in poverty since at the time of creation no one believes in those silly poor bastards. Only later on, after centuries, their work gets value and meaning. But then they are all dead. They die poor. This has to be this way.

Because they know, power is something totally unsubstantial and empty. It is temporary. Artists seek eternity. Bosses too, but they are soo overwhelmingly occupied with their status of accumulative worldly assets and power that they forget about eternity and the fact that it surely is not something human. They die too. Without any shred of power and possessions. They have to leave it all behind. Hidden away in fortresses or well guarded bank safes. How sad. How bad. What a waste of time and energy. Artists have made pieces to overcome eternity. They should be sponsored by the state.

 

Mr Dujounrot had been away for a while.

Sales had been growing like hell. We were all finghting time and accuracy. The well oiled machinery was on its way up.

Until all of a sudden, mr Dujounrot called the office, as he usually did around four fifty pm. each night. To flirt with Anissa, or to shit upon mr Moipatron. Now he had asked an important question. A question that involved work. Work for Anissa. Which she rejected immediately. Since , by accepting it, she would have admitted that it was her fault that she  - all the time - had forgotten to do what had to be done. To check upon the incoming money.

Ah,well, Tanja had mentioned something about this, but since she herself had too much work (talking, gossiping and complaining to Trend Straw f.I.), which she clearly had mentioned towards mr Dujounrot at the time, she had dropped this part of her work as “less important” and put it aside. Anissa never had picked it up again, which meant that the day since Tanya left, and even before, no one actually had checked upon the incoming money from our customers. The incomings were booked, that is all. No one checked if it was ok, if the payments were sufficient, if they were correct and surely, no one checked the payments that were not made on time. What was unpaid, stayed unpaid, for a long time. Too long actually.

The gap between what had been sold lately and the money coming in, was growing soo intensely and became soo spacious that it even came to the attention of mr Dujournot. He woke up Anissa.  For months she had not been sending any payment reminders. (huh???what's that?) To no one. Tanja never did, why should she have done so? In fact, Anissa never ever had sent any reminder at all.

In those days Anissa was pissed as hell.

She did about everything to get out of this extra workload. She must have gone pretty deep with mr Dujounrot since she tried to convice him that this would be a job for “customer service”, and the silly part of it all is that he followed her in that idea. Do not ask me why. Do not present me with ideas what those two lovebirds must have done to come to this unisono conclusion.

 

Now, I have had my share of experience in customer service and customer care. I had been working in several companies, always in relation to customer attendance and guidance in one way or another, on different levels, even managerial ones.

It has always been the task of any customer care department, to make sure the relationship with the customer was optimized in any aspect of the relationship. Customer care had to make deals, had to make special arrangements, to keep the customer happy. Customer care had to look for solutions on delivery problems, on deficiencies, on broken elements to be replaced without any cost. This was and is the task of any customer care department. To help the customer on all possible issues.

In this game of seeking mutual respect and  internal agreements to work upon and with each other, there is the account department as third party, who issues the invoices and credit notes and check upon incoming payments of the goods. The account department as a kind of watchdog over all correct proceedings. That is how it all should have been.

If the payments would fail, they needed to issue reminders. With possible payment problems, again, the customer care department, together with the sales department, would intervene to make a payment deal or commercial agreement.  To ensure payment after all. Since customer care, together with the oudoor sales, had the better contact with the customer, would you not agree? In the game of “making the customer pay”, the account department would be the bad guy, who inforces payment, and “customer care/sales”, would be the good  guy, seeking a solution to get the payment anyway, using his excellent relationship with his client to get the most out of it. Logical? That is the normal game in any respectable company. Normally, it is as simple as that. This formula offers the best way towards success. Not with Matrix it was not. No sir!

Anissa, together now with mr Dujounrot, concluded that is would be the task of customer care as well. Being the good and bad guy at the same time. For her, It was just a matter of getting rid of this workload. Nothing else. I refused to play this game. It had been one game too many Anissa played this time.

Moreover, we, at the customer care, could not possibly take on this extra work, even if we were forced to. First, it would have been a very bad idea to make us do everything, and secondly, how on earth could we possibly build up our relationship with our clients, if this would be constantly jeopardized by unpaid bills?

Anissa did not understand. How convenient. How easy that was.

Did I tell you that we, at customer care, made all invoices and credit notes too? Not the account department, uhuh! They did not do so. What did they do, you might ask yourself. Exactly : nothing. Malvine booked the numbers under some other numbers and that’s it. Anissa fucked mr Dujounrot and some others to keep her job and that’s it.

Because of my refutation to take on the reminder issue, you can imagine that the relationship between the account department and customer care developed in a quite negative way, so to speak. This was the least you could say. I had awoken the beast. Evil itself had stood up.

God and Allah were already hiding somewhere.

Now, I never had an excellent understanding with Anissa. She was too damn dumb to talk to anyway. But what resented me the most was her way of demonstrating her superior slothfulness.

 

 “Look at me y’all , I am not doing anything, but chatting on the internet, and no one can do anything about it, can you now????”

 

That sort of stuff. Whilst we all had our hands full of increasing orders, adjusting mistakes, making corrections, making credit notes, making invoices, ordering containers, unloading containers, controlling warehouse people, answering persistent phone calls, dealing with all kinds of human exertion, since, at least we were human after all. Anissa only seemed to be a gathering of poisoned lethargy.

 

 “ Gerard, can you come to my desk for a second, please??? She called mr Moipatron, once again : “ What does  the word “lethargy” mean????”, she whispered, hoping the others would not notice her total stupidity.

 

Anissa’s view on how “heaven on earth” would look like, resembled a days shopping at the Wijnegem shopping centre. I had to cope with her, as good and as bad as it was. In addition, it became worse. I told you so.

The intensity of the discrepancy between work avoiding Anissa and the rest of the crew became frightening huge. To Anissa  it seemed like coming to the office resembled some chatting session, both on line as off line with the rest of the female species. Especially Malvine had to endure the blabbering of Anissa and occasionally Veronique too, was thrown in the bath trivial chitchat. For both of them, they combined hard labour with their talks to Anissa, since workload would not diminish from its own. At the contrary.

These talks were innoncent and part of every day life at Matrix.

To Anissa it was a confirmation she was still part of the play, although she had not a role in it.  Because of the swelling pressure on all our jobs, the accompanied extending stress and the incredible stable lightness of being Anissa, at certain times it came to enormous outbursts of emotion. Mostly the inflicting reason was as trivial as a dirty cup of tea.

The moods of Anissa had not ameliorated a bit. They had gotten even worse. Must have been that she had noticed something about the Italian connection of Mr Dujournot. If Malvine, or Veronique talked to her about the possible relationship she might have had with mr Dujounrot, she did not answer neither. She had taken over the efficient way of keeping things secret by mr Dujounrot. “Act as if you did not hear the question.”  However, she could not suppress a smile anyway. A smile of recognition. It served us as plain prove. She was even proud to have a fucking relationship with the big boss. May be that had been her goal anyway. But then this Italian connection was something she had not taken into account. It crossed her path and she did not like it. Damn.

 

 

Chapter thirty seven: 9/11 serious warning

Chapter thirty seven : 9/11 serious warning

Neither Matrix Systems Belgium, nor matrix Systems USA, nor Stardor had any idea what kind of low life crap Anissa really was. They had no idea whatsoever what kind of filth she represented.

Now I am to tell you no gossip, I am going to tell you no hear say, nor chitchat but something I learned directly out of the mouth of Anissa. I bet that she is now about to curse herself to hell because she had said this.

You all know by now that she descends from a Muslim family. Nothing wrong with that. She lives in Belgium. Nothing wrong with that. But, at the moment the plains were seeking their way into the twin towers, she said in the Matrix office :

 

 “The third world war has started, against America.”

“My brother cannot wait to enlist to fight the Americans.”

 

 She added with a mysterious smile. THIS SMILE FRIGHTENED ME; it seemed as if she was proud of her brother that he was willing to do so.” 

 

Now you all know that Anissa takes care of the account department of Matrix Systems Belgium, part of Matrix Systems USA. How stupid can you be to let someone like her control (if she understands that word) your overseas finances?

 

“My brother wants to enlist too”.

 

 Malvine added.

 

I said nothing at that time because I was far too shocked about what just had happened.

Even now, I am not going to add any comment to these incredible words, spoken by someone who is still in full control of Matrix financial overseas movements. Even right now, as we speak...

I would check it up, if I were Stardor….

I did not bring  Al Qaida” into this story. Anissa did. How absurd and unbelievable it seemed. But she did. She thought to be someone special by saying these things. May be she is some one specia. To mr Dujounrot she sure was. To some extend. Otherwise he would not have betrayed her with his italian connection.

Chapter thirty eight : customer payment control / 2

Chapter thirty eight : customer payment control

Recapitulate for those who are in need of factual refreshment.

 

Facts: Tanja, who had left Matrix, had a programme to follow up the payments of the clients. Only, she lacked time and had not been doing so for some months now. Anissa took over and left this important cash-generating tool unused, as Tanja had not used it either. Therefore, it would not be that important, probably. That is what Anissa had thought.  For some conspicuous reason, mr Dujournot had found out about this. Now, all of a sudden he came up with the idea to let customer care take care of this unpleasant extra workload Anisa tried to avoid with al her means possible. I refused.

 

Since generating cash from slow paying customer’s demands, an other attitude towards them then “customer care” delivers. We create “trust” and “respect” and “mutual understanding”. We, at customer care, arrange the optimal surroundings to do real business in an atmosphere of companionship and confidence.

The better “customer care” works, the lesser work the money-retrieving department has. Because good and satisfied customers pay on time. No need to go and search for neither cash nor stalled payments. The worst thing you could do is bringing those two elements together; You cannot be the good and bad guy at the same time. It is like a game. We all have our roles to play.

Anissa did not understand. When it concerned workload, Anissa refused to understand it all.

So I clearly refused to go along in this one. Anissa was pissed of. Mr Dujournot too, since he could not get things done the way he wanted it.

Do you really want to know how Anissa finally checked upon the unpaid bills? You do not want to know. You can guess from hundred mils from here how she did this.

It all is sooo mind-boggling but it did happen, really, one thing after the other. It did not stop. For six years it continued. One thing grosser than the other. One thing more disgusting than the other. In addition, it even goes on until now. Until today.

