A Little Hungarian Comedy of Hostages

The scariest part is that he doesn't even realize what he just did.

„Crisis Manager”:
Finally I stood up for myself. Since I decided to take things to a breaking point, I was only waiting for the opportune moment to arise. And it came this morning. B. arrived late and told his secretary not to connect anyone in to him, even left his cell phone with her, then he marched to his office. No more was needed, I marched after him. The secretary tried to stop me, but I just raised my brows and said that the producer has a meeting with me, it's super important so don't let anyone in, no matter what happens.
I rushed in on B. without so much as knocking. He rose his head in confuse, and told me to come back later.
- No delays possible – I said and tossed myself into one of the leather armchairs without him ever offering me a seat. I shot the question at him, what's up with my contract. He asked for some more patience, but I yelled that it ran out already. Tell me right here, right now, how much do I work for.
- Listen, I would be the happiest if we could deal with it already, but the budget...
- I don't care the very least about the budget – I interrupted. - I want to see my contract now, immediately.
So I could give some pressure to it, I started to kick the glass coffee table.
His head turned red, his lips were shaking. He was scared for the sheet glass. He rose from his table and leaned over me:
- Your contract is in the works, I will let you know as soon as it's done. And now please go back, let me do my work. You too would have some this and that to correct on your shows...
I stood up too and pulled myself out. I'm about a foot taller than him.
- And now I won't go anywhere until you sign my contract – I rose my voice.
He got frightened, I could see it. He tried to feed me more of the BS about him trying to get it done faster and he tried to sneak sideways towards the door. With a quick move I moved by him, locked the door and took the key.
- Now you went too far! - he hissed. - You open that door, right now.
- No – I said, and I added that I won't leave until he paid my work so far.
- This will have some grave consequences – he threatened me, and ran to his desk. He picked up the phone, but by then I was there too and I pushed the button. So he said he will scream. I started laughing, and reminded him that I'm a complete nervous wreck from being broke, and I may not be held accountable for all my reactions. If he screams, I may panic and attack him.
- Are you... threatening me? - he asked me in a tiny voice.
- No, I'm just reminding you of the fact that I'm not completely in control of my deeds. I may even just jump out of this window here or I knock myself out.
I even asked him if he has seen Fight Club. He hasn't, but he panicked totally.
- You're not normal – he kept saying.
I answered what wasn't normal was to work here without a contract, for free, 24/7.
- Nobody will ever even talk to you from the business, I'll kill your reputation! - he spattered.
(I think I heard Sophie come home, I'll tell her the big news. I'll continue later.)

Sophie only added a short and shaken entry to her diary about this:

I'm starting to be seriously scared of this man. Christ. What happens if B. sues him? Will he get in jail? And then what will happen to us? To the kids? The scariest part is that he doesn't even realize what he just did. How proud he was to announce it... And the consequences? He says there won't be any, B. will keep his trap shut. And what if he won't?

Laws of Wolves

Life is nothing short of a treasure trove of unforeseen dues

Since the last meeting, air thinned up around me. I fight my hampered respiration and I find it harder and harder to make myself go in to work. My only comfort is that at home the situation improved a lot: Sophie is nowhere near as fiendish to me as she was. The big fights are gone, there's no yelling, and even though the old coziness didn't quite build back up yet, at least there are no lightnings anymore, and the beneficial effects are already visible on the kids. Even though our finances are not just not better but getting worse and worse. I still haven't gotten a cent from the TV. Sophie's check runs out around the twentieth of any given month. But bills and payment notices are coming constantly. Every weekend we put up a priority list. First is school, lunch, extracurricular classes. Then come the bills that if we don't pay, we get something turned off: electricity, gas, phone service. Then pay the mortgage. If we still have some money left, we go grocery shopping, if not, we eat whatever is in the freezer. Any other dues are postponed to unknown date. I now have a great experience in asking for late payment. When I was writing the first of these letters, I was sweating over it for hours, re- and re-wording it until I felt it to be appealing enough, but not too self-humiliating. Now I can toss one together in a few minutes. I don't have to twist my brains for too long until I can find an excuse, life is nothing short of a treasure trove of unforeseen dues. Brake pads into the car, parking violation, late fees, dentist, kids' shoes, repairing the washer.
No matter for the strict budget, at the end of the month we always have to touch the savings that are running out quickly. Maybe we have two months left... then bankruptcy. I promised Sophie that if we really need to, I will borrow from my parents. But I really don't want to see that moment, it would be so humiliating. Pumping the elders when you're an adult man, nothing but admitting you made nothing out of yourself. I made nothing out of myself? I don't want to ask myself the question. Not now. Because then I would have to take the final consequence: a nice little life insurance and a well-staged accident at the right moment... Christ, did I really get here? Before I get all teary-eyed (I imagine myself laying on the road as Sophie runs to me weeping just to be able to whisper in my ear that she has always loved me), the Kuruc blood screams loud in me (the channel is under Austrian ownership) and I decide to get myself into B.'s office and not come out until he signs my contract and transfers the money to my account.

