Pat sent me an email saying that Mag is on her maternity leave and so they want to recruit someone to fill in for her. the job advertisement is attached. perhaps I would like to join her team?
it was at the end of summer 2011, I had just broke up with the psychopath and Mch. appeared again. I remember drinking Israeli wine in the warm evening and I also remember how well I suddenly understood that the thing I have for her is deep and real. and in the morning I woke up and went across the big square surrounded by white buildings, full with early August sun, heading Pat's office. up there I spent 4 hours each day, being polite and shy like an intern should be, sealing the envelopes, copying and pasting glossaries and translating hungrily each text they let me work on.
when I told Mch. about them, I called them 'aunties'. they were all slightly older than me, they listened to the same Sade's CD over and over again, they translated 8 hours a day, they cooked for one another and they called each other childish diminutive names. I liked them. and I didn't fit.
I remembered two of them very well: Matilda and Pat.
Matilda had red curly hair always done up in a small bun. her speech was ripe and skepticism was just written on her face.
Pat was warm and mild. She told about her voluntary work at a children's home and she naturally paid attention to me. once I burnt my ear with hair iron in the morning before work. Pat went to the toilet with me and she stuck a band-aid to my skin. in a very simple and friendly act.
so when she asked me if I wanted to replace Mag for a year, I suggested we should meet me for coffee to talk about it. she agreed instantly. simply and friendly.
we met at a street corner and she hugged me. not effusively, just like a friend. but this was a real hug. she laughed saying we chose the worst possible evening: not only Friday, but a Valentine's Day. she said, when someone sees just the two of us sitting at a table, they will have thoughts... and she laughed again. I said: it's Warsaw! she nodded. and kept on laughing.
I had a cappuccino, she had black tea, and we talked as if a dam was burst. I talked so much I felt heat waves on my face. at 10 pm the waitress told us they were closing. we went out to the cold night, I asked her which way she took, and then she suggested we could still go and sit in some other place. with liquor? with liquor, she said.
we went to a small café where Jewish festival takes place in the early Autumn. Pat bought us a big carafe of my favorite wine and leek with goat cheese quiche and she wouldn't let me pay for myself. she told me about things that you don't tell someone you hardly now and haven't seen for over two years. it was nothing personal, no confessions. just usual chat, with comfort and ease typical of good old friends that don't need to be afraid of anything between each other so they just let the thoughts come out their mouth. and I did the same.
and then we just went home.
I was at my place at 1.30 am and at this point a battle started in my head: to take this job or not to take. some enthusiastic part of my head had visions of me handing in my notice in mu current kolkhoz, where I always stay overtime to fix system defects – because this is what I'm supposed to do as a cheap Polish labor. I could almost enjoy the luxury of my way to office that would now take me half as much as to the kolkhoz site. I could sense that peace of well-organized translators' work, I could see myself leaving the office at 5 pm, and finding myself in the city-centre – not kilometers of traffic jam away. the fresh wind of change, slaming the door and quitting the job that takes more and more of my private life.
and then the other part of me warned me against a replacement contract – only until the end of January, after which I would probably have to leave and look for job. looking for job in Warsaw... a nightmare. a recurring one. seeing all those shitty job advertisements. seeing my money melt, going to job interviews almost every day, not seeing any of them lead to anything serious. hearing the clock ticks. and then it struck me I would miss those funny idiots who make me laugh my ass off in our lunch breaks, and sometimes after work, with beer and bowling. I could see me saying goodbye to my relatively good position of a senior employee and a place where they could never possibly sack me. finally, I realized I would replace chaotic and badly organized, but interesting work with translating and verifying translations. each. and. every. day. eight hours a day.
the battle in my head was like the Israel-Palestine conflict: every party is right and there's no way to consensus.
I sent emails to family and friends with requests for advice. Ol and Mash told me to accept Pat's offer. They said a change would do me well. Z. wrote he would never leave interesting job for people that have guts for a job that consist of translations only and that I should really think it over. my sister's email took away the tiny little peace of mind left as she asked what I wanted to do in life in general. I don't know. Of course I don't.
I talked to Ol. for a while and we both suddenly noticed that what I did was look for reasons why I should stay in my current job. Ol.: your mind is already made, you only ask people for advice 'cause you want to double-check if there's any aspect of it all that you missed. and she was damn right.
and then something clicked. I suddenly could see how much I like my shitty job. this bank crap that has nothing to do with my humane and art interests and hobbies. the dynamics, never having enough time and billions of yesterday's deadlines we missed. those incidents and failures. and that student-like atmosphere I have in my team, that moronic laugher all day long. being already someone although I've been there only for a year and a half. getting emails from the Netherlands, saying: 'you're a doll!'
feeling at peace with my life and the sense of harmony started to spread in my head. tonight I was supposed to go to a post-Valentine's Day-party, but I felt that my tracksuit, Chinese noodles and reading a newspaper in my empty flat is exactly what I need and I'm fine with it. in the afternoon I watched Ellen Page's speech that made me watch 'Juno' eventually. and this lonely Saturday evening felt just ok.