The new programm we had installed by our IT specialist, but fired mr Van Deuren, had a location where you could enter the amount a customer was allowed to go below zero. His “credit limit”  so to speak.  Because neither Tanya, nor Anissa had ever used this programme to its full extend, not one single customer had an appropriate number filled into this space.  So, with every order, they were immediately considered as ‘ extremely dangerous clients’ who had  passed their credit limit and therefore were to be considered as “the ultimate enemy”. That is how Anissa interpreted this procedure.  Without any adjustment, nor any check up on any customer, she just printed out the lists of all the “overdue” customers (about all) and sent those reminders by fax directly  to them.  She had not even glanced at them.  She had not even considered that  something could have been wrong. You can, of course imagine the number of phone calls we, at customer care received and what they all were about….

After the move, we had to start again from scratch…all build up goodwill had been vanished again by one fax. Sure, we soon found out what the real problem was, and adjustments were made. The “credit limits” were filled in. Mostly they were wrong, too low, not adapted to the importance of the concerned customer, but they were filled in.  At last. It had been one step in the right direction.  But Anissa refused to look at her reminders, she persistently ignored them.

Because she was that pissed about this extra workload, she found it appropriate to start to harass me. Personally. She started to “block” the clients that she assumed to be “overdue”. Therefore, I could not ship any longer.

She had not talked to me, she had not checked upon the validation of her wrongful actions, she just blocked a customer just to personally upset me and I bet she even thought it to be a nice thing to do as in her eyes it still was the enemy she was fighting against..

 Mostly our customers had already paid and those payments were not yet booked by her or Malvine.

Underneath I ll show you an e-mail I had sent to mr Dujounrot concerning this point since her professional attitude truly worsened by the day.

 

-----original message----

From : patrick gysemberg

Sent : Thursday june 12 2001

To : poulain dujournot

Cc: gerard maipatron (E-mail); Tessy Jolé (E-mail);Wolfgang Hanssen (E-mail);Veronique Claessens (E-mail)

Subject :

Mr Dujounrot,

Anissa has blocked meanwhile several clients without even telling me, without any information, without any notice.

This is what I am always talking about, this is TERROR

I am in the middle of invoicing our customers and now I cannot work any further – I cannot even invoice.

So I see that even our ustomer Tramaco is blocked and I had the explicite agreement of Wolfgang to provide this customer wirth his shipment, a nice order over 5000 euros which I cannot invoice because of the action of Anissa, of which I do not even know the intend and I have no intention of asking her again. So can you please ask Anissa :

1 to stop this childish disgusting TERROR behaviour right away

2 to unblock the clients she blocked

Yesterday I checked upon the clients where the so called “credit limit" was passed and I have found over 70 clients (including major clients of all reps) at first sight. This is just to prove that this “credit limit” has no value whatsoever as long there is no proper working system and clear agreements and cooperation. As soon as Anissa got to know this (because I believe Gerard told her), she undertook some action, of course I do not know what she did, I only can see that she all of a sudden blocked many clients I cannot deblock myself.

THIS IS NO LONGER A WAY TO WORK

I am not sending any mails to her again to avoid further terror attacks from her and this is NO JOKE!!!!

THIS UNPROFESSIONAL BEHAVIOUR MUST BE STOPPED:

patrick

 --------------------------------------------------

Anissa clearly made two obvious mistakes here that gave her malicious intentions away.

First of all, many clients were not even adjusted to the system and a real “credit limit” failed in the customer card of at least 70 clients. Never there had been previous talks, nor meetings, nor discussions about the height of those numbers to secure the proper working of this new system; she had only discovered her power to block the customer and she used it at her own free personal belief to obstruct my service. Her intention thus was only to harass me instead of executing a professional action to secure payments. Because she knew I had a tremendous customer care responsibility and equal sensitive executive power, she loved to interrupt everything that would ensure a perfect customer care performance. Blocking customers and letting ordered goods miss  the deadline of delivery, would fit perfectly in her devious scheme of setting me up and letting my intentions fail. That she would harm the company as such and Matrix Systems as a whole , she could not care less…

Of course, this system requires also mutual understanding and for all negotiation, consent, and agreements of all involved to let it work properly as it was or had been intended when the IT constructors designed it. Anissa never talked to me about any of those actions, nor her intentions, nor her reasons why she blocked all those clients. She just blocked them because the system said or indicated that they had to be blocked. She was too stupid to realize that the “credit limit” failed in most cases and thus all requested blockages by the new system were illegal, or at least inappropriate, since they were based upon wrong (read : lacking) basic system information. Only when I made the necessary remarks about this, she started to fill in the missing data, but again, even without any discussion, nor shared consideration of all parties involved, clearly to secure her deceitful manipulative actions.  Why would she act the way she did? Because she was so pissed off about the fact that she herself had to follow up on the payments of the clients and not the customer care department, since I had refused to do so. That is why. Because she had to actually “do” something on the office. Even mr Dujounrot could not estimate that her related actions would be restricted to the mere printing of the computer generated lists of overdue invoices.

 

Secondly, she changed the system in such way that I could not unblock my clients if I they were blocked for the wrong reason or on wrong presumptions, which they mostly were, since Anissa did not care less about the essentials of this system. To her it was not a “money retrieving” aid, it was a clear item to go to war with. A tool, a war untensil.  She used it to make war, not peace. By doing so she did not care less that she caused even more harm than she could ever have imagined, because she had not for once understood the real meaning of it all. I bet she was even delighted to have found an apparatus to be used to hurt me personally.

Which she actually did, because all the work I invested in my  intensive customer care was being severely damaged again by some embryonic nitwit, driven by pure and frightening  personal hatred.

chapter thirty nine : a cry in the dark

chapter thirty nine : a cry in the dark

Chapter thirty nine : a cry in the dark

 

--------------original message-----------------

From : patrick (pgysemberg@matrixsystems.be)

Sent : Thursday 18 october 2001

To ; whanssen@matrixsystems.be;pdujounrot@matrixsystems.be

Subject : personal mail - confidential

Mr Dujournot, mr Hanssen,

As I have already more than 20 years of experience with customer care in different international companies, I know what I am talking about. The real problem about Anissa is that she is not willing to accept any advice from you, Wolfgang, nor me, and I do not know why…she really does not understand that she is harming the customers with the way she acts. (it is not what she does, but “how” she handles things) She really thinks the customer is the enemy who is deliberately not willing to pay. I cannot communicate with Anissa, as she neither does accept nor understands what I am trying to tell her; I have done so gain, this morning, but I see it has no use since she even does not listen to what I am saying in the first place. I do not any longer have to take this kind of attitude. (Do I really have to grow old and grey before someone will listen to me?) The major problem with Anissa is that she shows a total lack of respect towards every body (customers, colleagues, she fights with everyone and everyone ha to accept this, now for more than two years already…the only person she is not rude to is her boss Poulian Dujounrot and Mayne…

(She does not care if my experience tells me that she handles the customers the wrong way…as the same experience is telling me that Wolfgang has the absolute right attitude towards a customer, which is the reason for our good results and the reason why our team works as it does…)

As I am working  on customer service, I will try to do my job as good as this is possible in these conditions. I really hope that one of you is able to talk to Anissa in a decent manor to settle things in a civilized way.

I hope the near future will be a better one…

Greetings in paris

Patrick

No answer, nor any reaction came from mr Dujounrot.

As if I had never written this mail of despair.

As if I never had existed.

 

chapter fourty : about mohammed, jesus and siddharta buddha

Chapter fourty : Mohammed, Jezus and Siddharta Buddha

I am feeling tired lately. Extremely tired.  My heart is aching. It really hurts. I think it has become dysfunctional. Could it be that my heart is really suffering from this daily confrontation with pure hatred and human demolition? I surely am not used to it.

It is eating my system. It is eating my brains out. It is destructing me. However, I try to hang on. To hang in there. I try to finish this road to purification of my soul. By destroying the devil himself. By conquering evil in the flesh. On this planet formed together as hairy Anissa. I bet she has a long furry tail to hide. I hope I make it. Because I feel life floating away out of my system. I hope the doctor finds a cure. I have to regain my strength to pull myself through this horrible story. I have to make it until the end. To reach purification. To end it in style and full of grace.

I really hope no one on earth would live to encounter a character such as Anissa. Nor as mr Dujounrot, for that matter.  Destructive Selfishness, driven by hatred and destruction. Focussed on harm and evil in its most tainted form.  No one deserves this kind of personal annihilation. 

Wolfgang says these words of mine are hard. He does not have a clue how hard the words of Anissa and the consecutive silence of mr Dujournot were, the moment she attacked me. He does not understand how hard it was to receive no aid whatsoever from those I had expected it. The silence at the time was deafening.

And confronting. And frightening. I am blaming no one. I perfectly understand the self-protective human impulses one subconsiencly puts into action in times of peril and insecurity. The way I responded to the unfairness of Anissa’s obscure and murky handling, was my way, my choice. I could not stand by and be silent. I had to react. I had to respond. Because I felt personally involved in those matters. Because Anissa attacked me personally. She harassed me personally. She challenged me, she dared me and I fell for it. There were too many things she did, which were in direct conflict with everything I ever believed in. Moreover, I could have been her father. Not physically, but age wise, it belonged to the possibilities and were another strong indication of total lack of respect from her side for one of the traditional worldwide human values. The way she acted towards me, was not done.

As this heap of evil and peril, called Anissa, is still alive and kicking some ones ass, I can imagine that, by reading these words, she now has changed her overall attitude, sole to protect herself. So she can demonstrate that all I am saying are lies. Nothing but lies. To underline her soft and sweet character she was born with.

Don’t you let yourselves being fooled, you hear!

 I bet, at times, she cannot suppress her evilly performance and low life pathetic animal like manners and outbursts of evil towards those who are the closest to her. I bet she has been divorced already. Yes, she was married. After she had found out that mr Dujounrot was playing around Europe with bigger boobies than she ever could have, the next thing we knew that she was engaged. To a man with a wandering eye. His left eye was truly on the road. It went to see all directions. Was she blind? I bet it was a pure deed of counterattack on the amorous actions her lover general manager.

Within weeks she had been married. I was not invited to the wedding.

He was Morrocan. He did “something with cars”. Anissa told us. Selling them perhaps? Or preparing them to look as good as new, fixing the miles meter in order to betray the possible buyer? In any case, every week, he had another car….or at least ; he drove another car, in which he dropped Anissa at the office. Those days Anissa had just ordered her brandnew Volkswagen with shiny leather interior and full option. She had to wait some months for the car to be delivered.