Peter signed the previous entries as Complaints From An Unemployed. The following ones were signed as "Crisis Manager", like this, in quotation marks. He did what he promised to do and went in to the producer, but of that, some later. That's when Sophie called me again. She was very upset. No matter how I asked her, she said it's not a topic to be discussed over the phone. I tried to joke and ask if she seriously thinks that anyone cares what we are talking about, just the two of us, but she shut me up that it's bloody important now, it's about lives on stake. As a crime story writer, I obviously jumped on the topic, but it was a letdown. And not because Sophie was telling long tales with the lives on stake. So much not, that she never even wrote it to her diary, what she told me...

Losers and Machos in the TV

I can feel the cold sweat dripping. I think of our house, foreclosed by the bank.

This week started like any other would, too. A meeting here, a presentation there, and then a group mail on Tuesday: non-scheduled meeting at one, compulsory for all. The corridor gossip started immediately, we were also caught with the recession, the management is not satisfied with the results, tightenings are on, and lay-offs are coming. I was just trying to comfort the others that there won't be anything bad, I know from John that the data are not that tragic, they calculated for the drops already.
Still, the meeting had a mood of gloom over it, the big boss was crunching his joints, writing long columns of data on the board, then he finally said that rationalization is necessary, we have to get rid of unnecessary parallel positions, we need to let some people go, else the company won't be able to stay afloat. Or: we can all agree to take a pay cut. He leaves this decision up to us, we need to tell our supervisor how we chose.
My immediate boss, John didn't leave me any time to think. He called me in immediately after the meeting. I couldn't even call Peter to tell him to finally get somewhere with B. about his contract. At least if I knew how much he will make, I could negotiate from a better position.
John tries to smile, but I can immediately see that there's some deep trouble. He tells me too how grave consequences the recession has.
I can feel the cold sweat dripping. I think of our house, foreclosed by the bank. The kids, who don't understand why they have to pack up their toys, why they have to move to a tiny apartment, so small they don't have enough space...
- Speaking of which, does Peter work already? - John pulls me back from the nightmare.
- Yes - I answer quickly. - Or well, not quite - I try to clarify. I'm fighting back tears as I explain that he still doesn't have a contract, we don't know how much he will make.
- Well that sure sounds bad - he says even gloomier. He's silent for a bit, and I'm contemplating running out of the office so he won't see me cry.
- Do you want me to put a few knives over his company's throat through my connections? It's just not cool that he works for weeks, but he not only doesn't get a contract, but not even a puny verbal agreement!
He shows that my husband is the loser with whom this can be done. And he's the big guy whose hand reaches everywhere. I hate these conceited machos, but I can't help it but see Peter more and more pitiful. As I hate weakness.
- Just let me know if I should fire up the connections! - John offers once again as I'm just silent. - And about the situation here, well, a few people mentioned why do we need a head of communications when we don't even get any orders...
I can't hold my tears back any longer.
- Oh, oh, no need to despair whilst I'm here! - he says and walks around his desk. He puts his hand on my shoulder as he continues: - Naturally, I would never agree to let you go. After all, we do make a fine team, the two of us.
He takes out a tissue and hands it to me.
- And about the pay cut, I persuaded the others, that your contract is a recession contract already, not from the good old days when our picket fence was made of salami still. We can't take any off of it, so we will reduce your optional perks a bit so they can't say that we make an exception of you.
At first I feel relief. That's it? But when he grabs my shoulder firmer, I frighten. I'm afraid he will hand me the bill right now. I raise my head almost pouting. I decided. If he blackmails me, I quit right now, I won't let myself be used...
But John sits back to his place.
- And in that other case just let me know and I will help immediately. Please send in the next one!
I can't go back to the office. I run out to the bathroom, I lock myself in a stall, and pushing my back against the wall I start to weep.
If Peter was there at that time, I think I would've scratched his eyes out.