 She married as Moroccan tradition prescribed it. She followed the Moroccan rules and traditions. The day after the wedding night, she showed her blooded sheets to the newly related family-in-law. To prove her virginity. To gain her wedding gift. For years now, this tradition is kept alive and lays a burden upon the westerly focussed Muslim women, as Anissa was one of those.

Anissa had lost her virginity long ago. The blood she used was the blood of a chicken. Freshly slaughtered the day after the wedding. In her bedroom.

So, already divorced, huh?

 They had made a child though. Wandering eye, who always spoke French when he phoned to the office asking for Anissa, had found the hairy hole of pleasure of Anissa.

She hated making love to him. This had been one of the things she hated the most, amongst all those other things she hated in life. She always thought of mr Dujounrot when wandering eye was pumping his heart out on top of her. She always laid on her back. Never “doggy style” with Wandering eye!  She turned her face away when he tried to kiss her after shooting his load into her throbbing, tight and dry cylinder. This was not love. No sir! Never has been. You could detect this, standing on the moon. This had been all arranged. A typical arranged Moroccan marriage.

Of course, they had been divorced by now.  The times I saw them together, they were always fighting. Not arguing, no, no, fighting.

Often he left the office with weeping tires, leaving parts of smelly-burned rubber on the heated tarmac.  Fuming about what she had said, being spiteful as usual, once again. Or he slammed the door, a utensil she also knew to abuse to the utmost to harass her companions. Or they were fighting over the phone, for hours, talking French, then Dutch, then Moroccan, a sort of Arabic, southern Atlas variety with Barbarian roots……where Anissa even forgot she had been in the office. She just did not care at all. But this we already knew. We were not surprised any more. We did not even notice her outbursts any longer as far as they were not directly related to work.

 

Tomorrow night at five pm, I will know the results of my blood analysis.

I hope the cause of my fatigue will not be too harsh or terminal. And for all: curable.

 The marriage of Anissa described in two lines. It does not deserve more attention, since it had been a fake marriage, doomed to fail. It only proved once again, to me the wicked core of Anissa’s empty mind. It had been a very short marriage. I did not see the highlights. Only the fights, indicating a soon end. The western part of Anissa made her dress according to Western fashion; she partly even looked like a plain whore. She never ever thought of wearing a cap; do not even mention a burkha or a traditional Moroccan caftan. She was liberated, on all levels. She behaved unconventional. Only the forced internal Moroccan wedding she had not been able to avoid. To please her family. But her twisted western mind told her that this was not her world. Only when she could benefit from it; Then it became her world. Definitely. This marriage was nothing for her. It brought her a child. That is all. My God, Anissa as a mother. What a disaster for that child. I should notify childcare. To prevent Anissa from dumping the child with the garbage outside her apartment, during a freezing winter night.

Anissa used the Koran and her Muslim believes as it suited her intentions. Only in her benefit. During the Ramadan, for instance, she came in late, later even as usual, because she had to eat before sunrise and she left even more early around four, after sunset, to eat their evening meal. She did not pray five times a day, direction Mecca. No, she did not. She never prayed. It did not bring her anything. In addition, she was a western lady, -you hear! Anissa always changed reality towards her personal needs. She always had her fucking bloody periods for more than ten days, during the Ramadan, so she still could eat and drink during the sunny hours of the day. She still came in late and went home early. To join the family. Or she felt sick. Sooo sick. The sick and elderly may eat and drink also. So she could do this as well. She was a real master in creating backdoors, Trojan horses and other malicious solutions. For herself only. Such a fundamental dishonest person is still taking care of all the finances of Matrix Systems Inc. An American company controlled by a fake Muslim woman. Miracles do exist, even today. No wonder an investigation is secretly started up by Stardor. Have not heard of them quite some time now. I know they are too, reading along, and may be in a short period of time, I will be informed about their progresses in this internal fraud investigation. The basics of this fraud are to be found with mr Dujounrot, though. Anissa only had been the manipulative dumb tool he used. But this part of the story, I will tell you later on. To make it all complete. First of all, I need to finish up the description of Anissa’s character. I do not think I will be ever finding a way to finish this up. Her wickedness is infinite, as our universe is. She has no boundaries.  May be there is a wall we ll all crash up against. May be Anissa has a build in wall as well.  I doubt it.

Anissa had been a perfect tool in the hands of mr Dujounrot. She booked everything nicely as he told her to. His instructions were definite and non-discussable.  She shifted sums and numbers as mr Dujounrot believed they would be on the best possible position to be. She did not ask questions. She did not even know what question there would be to ask about some by mr Dujounrot instructed shifting numbers transaction in her accounts. She had no idea what these numbers stood for.  Mr Dujounrot knew it for the best. He, for all, was still the general manager. Of Europe! Matrix Systems Europe! He had the power to put all those numbers where he wanted them to be. It were all but a bunch of fucking numbers, that brought her  nothing but anger and for all: work.

Sometimes “Schellekens” did not agree on the shifting. Then she had to contact mr Dujournot again. (since he was always abroad)

To seek a compromise. Or to cover up the obvious hoax.

She felt used. By mr Dujounrot. She knew, deep down, that he used her ignorance on the account matters to abuse the system. In his own favour. Against the Americans. They were the enemy. His enemy. That is what he was convinced about. When he lay on his back on some fancy Italian beach, sipping from his 12-year-old Scotch on the rocks, his aching back being squeezed by the sausage fingered hands of his slightly obese Italian female lover with appropriate big boobies.

 

Now, sit back and listen carefully : I will say this only once :

 

The tricky part of it all is not the lover-thing, going on between Anissa and mr Dujounrot and his Italian bobo. The tricky thing behind this all is the fact that this slightly inflated lady with the gigantic hooters, was the sole AND private owner of a similar European company as Matrix Systems Europe tried to be on ancient grounds. They made the same articles as Matrix Systems Europe was distributing all over the European continent. They produced their items for the Italian market and other markets, we were not quite aware of.  The company’s name was: JayBaySay Italy... (speak : Jay Bay Say) Jesus, Maria, Joseph…I know, I know…

 

Somewhat tricky, huh? How did we get to know all this?

With tons of patience and with the help of all our outdoor sales friends. Especially the French division of our sales team had been quite intensely occupied analyzing the whereabouts of our little big chief, the last couple of months. Especially his conduct during the many international trade fairs, gave him away. Finally...Although he tried with a pitiable effort, he was not able to hide any longer his profound love for the Italian extravagant hooters with always taut nipples. He even limped less when she was in his neighbourhood, which was about all the time during such an international trade fair. Matrix Systems Europe participated in France, Paris, and in Munich, Germany. Even in Frankfort, Germany, we were present, as was JayBaySay Italy. They were present where we were present. As the trade fairs passed by, they even got nearer to our fair box location every time, until one trade fair we were finally and actually side by side. Matrix Systems Europe next to JayBaySay Italy. At that point, he could no longer hide anything any longer. However, he did. As if we were all blind and deaf. We were not supposed to see. Nor hear, nor understand what had been going on in recent times.

 

I do know Jesus has actually lived on this planet.

Some two thousand and six years ago.

So did Mohammed. I do not know when he lived.

 Must have been about six hundred years ago. Or more. I do not know and I do not care. But he lived indeed and that is what mattered. As Buddha lived too! Some five thousand years ago. Siddhartha Buddha was a fine man. A prince, he was, married and had a son. He left his family to find the enlightening. He wondered what this life was all about. He had been kept free from all suffering, pain, and disaster by his protective royal family. Until one day, he discovered that life was not that kind to otherS. Therefore, he decided to leave all of his royal wealth and protection in order to seek the truth about life. He sat under a “bodi tree” for years, contemplating about life, until,  one day, at the age of eighty something he got enlightened. He had found the answers…

 

I am searching as well. I have not found any answers. I wish I had.

Those tree characters, Jesus, Mohammed and Buddha, were special. Very special.  They had something to tell to humanity. About their lives. But no one would listen. At that time. Now they are being worshipped as if they were some sort of God. They were not. They were humans. Humans with a message. We only listen to others when it is too late. History repeats itself. Over and over again.

Mr Dujounrot does not give a shit about them. Or what they were.

 

 

CHAPTER FOURTY ONE / HOSPITAL JAYBAYSAY AND OTHER STUFF

Chapter fourty one : hospital, JaBaySay and other stuff

The doctor called.

 Earlier than expected. That is not good. No sir. He asked me to come over to his doctor’s office, ASAP.

He had received the blood results by fax and they were no good. In fact, they even were alarming. I had lost half of my total blood amount. What do you mean: lost???? I had neither had any accident, nor a broken bloodvessel, nor a bleeding artery.

 

How could I ever loose two litres of my blood without even knowing it? That is what they are going to find out in the hospital. I need to check in first thing tomorrow.

I need to stay there. My first time ever. In a hospital. Gosh, I hope it will be my poor stomach. I ll keep you posted. If I do not loose the other half of my blood, left in my body. Then I probably will be dead. Then you have to look at my will, the first page of my website.

Nevertheless, at first sight, there was nothing wrong with a firm like JayBaySay.

They even were our clients. All very officially. They ordered at Matrix Systems, those systems they did not produce by their own. Nothing wrong with that. They had been customers of Matrix for years now.

When the time came for the old man, father of the owner of the tempting Italian hooters, to pass on the leading role in the company JayBaySay together with his package of company chares to his one and only daughter, she came prominent in the picture and had gotten the attention of mr Dujournot. Probably because of her standing titties with the determined  upright nipples.

As time went by, we all realized that his initial restricted attention for this breastly part of her body changed in overall love. For her, for Carola and for her company JayBaySay. Her name was Carola. Carola Spinazzola. She was short. She was small. And she had it all. This being small was not a disadvantage for mr Dujounrot as he belonged to the dwarf community on this planet as well. As you already know, she was a little inflated, because of her newly acquainted position as top manager and sole owner of JayBaySay Italy, and thus formed a perfect match to the megalomaniacal drive of mr Dujournot. They both were on the verge of conquering the world. First, they had to beat those silly and stupid Americans. Mr Dujournat already had a plan. His plan. The plan of a genius. Carola agreed on that one. She already knew the plan. You will too. Later. PROMISE…

Carola Spinazolla was much younger than mr Dujounrot. She must have been in her early thirties. She used a lot of make up. Like a real whore does.  One more.

 Veronique did not use much make up on her pretty face. She did not do this as to make a statement, but to preserve her face for damaging. It made her shine above all those painted clowns. Carola, at the contrary, was fully painted indeed, finger and toenail included.  She looked like a Christmas tree, at times. Only the flickering flashlights failed.  Fully equipped with no doubt exclusive and very expensive jewellery of the finest sort. She was a lady of this world. She had money and she liked to show it to the same stupid and poor world. Thank God for her, she had found a gentleman with money and brains as mr Dujounrot liked to present himself. His limping leg he tried to hide. In vain of course, since he poured Scotch into his body if he were a bottomless barrel.

Now I am off, to the hospital. Wish me luck. I will need it.

 

chapter forty two : the return

Chapter fourty two : the return and frotal attack

I am back. Bad luck for you, dear! Moreover, I will continue my unbelievable story. I will continue to use every single detail I need to prove my point. To fight injustice and unfairness...To heal my  grievance. Because what I lived through at Matrix Systems is beyond believe. That is why I prefer to call it fiction. Since no living soul  would ever deem this. The general manager ripping of his own company. He thought it was his own company. He never cared for those ignorant Americans across the ocean, who were actually the real owners of Matrix.  Nor for the people working at Matrix Europe. Except for Anissa Hamsa. And mr Moipatron; Since he needed them both to execute his Italian swindle operations. He acted as if Matrix Europe was his private playground, his own personal company. To be used for his own enrichment. Together with his Italian Carola.  Do not forget that ltalians had been worldwide known for their scam abilities. They have an international strong reputation to defend. For centuries now. They did not invent nor created the Mafia for no reason.

 

At the hospital, I got a total check up. A full interior control. In addition, they filled me up with the absent blood again. As like a petrol station where you fill up your car with the necessary fuel.  Four barrels of blood, type B +, they poured in me. That is what they did to me. I just had a refill.  Investigations on the leakage are still in progress. The results are considered pretty private. Still, if you are nice to me, I will tell you all about it when they tell me the outcome.  I stayed in the hospital for three days.

 

So JayBaySay Italy had been a competitor and a client at the same time. Pretty awkward but not quite unusual in the sector of the products of Matrix Systems. Missing items were often ordered at the competition. To enhance one’s own range of products.  Nothing wrong with that. But somewhat strange in certain rivalry environments anyway. Often competition is like the enemy. It always has been this way. You do not sleep with the enemy. Only mr Dujounrot did. He fucked her brains out, since his willy was the only perfect working tool left of his deteriorating body. When he was not too drunk, anyway. Whiskey spoiled often his intentions. His wealth compensated his actions. Or intent.

 

What was really erroneous, was the way mr Dujounrot and Carola Spinazzola were handling their inter-company relationship. I need more than one chapter to explain to you how he or they both did this. But I will tell you. He, of course, had no idea (if only he knew....) that every one in the Belgian office had been aware of this relationship and of how obscure their way of doing business with JayBaySay had been evolving since he fucked this Italian lady.  His greed would bring him down. Eventually.

chapter forty three : france deceiving the usa with moroccan aid

Chapter forty three : France deceiving the USA with Moroccan aid

Initially our technical support manager, mr Moipatron, had been responsible for all technical customer support.  He had the USA team to back him up. But he had been much more than that.

Mr Dujounrot had made him “product manager” too. Mr Moipatron had received from mr Dujournot the direct order to investigate the European market on missing of failing European products, Matrix USA was not producing.  Of course, this was a fine and delicate task, connected to a  huge amount of consideration and professionalism and for all, collaboration with the USA production department. The “fake” items, bought in Europe, where to be sold under Matrix label and were placed in Matrix boxes.

In fact, Matrix USA did not like very much the idea that in Europe there was a  bobo playing solitary, called mr Moipatron, who, completely on his own, could buy elsewhere some products that they would sell later on as authentically  Matrix items. But as mr Dujounrot did not care at all what the USA thought about the matter, he persistently urged mr Moipatron to go on seeking items at the competition to make them our own. All products to be named “Matrix” had to be send to the USA first, to be tested and controlled by the proper authorities before they took it into consideration to sell them as originated Matrix items. Quite normal, I would say so. Quite acceptable too. Not for mr Dujounrot. He hardly ever let mr Moipatron send particles or samples to the USA to be tested, he just agreed himself upon the quality by sight or by his own professional feeling on the matter, since he had been an engineer all the time as well. Mr Dujounrot had no intentions to loose time and money by those silly procedures, set up by some burocratical American controllers to interfere in his decisive powers.

 

So, for years mr Moipatrion had selected some produces of Matrix alike particles to buy those products for European use only. To enhance the power of Matrix Europe on the market, to strengthen the power of a elaborated range of products. Nothing wrong with that. Only, the game was not played by the book. And certainly not by the American book of proper company behaviour.

Most of the time, and here I  even am very flexible and tolerant, the quality of the non Matrix items were of far worse quality than the original products of our American mother company. The USA delivered first class quality products as the European competition mostly produced second hand, and much cheaper copies. Mr Moipatron knew this and tried to be as cautious as he ever could be whith what he really bought directly in Europe. He knew the Americans would fire him when he would produce crap. Or buy the worst possible remakes. But mr Dujounrot was not really influenced by these professional thoughts that you could expect from someone in his position.

Matrix stood for quality. First class material. Certified and approved by all major using companies.

Knowing that the Italians were master in crime and deceit, you could expect that the quality of their products was not by far to match up with those of the Americans. If any of the samples had sent to the States, as internal regulations required, not one single one of them would ever have passed the eminence test of individual first class performances and endurance. They would have flunked hilariously. So no samples were ever sent. Or very rarely one, to fool the Americans. That he was playing the game by the rules.  However all Italian products were definite inferior to the USA particles, and thus unacceptable as Matrix items, they were bought.

Since mr Dujournot penetrated miss Carola on a regular basis in her lower hairy and dark reddish roast beef alike fissure of delight, his orders of products, placed at JayBaySay, grew exponentially. Mr Moipatron knew he was being used and abused by mr Dujounrot, the same way Anissa felt this abusive power of our beloved general manager. Mr Moipatron had his reasons to do exactly as he was told by mr Dujounrot.  Anissa had her reasons too. 

 

Mr Moipatron did exactly as mr Dujounrot ordered him to do. In case of JayBaySay, he accurately followed all instructions given by mr Dujounrot on the buying subject matter.  Therefore, as a kind of compensation, mr Dujounrot left all other wholesale decisions to the account of mr Moipatron, so he could build up some kind of professional self-esteem.

Chapter forty four : voracity, personal enrichment and conflict of interest

Chapter forty four : voracity, personal enrichment and conflict of interest  

“Gerard, can you come to my place, for a second, pleaaaaaaassssse….” Anissa howled once more, as she read the title of this chapter. She did not understand. And her “free translation” website she used most of the time, since her English vocabulary was incredibly limited to the level of an English fly, did not translate this word either.

 

So, “allrighty, then….” the first scam mr Dujounrot pulled through, since he had sexual penetration on Italian grounds and insertion in moist southern roast beef caves of pleasure, was the most obvious one : forcing mr Moipatron to buy  enhanced lacking Matrix models at JayBaySay’s, without informing the USA. Furthermore, mr Dujounrot secretly replaced original Matrix products by products, bought at JayBaySay’s, initially to be able to lower the buying price, (because JabyBaySay produced them on a cheaper rate as they were obviously of an inferior quality), so he would gain more profit on selling those articles on the European market. No one knew where the extra money, raised by these transactions,  went. May be some one  (Stardors investigation team perhaps????) should ask Anissa...

Or mysterious Isabel, for that matter, since she seemed to be ivolved as well.

Although mr Dujounrot was clearly conscious about the overall poor quality of the products of JayBaySay in comparison against Matrix Systems (as if you would compare the car brand “Skoda” with “BMW”), her persistently forced mr Moipatron to strengthen the intercompany relationship with JayBaySay, for obvious reasons we all were aware of.

 

In fact, mr Dujounrot did nothing more or less than creating a parallel circuit of goods, next to the existing original, but more expensive Matrix systems items.  Next step he took, since his greed only just had started to swell, was putting further pressure on mr Moipatron to seek other appropriate items of Matrix Systems to replace by fake ones, copied and reproduced by JayBaySay Italia, even if on certain items their existed a copy protection agreement. Which mr Dujounrot neglected as he had been neglecting all of my cries for help over the years. I am slowly beginning to grasp why he needed Anissa that much. Why he protected her that much and that intense. He needed her to book his scam the way he wanted it, with numbers written under some other numbers as he chose them to be, without any questions being asked.  She would not know what to ask, anyhow, as I told you before. (Alzheimer????)   And mr Moipatron.

 

 “You too, Brutus? You too?” “ Did you betray me too?””aaah, so you stabbed me with the knife….” 

History repeating itself.

 

As “assitent to the general manager”, mr Moipatron acted as was expected from him. He did as he was told to do. He had gotten his raise in pay and elaborate new managerial title not for his blue eyes. Absolute loyalty was expected. But he could not be silent. Mr Moipatron was worse than any woman on the market selling fish. Although mr Moipatron had been fysically and mentally disgusted by the fraud mr Dujounrot pulled through thanks to his aid and that of Anissa, he carried out as ordered by the big chief. But he had to ventilate his disgust with his fellow countryman. For hours he had been on the phone with the French representatives. Two of them getting fired lateron because of lacking sales. So they all knew as well.

Mr Dujounrot then, as a next step in his everlasting greed and hunger for worldly powers, he forced mr Moipatron to deliver the fake items to most of the other Matrix Systems customers.  So, what he was doing was very easy but still ingenious in its simplicity: he sold JayBaySay Italia items through the dealer net of Matrix Systems, without anyone knowing this.  He simply used our full European database, unprotected, unpaid for, to sell Jaybaysay made items.  Carola loved her French devotee. Our clients thought they had bought Matrix Systems quality and Matrix Systems original items, but they got the counterfeit crap from Jaybaysay Italia, nicely wrapped in Matrix Systems boxes. America did not have a single clue.

In his arrogance and often pathetic egotism, mr Dujounrot had been convinced, that by not explaining anything ever about his actions, his voyages, his travels, his deeds, his connections, we would never find out what he had been up to. Mr Moipatron knew. That is why he had been appointed him “assistant to the general manager”. To make him accomplice to his deceiving actions. . That was a huge mistake he made. In several ways.

 

Mr Dujournot acted towards mr Moipatron as if what he did, seemed completely legal and in total interest and favourable for Matrix Systems Europe. Not for himself, not for his personal profit, no sir! Mr Dujounrot was a real company man, with his heart at the right place. He only did not like the Americans that much!

Duuuuhhhh!!!!

 

Because of this concealed sales construction, JayBaySay sold a lot more to Matrix than they ever did before.  Thanks to mr Dujounrot and his higly professional, deeply penetrating relationship with the female owner of some gigantic boobs and sole owner of JayBaySay. Well done old chap, well done!

The other way around though, sales figures did not rise. What for?

Now be serious for once : What else than deceptive and malicious intent to obtain personal enrichment could be the real reason for this enhanced exchange of original Matrix Systems items by JayBaySay made lousy copies?  Exactly….

CHAPTER FORTY FIVE nothing but a plain crook

Chapter forty five : nothing but a plain crook

Somebody at Wall Street once said to me: “If you have a crook at the top of the company, every body is in the shit.”

Never there had been one signal from the rest of us towards the States. We all knew, and we all were silent. We all were disgusted but we kept being silent. Because we were not supposed to know anything. Since he, the big offender, never told anyone and assumed that we did not know. He thought us all to be as dim-witted and retarded as Anissa. Creating a parallel circuit, next to the one of Matrix to be used to sell JayBaySay items, concealed as Matrix Originals, was one of his scam practices. He did not stop there. He wanted more. Getting rich by doing nothing. Just using and abusing the ones working for you. Fucking your first luitenants. In the arse. Till it bleeds. With no protection. Full throttle. That is what he did. For years and years.  That is why he protected Anissa the way he did. No matter what she ever said and did towards her ignorant colleagues.

JayBaySay Italia was eating along from the expanding cake we all baked in our new offices in Belgium. It seemed at times to be a space cake. Sales were spectacular.

Except for France. Wolfgang generated  more than triple sales than France did. 

In total. On his own. In France we had three sales reps.

Something had to be done. Mr Dujournot had to act as a manager again, laying his crookedness aside of a moment. Because the US started to ask questions about the effectivnesss of those three involved. The failing French connection. They would rather choose for three Wolfgangs in France; could you imangine the impact that would evoke?  But they forgot that there was only one real Wolfgang Hanssen in the world. They just made only one of those, no copies possible. Full copied protected. But the US, and of course even mr Dujounrot, noticed the missing markets in France and the amount we would have been able to collect if three Wolgang Hanssen alike sales representatives would have been active over there. In their greed they decided to dismiss  two out of three French reps and replace them by one big major sales creator of another, much higher level, matching the profile of Wolfgang. Mr Dujounrot decided to pay the guy with the difficult future French project the same amount he paid Wolfgang.  Annual salary 100.000 euros, plus fully deductible monthly expense notes, plus the latest most expensive Nokia cell phone on the market, plus portable pc, plus company care or appropriate mileage compensation. Plus annual bonus of three months of his salary when targets are met at years end.  They all were, of course, of another human dimension. Nice. They were worth every penny of their wages. The only one, who could really say this, without losing any credibility, had been Wolfgang Hanssen, since he actually had done what he was hired for.

To make a long, non related story, short :

The chosen one, lucky bastard, was half Spanish, half French. Antonio Sanchez. I think even his name was a fake one.  He was as con as mr Dujounrot.  He acted for over a year exactly the same way mr Dujounrot had done all the time. Making hollow promises, using shallow high definition words and remarkable unfilled marketing phrases you could easily trace in the latest professional editions of fashionable marketing books on general meetings, to impress those stupid knit wits, they all thought us to be, including mr Dujounrot. It took mr Dujournot for over a year of wondering, hesitating, contemplating, talking to mr Moipatron, the only real “assistant to the general manager”, to get convinced he had captured the wrong fish in the bowl of Matrix.  Equal minds attract each other. This is what had really happened. Mr Dujounrot hated it to admit his mistake he had made by hiring this master of sales and brother in treachery.  I know it is hard to believe but : Antonio had not been able to present one single new client. He always had many projects “in the pipeline”, but no one actually knew where this pipeline was running to. Certainly not to Matrix Europe.

Mr Moipatron had an extremely tough year behind him. He had been able to be annoyed by the malicious attitude,  not only of mr Dujounrot but now also of mr Sanchez, Two sales wonders he had to “assist” in their conniving ways of personal enrichment. Mr Sanchez had chosen a 4x4 multiple purpose vehicle, as a company car. Mr Dujounrot had not found the guts to deny this awkward and petrol consuming way of expansive transport for someone who had to travel most of his miles along the smooth French highways.

Exit Antonio Sanchez. Another great prove of the excellent, outstanding managerial skills mr Dujouhrot had been born with.

Pretending you are a real manager, has its limitations. One day you fall through. As mr Dujounrot did all of the time. That is why we never saw nor hear him that much. He was a master in hiding himself. We knew where he was hiding. Only, he never ever admitted his Italian connection. He knew why.

I strongly believe all con people have a huge feeling of superiority. Because they firmly believe, they can con everyone and everything. Without being caught. That is for sure! Because they are the only gifted masters of it all. Honest people are low life suckers anyway. Real Losers! In any case, no one cares for losers! Believing in this cheap honest customer service shit and all….Working for a total insignificant salary for the rest of their pathetic honest lives…while he, the big master in deceit, could not even get track of all those extra millions he had created by his ingenious parallel selling system the USA was not even aware of. He had it made, the big Dujounrot. He even had included in his con package one pair of exquisite hooters he was soo proud of. They were his. With firmly standing nipples, as hard as the ever standing stones of “Stenness” of the Orkney Islands, Scotland. He would love to jostle his willy between those magnificent pair of firm titties but she refuses. Damn! She hates having  his dagger so close to her face. But that is what he liked about her. This Italian decisiveness of hers. What a woman! Even thinking about her would cause premature ejaculation, when he had not been intoxicated with alcohol, that is. He felt young again. Only, his body did not fully agree on those youthful  thoughts. He kept limping.

CHAPTER FORTY SIX THE TRUTH IS WHAT YOU BELIEVE IS TRUE

Chapter forty six :  the truth is what you believe is true

How do you find out about the truth? To ask the right questions to the right people. If you ask a  professional jailbird about the truth, he will tell you more lies.

Mr Moipatron and mr Dujournot had some peculiar things in common. They were both French, for instance. And they were both wretched and for all : persevere recidivist lyers. But they had both different reasons to lie.

The malicious intentions of mr Moipatron were not that forceful as those of mr Dujounrot, though. He had only this odd competition with his brother going on. Which he was winning, actually, at the moment.

As soon he had become “assistant to the general manager”, he had bought himself a 17 inch flatscreen for his office pc. His brother had one in his bank office, so he could not stay behind!

 “Unterschied muss sein!”

 

I think, besides of his drive to win this awkward competition, mr Moipatron, had basic honest principles and ideas. That is why he had been so disgusted with the way of managing of our mutual big boss. About his constant absenteeism. About his Italian relationship. About the forced purchases he had to perform at JayBaySay’s.  About the continuous abuse of his powers as general manager to turn everything in his personal advantage.  About the phony meals and spurious dinners and other everyday living expenses he submitted to the States to be paid at once, every month again and again. About his sickening persisant obstruction on everything there was to let the company prosper on the wings of the incredible sales results lately. About the way mr Dujounrot turned all results on to his personal account;, selling is own enhanced profile to the States, reducing all efforts made in our Belgian offices. (When we had a top selling month, he used to decrease the score by reffering to some major accounts that had ordered some bulk goods which influenced sales, of course) About the way, he irrationally blocked all marketing support, offered by the States, because he had been afraid to lose control.  About the fanatic and even sickening way he hated the Americans. About the way, he mistreated them and even boycotted them.  About the lies concerning visiting customers, which he never ever did. Except for one. An Italian customer, which he visited with all of his utensils and bodily expansions. Aaaah, the wonderful Italian potholes of pleasure.  Mr Moipatron had been physically appalled about his fellow compatriot.

Only, mr Moipatron used the wrong tools to fulfil those personal honest dreams and objectives of his. He lied.  Too. With the same intensity as mr Dujounrot did. Constantly. I bet he did not even had been aware when he lied and when he told the truth.

 

 Why, for heavens sake, would he lie?

 

Since he had become “assistant to the general manager”, he felt responsible for every shit that happened in the Belgian office. Not a bad quality as such. And shit happened.  Of course. Why not? No one is “shit-free.”  Especially when you have a “shit causer” like Anissa around.

 

Sometimes I thought I attracted the most shit, though.

 “I think I am born with a sign on my forehead, saying: “shit here”, I used to say, when once more a load of unexpected shit came floating towards customer care, one way, no stopping allowed.

But then he started to lie. “You too, Brutus, you too?”

Extreme-wise. About almost everything. To every one.

To cover up delays. To cover up wrong shipments, to cover up missing items… To cover up delays of containers in the harbour. To cover up a container, filled with old shoes, he had sent to Africa and which had been blocked by the customs authorities. To conceal a container that had been sent to Africa but had been mixed with one for the States. To cover up for all those extra costs. (He would talk to Anissa later, in which way he could let those unneccecary costs disappear in the account stats)I had been sitting next to him on my customer care desk for over three years, I guess (yes, it must have been more than three years); listening to all those lies and fake stories to cover up anfy form of mischief and  tomfoolery.

 

 Mr Moipatron handled customer care complaints as well. His job, as a product manager, which he kept, even as an assistant to the general manager, was to examine the returned elements on their failure and send it to the USA for full professional investigation when huge amounts of money were involved. This often had been the case, since the lousy quality of the fake goods produced by JayBaySay. In that case Mr Moipatron could not send the unsuccessful particle to the States because then, he would have given away the scam of mr Dujounrot, in winch he had been an active accomplice, if he wanted it or not. He had no way out. Unless he told the USA. Which he did. Eventually.

 

Matrix Systems offered the customers a quality charter and a full prove guarantee. If the Matrix item caused any damage to any other tool, Matrix would refund all damage made. Nice! This led to sometimes-huge returns of money. Thank God the overall general quality of original Matrix goods were OK. Only, the quality of the fake goods was not OK. With the known results.

One day, I remembered a return sample of Kunzzel und Bunzzel. A German client. He returned a leaking particle. And an invoice of all the damage it had caused.  It had been an original Matrix particle, made in the USA. Instead of sending it back for investigation, mr Moipatron left the box with the leaking item, together with the original invoice, standing next to his office desk for months. And months. I bet it is still standing there right now and the moment he reads this, he will see to it that this piece of evidence will be cleared. Right a way. On the spot.

 

 I saw this. I had seen this.  I had to follow up the handling of this complaint, since this had been a task for customer care. (An I was the only one around who spoke German) “Schweinerei!” Only the investigation part and the decisive part on the amount to be returned to the customer depended on the investigations made by the USA. Of course, mr Moipatron could decide on those items too. He had the powers to do so. He could agree on the USA findings or disagree and implement his own conclusions.

The problem was: he never had any conclusions. Only when the customer had gotten too impatient about the outcome, since, again, a few months had passed without any results, he started to harass Wolfgang Hanssen about it, mr Moipatron understood it had been time for action. To launch another of his lies. To stall the process. Again. And again. And again.

Over the years, It became very clear to me that at Matrix Europe, I had been surrounded by a bunch of individuals who did not really care for the truth at all. Or for one shred of honesty.

They were all firmly convinced that honesty did not serve you. At all.  In addition, considering the outcome, up until now, they had been right all the time. Truth is for pussies. And losers. And no one cares for losers, anyway.

Crime pays. All the way.

 

Is this the lesson I have to learn from all this? No fucking way!

If crime pays, I will pay them back with crime itself. But first I have a story to tell. My story.

 

Actually “Assistant to the general manager” meant no more or less exactly the same as “full accomplice in crime action”. Or “sole executer of wicked Dujounrot’s personal enrichment strategy”.

 

Mr Moipatron could not keep silent about it. He had to tell. Not only did he tell his French sales buddies, but he told some one over there. Someone from Matrix Systems USA. He told Trend Straw. And he told Wolgang Hanssen. About his disgust. His continuous feel of vomit erupting out of his mouth... when he thought about mr Dujounrot and his sting.

Mr Moipatron had gone on a mission. A mission to conquer mr Dujounrot. He fought him, stabbing in his back. “You too, Brutus,you too my son?”

Because mr Dujounrot never ever had been around. He had been too busy licking some steaming Italian pussy. Because he had been too drunk to get his willy up. So he drank some more. The finest Scotch was hardly good enough. He had to be in heaven. Heaven on earth. He felt bad about his STUPID legs. He was REALLY PISSED OFF over his legs.  Stupid bastards.  If it weren’t for those legs, he would have had it all.  What a life! What a construction, what a manager he had become! Retarded Americans! So he poured him another drink. Till he started to see two caverns and four hooters. He started to believe the world had turned into an amusement park filled with hooters and strictly upright nipples. As tight as Britisch guardians who guard the Tower bridge. Then he stopped sipping, licking and drinking, he rolled over and fell asleep.

Thousand miles up north mr Moipatron had commenced the sneaky battle.

He had sharpened his knifes. He had been continuously undermining the moral authority of mr Dujounrot.  At the end, they  even talked  on a daily basis. Over the phone, that is. Mr Moipatron and mr Hanssen. Mr Moipatron and Trend Straw. Mr Moipatron and his sole leftover French sales buddy. For hours and hours. Mr Moipatron had beaten long-gone Tanja and had set a new phoning record to the States, with Trend Straw at the other end, listening, with his mouth wide open.  First out of disbelief, later out of sheer repugnance.

 

Mr Moipatron  never ever talked to Antonio Sanchez. Nobody did. We all assumed he talked directly to mr Dujounrot. Because they were made of another kind of texture. They stood above the common man. They were managerial highlights. That is what they both truly believed about themselves. That is why they both kept this distance from our Belgian office.

Not to conceal their actual whereabouts, nor to hide their present non-activities.  Nooooo SIR!    “Unterschied muss sein!”

 

Do you think this book would gain on importance when I kill myself?

Sure it would. It would draw attention. But is it worth it? Guess not.

Still…..You never know. Death has mysterious ways to present itself.

 

Do you believe me when I tell you that I felt lonely at Matrix Systems?

You bet I was. At the beginning, I had quite a splendid professional relationschip with Veronique, and Malvine, for that matter. But Malvine had hre desk behind a closet and was too much connected to the (non-)handlings of Anissa. So we had our distances to avoid Anissa. Considering her splendour and youth, sealed with two magnificent boobies, that was a real shame, really. Anissa envied her. She was as flat as a woman can be. Even after having her baby, she had no tits you could actually speak about. She could not breastfeed her. Only at the beginning, the first few days. Then they fell flat. Two empty teabags. with sucked up wrinkled nipples.

 

Veronique and I kept ourselves upright and we survived many storms.

Veronique fought with Anissa too. Anissa fought with anyone, to be more specific. As I told you before. But as the years passed by, the attitude of Veronique changed. Not harshly, no, no, but vaguely it changed into respectful superficiality. She kept a kind of shallowness around her towards me, as if she wanted more distance. I did not understand. At first. Not that we ever were that close. But as a real team we had build up customer care to the instrument it had become today. We were known. Know by our customers; know for our excellent service and friendliness. We both had knocked to accomplish this status. For years and years. Against all odds. We really had become a team. That is what I thought. That is how I felt the relationship we had going and how it mattered to me. I had been soo wrong. Since she betrayed me. The moment she had learned that Mr Moipatron was working on the exit mf mr Dujounrot. Only she and Anissa knew about his power increasing  intentions. And Wolfgang Hanssen. He liked to be kept informed. For obvious reasons. I had no idea. I only could see mr Moipatron on his daily phone sessions with the USA and with Wolgang Hanssen. He whispered a lot. In fact, he whispered almost all the time. Which was quite irritating, sitting right next to him. Only hearing undertone sounds of a French non-smoker voice. Now I know why he whispered. I had no future in the obscure plan he was executing. With the help of Trend Straw. And with the help of Wolfgang Hanssen.

Due to his personal important near-future attack on mr Dujounrot, which he had been preparing for months and months now, the actual work had become of lesser importance to mr Moipatron.

That may have been the reason why he had to lie to cover up other lies. He had become one big fake technical service.

 

“Pas de sousis”,  was one of his expressions, to indicate that nothing was ever wrong. “No problem!”,as it were. He never had any problems. The real problems were connected to another one of his lies and thus technically neutralized. “Ne ‘t inquite pas!.” (do not worry)  had been another phrase  he used to stall all worries about the mischief that happened because of his lack of time. To handle his things as they should have been handled.

 

I did not like this mendacious attitude of mr Moipatron. He did lie to my customers!  And I had no intentions whatsoever to go along with this kind of fake reality in which things were never as they really were. I have always been in favour of telling them the truth, how bad it may seem at the time. They reward you on a later occasion. When they find out that you had been fair and honest to them. That is a way to build up a customer care relationship. Mr Moipatrion thought differently. For obvious reasons. For personal reasons. He had to win this race with his brother. At any cost. But the main cause for his persistant lying, had deeper grounds. Much deeper. He had been born that way. At the beginning he used his lies as a way to promote himself to his direct environment. When he realized that this worked and turned out fine and that he could actually gain from such an attitude, he started to lie systematically. About anything. When it brought him professional progress and personal prosperity. The truth has no value when it hirts you. Then you should avoid it. In his eyes. That is how mr Moipatron thought about this essential human quality or ability.

 

Do I have to believe now that all French are that way? That all French are not that keen on telling the truth? F.i. when you see the French president, mr Chirac, we have found already third French person in a row, who is not that dedicated on telling the truth when it comes down to it. Or is it the search for power that distort man to act maliciously?

 

Mr Moipatron had been such a successful lyer over the years that he had  become really proud of himself and his accomplishments on these issues.  He even spoke out loudly in the office, for everyone to hear, after he had pulled through another of his lies : “Oh, my God, I am such a terrific lyer!”. 

“Oh, Gerard, I know, I know…”, Anissa used to cheer along, butt sucking to its limits. Her head halfway up to his tight arse.

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN VALUE OF TRUTH

Chapter forty seven : value of truth

Whom should you ask?

 OK, let me help you: ask Wolfgang Hanssen.

 It had been for the never-ending enthusiasm and daily efforts and quite extraordinary sales results, which kept me going at the Matrix office. Next to Veronique, Wolfgang had been the driving engine of my survival, all those Matrix years. At least one person from this bunch of irregular and even crooked  people who actually knew what he was doing, with fine results! Just check on the figures, back then in 1999 and see how they multiplied themselves the following years. Quite impressive, huh?

 

We did get the train rolling, and I bet now, there is no stopping it any more….”thank you Patrick.” “As a fine remuneration for those magnificent results, we want you to leave the office without any payments…without any token of gratitude; “, at the contrary,…on top of that, they were so blunt and stupid to accuse me of racism. They do not even know what this word really means….I feel sorry for them. My time will come…sooner than anyone will ever expect. Matrix is big. Thank God for that. Moreover, Stardor has its pride too and they see to it that irregularities are corrected and punished. One day. Soon. I am running ahead again. As usual. This makes it hard for you to follow. I am sorry. I will pick up the track where I left it.

 

Ask Veronique, if she feels the power and strength and audacity to tell you the truth. As, I guess, she has too, cultivated her own truth. To survive together with Anissa and mr Moipatron. That is why she betrayed me. She wanted to stay on board. I understand that. She had been without a supportive husband  (or without any for that matter) for quite some time now and had to arrange her financial life all on her own. Hard to bear. But she did it. Even if she had to lie for it; After her marriage had broken up, she had found a new love in her life as she was the kind of women who needed love in her life. She could not do without love. The new man of her dreams had been a priest in a previous life. Now he still helped the Catholic priests in their tasks, even if no one came to the churches any more. Together they kept up the appearances. He had not been rich.  Catholics do not tend to pay that much. They like to think in terms of “charity” and “sacrifice”. (and not to forget : child abuse) So any  money Veronique did not have to expect from him. Only love. Lots of love. That would do for her. For the moment. She knew that some day one of his preaches would be one to many.

 

You definitely can ask Tessy. Tessy had become a victim as well. Tessy is gone, by now; but I still have her phone number. And private mailaddress. That is why my next chapter will be dealing with the swansong of Tessy. (Anissa : “the what????”) Complete victim of harassment and daily pestering by Anissa herself. Pestering between women. Till death do them part.  That is fun to watch! You have no idea! They would scrape each other’s eyes out, if they could….

 

It is like a game of mud catch. With deadly intentions. Anissa with both her empty teabags sticking to her polluted body. Falling down  in the mud, on her broadened obese hips. Tessy, sitting on top of her, her knees both controlling both arms of Anissa, preventing them to strike back, pulling her ravenblack hair, till she bleeds. What a scene. Sickening, is it not? I think it is.

 

You can ask Auxikleka, our Belgian customer, situated in Deurne. The contact person Fanny is not quite close friends with Anissa. Any idea why, perhaps? Fanny is a stron woman. Once, she even made Anissa cry. Pretty Incredible huh? That is when I got to handle this client. Transfert from Anissa to me. In those days, Anissa still handled our customers. “ Mistreated” is a better word. Orders from mr Dujounrot.

 

The product manager of Auxickleka though, always running after his dick,  had several times tried to penetrate Anissa’s bodily openings. He had tried all angles. I have no idea if he had been successful. The way Anissa often entered the office the last few weeks I had been still on board, spoke for itself. She left a real track of feminine slime and gunk  behind her, as a snail does on dry soil.  No tampax could hold this up.

Of course, I am pissed. I still am. Even after all these months. Because of what had happened to me, back there and then, at Matrix Systems Belgium. I am still in the process of writing it down. Every single detail of it. I will not forgive. Nor forget. I will strike back. Hard.  I have many documents to be used. Especially the fact that it had been very unfair what happened to me, is what makes me fuming. You do not know half of it yet.  I cannot let crime get away with itself. Someone will some day understand that rehabilitation is the only way out. And that corrections need to be made about some present foul and stinking situation.

 

Consider this to be a small “interlude”.  We are halfway. Get your coke or get your beer out of the fridge, go to the bathroom for a dump or a pee,  and then join me for the second half on this ride of resentment and human disgrace.

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT OVERWEIGHT THOUGHTS AND MORE LIES

Chapter forty eight : thoughts, lies and overweight

I have ordered my shoes. They are professional ones. It was hard to get a forty seven, Belgian or even European size. I live on big feet. You cannot tell, nor see from the outside that those shoes are fortified. Made of solid steel. The tips, I mean. But they are covered by the finest leather. I have very delicate feet. I do not want to harm them in my action. You can only obtain that kind of professional shoes in a shop of specialized clothing of the builders and construction workers. They were expensive! My God! I sure hope they pay off what I bought them for.

I cannot eat for two days. Damn. I am hungry right now. But they are going to scan me tomorrow. At three fifteen pm. In a hospital nearby, called Saint Augustamos. In Hoboken. To make sure I am cancerfree.

With the usual tubes and wires, they could not find anything. Therefore, they are going to use the big stuff; highly trained staff and extremely sophisticated material.

Mr Moipatron honestly believed that he could handle his job as “assistant to the general manager”. Every time he got stuck somewhere, he used one of his proved lies to help him out. He got used to do this all the time. At the end it got irritating to the customers. Because he covered up lie with another lie. They saw through this, because customers are never stupid. You should never ever underestimate a customer. Mr Moipatron did. Anissa did too. They started to cover up for each other.  It had gotten irritating to me as well. Even Veronique got highly frustrated with another attempt of mr Moipatron to stall or even avoid one of his promises he had made earlier and had not found the time to fulfil it, yet. He kept running after himself and his promises. He thought he was doing well. But he was drowning in his own chaotic master play.

Essentially, I do not think he meant to do or cause any harm. Nevertheless, using so many lies and unfulfilled promises in order to maintain his present working status, harmed him more than he could imagine. 

Customer care was overloaded again with phone calls of customers waiting for an answer of the technical support cell. Promised answers that never came through. promised faxes that never had been sent. Or had been made, for that matter. Very often, the fax machine seemed to be broken or overloaded. How convenient.

Tessy worked quite differently. She had a natural born domination on the men working in our warehouse. She controlled them with her natural flair of governance. Her authority had been build up as soon as she had started on the job. She had been quite confident about herself and this job from day one.  Even if she had only reached the age of 23.  Thank God there had been at least one woman on board who knew what she was doing.  Only, things did not turn out, the way Tessy had seen her future at Matrix Systems. Although mr Dujounrot had the highest respects for young Tessy and the way, she handled all warehouse problems, which of course actually meant that he could stay out of this clutter and focus on some Italian masterplan, he could not prevent Tessy from being another victim of harassment and pestering by Anissa.  In spite of this highy managerial praise and personal approval of mr Dujounrot on her daily efforts to keep things running the way she wanted it, Tessy had to fight back on an equal daily basis the envy, stupidity and gross, uncivilized (since she lacked any decent education)  personal attacks of Anissa. Both had been in the same school before entering the Matrix  community. May be that could have been a possible reason or explanation for the hostility and female physical resentment that existed between those two lovebirds.  They both hated each other’s guts, which had been as obvious as the fluidity of water.  They had not been best friends for years. At the contrary.

The same way I had my problems with Anissa on handling my customers and their payments, Tessy had her daily unsolvable issues too, because of the persistent foulness and slothfulness Anissa displayed every single day at the office. Tessy had to find her way out on incoming invoices that were not suppose to be on her desk, needing urgent accountable treatment, but, for conniving reasons, Anissa refused to handle. Anissa had been a master in diverting her proper workloads to those who had actually nothing to do with it. As she got stuck in executing her derivation program, she turned like a crying baby to mr Dujounrot, who, for questionable reasons, always defended the way Anissa presented her exertion.  So Tessy had to prepare, control and handle all incoming invoices concerning transportation, so Anissa only had to book and file them, which she never did because of lack of time…

But there was more….Anissa was harsh, rude, brutal, inhuman towards Tessy. Almost daily. What for? No idea. Envy perhaps? Because mr Dujounrot appreciated the way, Tessy handled things?

Did she see her as a kind of competition? Must have….for sure. Since Anissa had constant overweight problems herself, being the proud owner of those exquisite broad hips of hers where you could place a pint of beer upon, she started to harass Tessy on her weight too. Tessy had a strong bone structure and thus did not really match those coke-sniffing models you detect on catwalks nowadays. Down deep inside her, tessy dreamed of a figure, much slimmer than she actually had, but she knew she had no real persistence to deny all that tempting food. Weight watchers kept her body to restricted areas. At times, this went all right, other times you could really see Tessy had enjoyed her latest meals. For Anissa, this had been the ultimate weapon to hit upon Tessy’s confidence. Especially when Tessy was having her baby and during those tantalizing  months of pregnancy, Anissa systematically fraught Tessy on her weight issues.  I will not repeat the disgusting  things Anissa vomited out of her mouth towards poor Tessy; you can ask Anissa directly if she would be willing to repeat those conflicting, deeply hurting remarks and questions, she used to shatter Tessy. At the end.

Because of the fine and direct way Tessy handled her job, neither mr Moipatron, nor Anissa had anything to say about what went on in and around the warehouse. This had been a situation that had to be cleared. At once.  For Both of them. Mr Moipatron did not like to lack this control of his warehouse, since he had been “assistant to the general manager” for quite some time now.

Neiterh did Anissa like the noticeable power Tessy had growing because she did her job well, something you really could not say about Anissa.

So, together with Anissa, mr Moipatron  started to destabilize the logical, natural presence and powerful influence Tessy had cultivated during those first few years at Matrix systems. She had been really proud about what she had achieved.  She had a right to be proud. She could not ever understand why those two wanted her out. I hope now she will understand. And let her mind come to terms with herself. And her future.

 Both Anissa and mr Moipatron had to choose for the long run, by hitting her systematically on her weakest spot, her stretchy, fluxuous weight syndrome, since she still had the approval of our big boss, the ultimate general manager, located somewhere on an Italian beach (not again!!!), sipping of his fifth Scotch on the rocks, seeing four firm titties and two bushes of the finest curly hair before his troubled eyes. Since he stopped smoking, he could drink more, though. Good for him, bad for his legs.

Real good warehouse workers are hard to find.  Tessy knew this.

Good-hearted as she was, she had allowed both one brother of Anissa and one of Malvine to work in our warehouse. Dead wrong decision! Never let your heart decide over reason. This is always a bad decision. Tessy knows now. Too fucking late!  What a disaster this selection had been. Both brothers were equally shocking in their ways of approaching the job to be done... The brother of Anissa, Boujmahl, knew that her sister was working on her horizontal career up in the offices and thought himself to be untouchable. He actually and really slept through most of the working hours, hidden behind strategically placed pallets filled with Matrix goods, deep inside the containers he had to disembark and unload... (just ask any one…) Boujmahl had beaten his sister on the scale of sluggishness. It took him even some trouble to open his eyes. During daytime. During working hours. Say nothing…say nothing. Just do not say anything!

You could never understand the value of unreliability of those two, if you had not seen them in action. Or in non-action, that is.

 Megast, the brother of Malvine, and friend of Boujmahl, refused to check upon all boxes he picked and put together for each shipment. The checklists he got, he methodically filled in before he had done one single picking…with the evident results that every single shipment he had prepared, had been wrong the moment he took the first box into his hands.  Megast had been a friendly guy, but he had his principles. He never changed his habbits. Ever.

Boujmahl never had been friendly, to no one.  Why should he ever be? His sister, up there, had everything under control.  She controlled the joysticks of power and management, so he could sleep. Because he only had been so sleepy. Soo sleepy indeed. What a sister!

This cruel mistake, Tessy had to bear for years, since it took her that long to get rid of those two. For again unknown underhand raisons d'être, mr Dujounrot had protected those two against all remarks and legitimate complaints that were growing every single day. Until the day came, he could no longer stick his head in the Italian beach sand. It was time to sip again from his iced Scotch. Tonight he would invite Carola Spinazzola to a sumptuous dinner, since she liked to dine and wine. That you could see. On her sausage fingers. And her pair of oversized hooters of course.

chapter forty nine some changes

Chapter forty nine : proverbs and some change

“Mentez, mentez, il en reste toujours quelque chose.”©Voltaire.

 

Must have been the life supporting axiom of mr Moipatron. And of Anissa. Her life had been a lie all the way down.

 

“You must be the change, you wish to see in the world.”

©Mahatma Ghandi.

 

And so I am working on it. I do not have the pretention that I can change the world. But I can persevere in fighting the element of injustice and human dishonesty. Which I am doing now. Till justice sets everything straight again.

They still think that crime pays…poor bastards.

At the end they are the losers, sore losers…I truly do not understand how you can live your life lying like that.  About almost anything. Your life is a fake. Your marriage is a fake.  Your business title, your company position is a fake. Your social position is a fake. Anyone can see that.

 

Anissa tried soo hard to be a Belgian, it became pathetic. Any one could see that she had to be a genuine Moroccan. Nice country. Beautiful country! Nice people, over there. Not over here. Here it seemed as if she always had to defend herself. Against all. Against  everyone. Against non existing allegations. Against non existing accusations. Against non existing racial attacks. It had to be situated all between her ears. Paranoia, she was. Delusional.  Anissa hated sex. She had an aversion of the hard-on drumstick. Only mr Dujounrot could set her at ease. And enter her hardly ever sipping cave of tight pressure. Next to the product manager of Auxickleka, he had been the only one who had been able to set flames in the dried up, rarely flowering shrub.

Anissa hated every single time her legal husband, wandering eye, for the time he actually had been her husband, demanded his matrimonial rights to be fulfilled. With his circumcised rod, resembling a mushroom.  A small one. Sometimes it had white dots on it.  Containing moist fluids. Then she knew he had been “elsewhere” again.  She hated mushrooms. Especially the one between the legs of wandering eye. The one of mr Dujounrot had been wrapped up, at least. A nice package she could unroll every time when he wanted a blowjob done. This she begrudged as well. But, because of major possible complications and future consequences of not doing it, of rejection and possible humiliation, she had put the throbbing pole into her mouth. She even swallowed. The very  first time it happened soo quickly that she had not been aware what kind of load she just had gotten down in her throat. That is when she had started to like it. Moreover, the capacity of his pleasure load had been severely reduced over the years. With just one single swallow, she could get it down. Each time. Mr Dujounrot never had been happier, though. Till he had met his Italian bobo. Because she had been loaded. With boobies and hard cash. And her own company. Anissa had nothing but many brothers and sisters.  And a desiccated cave with roast beef lips. Her crummy salary at Matrix had been the first real income this deranged family had seen in years.

 

Every book needs a certain amount of pornographic material. Absolutely. Otherwise it would all be kind of boring. Telling you only about the crooked ways some behaved around Matrix Systems. Thank God Anissa had done what she needed to do, according to her drives and believes, so I could mention it here. Juicing up the story a bit. With bodily fluids and, in case of Anissa, local dehydrated areas.

 

Chapter forty nine bis :  mr Dujounrot can’t get enough, MORE!!!!

If you think mr Dujounrot had found peace within himself with the lubricant and lucrative scam he had pulled together with the love of his life Carola, you are dead wrong! He had been successful and he wanted more!

He needed more. And more did he get. Now, all you guys of Stardor, pay attention, it may help you in the search of what you are after.

Word got around that mr Dujounrot even had his own office within the building of JayBaySay from where he organised his orchestrated drainage of Matrix Systems.

 

We had found out, that the few times mr Dujounrot actually saw a client of Matrix; he only promoted his liaison to Italy instead of our products.  I think you should all see and comprehend this betrayal of mr Dujounrot to his origin, as a way of a proud cock, making efforts to conquer his chicken. “See what I can do….”

I, for instance, had gotten worried calls from a Spanish client, who had been a smaller client of JayBaySay too, who had been severely under pressure after one of mr Dujounrot’s rare visits to switch on several items from Matrix to Jaybaysay.

 

 “I do not want this cheap Italian shit.”

I can still hear him shouting out of plain anger.

 “I want Matrix items, not those of JaybaySay’s!”

 

To me, this had been a clear case of “conflict of interest”; cases of which Moipatron also had been aware of. He never ever talked about it to us, since he was secretly working on his elimination scheme to launch mr Dujounrot to the moon or even further and had been gathering loads of circumstantial evidence for that matter, all along. So be it. Just ask the man. He knows exactly what mr Dujounrot had pulled through. He Had been a forced accomplice all along. He had been sitting on the frontal seats of this personal cabaret mr Dujounrot made of it. And it had been worse than he had admitted first. The found evidence had been soo inflicting and contaminating that it seemed impossible for mr Dujounrot to stay on board as general manager.  Only, we did not know about this all, at that time. I mean, I did not know. I guess, considering the changing attitude of Veronique lately, that she knew. She must have been aware of the major changes mr Moipatron had been secretly arranging for the near future to come. As did Anissa. Anissa knew all along. As she sat at the source of all con bookings; together with Isabel, whomever that might have been.

It all had to do with the secret whispering on the phone for hours and hours, mr Moipatron practiced the last few months, neglecting his own work to be covered up with one of his patented lies.

 

Mr Dujounrot had become “sales” for JayBaySay. But he did not play it fair. He tried to replace Matrix items by those made by Jaybaysay by offering them at a lower price. He had been convinced the quality had been the same, which had been a profound lie. Mr Dujounrot knew this. Nevertheless, he pushed our clients to buy at JayBaySay, more than they could or would like to handle. So our sales dropped. Strange huh???? Mr Dujounrot used all of his knowledge, his managerial contacts and his executive power to draw sales from Matrix to JayBaySay. Some clients accepted the change, others were loyal to Matrix. Of course mr Dujounrot had been that brainy that he left Matrix with some orders to be delivered, he only partly switched items so that it did not became too obvious for the States to notice, since they seemed to be the only ones who were not informed yet about this fiddle. Till mr Moipatron spoke to Trend Straw. Indepth, they call this kind of conversations.

 

Anissa, who had been pulled along because of her incredible stupidity and ignorance by, at one hand, mr Dujournot and at the other hand, mr Moipatron, as he needed her too for his further betrayal and power putsch, had gotten the impression nothing could ever be going wrong for her. And do you know what  the sad part is of this contemplation? She had been damn right, all along, that woman. Even if she had not been aware of it. In her total inanity, she had learned to validate her idiocy and she had brought it to a point where she had been quite useful for those who thought to have it all under control.

This made her behave even more sickening and out of control towards us, poor secondary bastards who had to do all the real work, cleaning up the daily mess mr Moipatron had left again due to his freezing defamation.

 

Of course I can give you some exemple. I do can hear you think, you know. This is a first book in the history of all books throughout the centuries of literature that actually communicates directly to its readers. This no diary, no, this is a true book.

I have had one publisher calling on me already, waiting for me to arrive at my final and ultimate chapter which I am publishing through the book, of course, not over the internet, to keep the tension intact and to urge peope to buy my book. Clever huh?

 You did not think I would be able to find a publisher, did you now? With such an explosive content, many are waiting to indulge themselves in the horror others have been trhough in their lives... 

 

Think of the disgrace and ignominy that will nestle itself as a deadly virus deep inside the unbearable damaged credibility of Matrix Systems. Be aware of the disappointments and resentment, people are going to feel when they were confronted with the lethargic initial negligence of Matrix Systems USA. Do not forget the amazing looks of pure astonishment they will produce on their faces when they learn how easy mr Dujournot could perform his fraud, only promoting his personal profit for years and years…And, for all, do not forget that the audience isn’t a fool. They cannot be fooled or misguided, or disrespected. They will clearly see and detect the inflamed sick elements out of this story. The bad people will be condemned. Matrix Systems will be hurt severely. May be it will obtain a lethal injection.

 

I have produced about 240 din a4 pages up till now, and with the final conclusive story, yet to be unravelled, I estimate, I will make it to at least 350 pages. Or a  bit less.  Or a bit more. So you do have some time left. To draw you own conclusions. To act and react on all those insightful allegations. To straighten up things. Finally.  Because this book is going to be materialized.  You can bet on it. Thousands of copies will be spread. Around every possible bookshop all over the world. With magisterial journalist encouragement and full press support. Probably I will have to hold many separate international press conferences. I will be hosted on famous international talk shows.  I have the personal e-mail address of Ophrah. Yes, thé Ophrah. She loves this kind of human shit.  The “tonight show”, is interested too. They have confirmed to see me, when my last letters are written down. When my book comes to an end. The ultimate end. I have to do “Letterman” one week. “Tony Danza” the next. “Conan Obrien” the week after that. And “Regis and Kelly” the week after that.  The New York and LA times are waiting for my round up story. I have promised to deliver this as soon as my book will be finished.  I had to keep the title as it is now.

 “no one cares for  losers”

 This had been one of the conditions. It had been part of the deal. Because it is all written down  in English, corrected by a true English connoisseur, I can make this being spread worldwide. The global approach. You should not underestimate my worldly social connections.  Fiercely enhanced by my being an artist.  Artists maybe poor, but they are being listened too by the press if they have to say something worthwhile. And you bet, this is at least worth while.

 

You have done this once. The second time, it is going to cost you your head. Chopped off by a sword as sharp and deadly effective as the one of Bill. Only I will not need two movies to obtain the same results. The sword I had bought in Sudan. The poorest area of our entire planet. I bought it from those poor souls because I want to support them. It is protected by a fine fully leathered shaft. With iron tip, to protect the sharpness. It is as sharp as a razor blade. Used by Beckham.

This book is a one-way blether directly to you. 

 

Yes, you! And you too!

 

Need to pee? Come on, I have not gotten all day. Go on then…This book talks to all the protagonists and even antagonists involved. This book even talks to its readers.  This book is a kind of moral standard for all participating brains, reading along on a daily basis. Yes, I converse with you too, Anissa! And you, drunken old sod! (mr Dujounrot) And you mr Moipatron; we haven’t finished talking yet. Not yet, because I still have a lot to say! And this book chats with Trend Straw as well.

 

And with all the investigators of Stardor.

 

Our Minister of culture, mr Bert Anciaux, said today in the newspaper about a fraud case in his department:

”when I get hold of an anonymous letter, that says to me that someone, some place, somewhere, resorting under my responsibility as a minister, is cheating on me or is involved in some scam I am not aware of,  I hand over this letter immediately to the justice department to start an official investigation.” “It is my right and even my duty to do so towards all those honest  hard working people who are performing a hell of a job on my department. “

I do not send anonymous letters. I write a book about it. A book on the net. The world wide net. A book to be published. With explosive content. How explosive, the future will resolve.

 

In her daily constrain to make Tessy’s life as miserable as she possibly could get it, one day, after Tessy being sick at home, she did the following, way out of line, again.

As you may be know, in Belgium, and I strongly believe elsewhere too, doctors have all made a solemn pledge to keep secrecy about their patients and their physical state of being. The are expected to keep silent about the intimate parts of every physical investigation they perform. Only the patient has a right to know. No one has ever a right to intrude in this relationship doctor/patient.

 

Of course, when you had as little education and parental guidance as Anissa had gotten in her whole life, you could not possibly know this.

So, when Tessy returned to the office, she delivered the obligatory doctors note that excused her for not being at work due to illness, to Anissa. Anissa had become the one to keep all records on admitted leaves, short absences and longer holidays, since she had to gather this kind of information to enable our salaries to be paid correctly and, for all, on time, at the end of each and every month.  As you know, and as I told you before, Anissa permanently abused this information in relation to herself, since she had been at the source of it all. The holidays she had taken and the holidays that had been officially reporting were as dissimilar as a mouse is to an elephant.

 

Now, as for Tessy was concerned, she also had thought that she did not only have to gather all this kind of information, she started to believe she had to control her on this information too.