I have read these times several times, but at that time I couldn't ask my questions to Sophie anymore. They slowly and quietly cooled away from each other with Peter, I think that's the best description for those times. They were rowing their own separate boats, and barely met. Peter put all his efforts into the new channel. True, it wasn't all the work, more the self-defense. And more and more it seemed to be useless:

The recordings have started. M. has officially asked me to train Sylvie. She was telling it to me as happily as if he was getting a root canal. The night before they went somewhere with B. The next day there was no word of her quitting if Miss Sylvie will be a host. So she became one. What could've happened that night, I couldn't extort from M. If I tried to mention it, she got serious and moved to another topic. Since then she has been avoiding Sylvie. She even calls me on the phone to ask me to pass her a message, even though we all sit in the same office space. We are still on good terms, but our relationship is nowhere near as close as it was.
I'm trying to prepare Miss Sylvie. Not a great experience. She's factory defective about show hosting talent. The interviewees don't interest her, nor does the topic. Maybe if an A-class celebrity bumps into her microphone. Then she tries to do her best, but even this is not enough of a motivation for her to actually prepare for it.

Maybe after the second trial interview, she started to edit too. When I explained to her why the conversation was worse than words can describe, she lunged at me that it was the interviewee's fault. I very gently tried to calm her down and put her back into work mode when she ran to B. A few hours later B. took a peek into the next conversation, grunted and hummed a few times and then he announced that for the real shootings we should prepare new topics and new guests. "We need a bigger boom here" - that's what he kept saying. What he meant by it, he never explained. "You know that well! You didn't start this business yesterday." Well, true, I did not. But Miss Sylvie did. Still, she over-edited the first show completely. If I didn't let her do something, she just ran straight to B. And after a while B. didn't even make the effort to come over and tell me the changes. He just simply sent a message via Sylvie. The bitch soon got the scheme and quickly she just started saying B. wants it so, B. wants it different. Well I didn't come off the shore today either. I knew it exactly that she referred to B. even when she has never talked to him about it. When she wanted me to do things I could not take up with my reputation, I turned to M. She listened to me, and then with a discreet face she only asked me to hang in there, the game is not over yet. I would love to enter against the dark side so I can speed things up a bit, after all it is ridiculous that with my years of experience I have to get a cramp in my stomach every time I have to sit down and prepare a completely talent-less, beginner show host. If I could, I would just throw the desk at her head... And then at B.'s.

Push-me-out

I remember the happy years together and I get ashamed.

M. is starting to get on my nerves. She got totally settled in Peter's thoughts. I can't talk with my husband for two minutes without him mentioning her: M. wants it so, M. said that, M. gave a hint on this... No, I don't think she's his mistress, at least not yet. I would feel that, men are horrible liars. But it still bothers me awfully that my husband is adoring another woman so undisguised, even if she's his boss.
Now I ask for the contract every single day. It would be just great to know for how much do I have to bear him coming home at night, keeping in touch with the kids via the message board on the fridge, and if we even talk a little bit every now and then, I have to argue with M. and her thoughts.
Finally I got him to sit down and talk about this with the owner, ask him when he will pay, and how much. B. shook him off however, saying that as long as they don't have a final budget, he can't say anything. He doesn't want to be a letdown if they will have to cut some of his salary too. Because they will need to reduce costs even further, that's sure. I don't know why would someone start a channel if they don't have the money for it...
Peter pulled in all ears and tails and didn't slam on B.'s desk, asking him to say at least a minimum money with what he can calculate. I asked him to talk to B. again, but he shut me up with saying that M. also promised that if he's not being impatient, she will help him get the best price for his bargain. I let a sarcastic sentence slip about how M.'s job should not just be to pile workloads onto him and keep him by her side day and night, but also to stand up for him when it's about his salary. Peter then said that it's only jealousy talking from me, and once again he took the old record off the shelf that I, on the other hand, was only promoted by John because he wants to bed me. I didn't let myself, I asked him, doesn't he think that M.'s sudden interest is based in her wanting to get screwed by him. He called me silly. M. needs his professional knowledge, nothing else. We went to bed angry again - and alone again.
In addition, our money is running out fast. For the news that Peter is starting to work again, we loosened the tightest strings a bit. I can't go to work in worn-down, old-fashioned stuff, and the kids have been tormenting me for a few new things for months. I don't even dare to think what happens if Peter's job doesn't start to pay soon...

I even started to think that we should maybe sell the house. Me and the kids can come out of my salary, and Peter can solve his life as he can. And then I remember the happy years together and I get ashamed. Not because of John. Even though, looking back now that night at the hotel was really nice. I finally felt like a woman again. And I didn't do anything I should be feeling bad about.

We didn't talk of all this when I met Sophie again. We went to the cafe, soon becoming our regular spot at Liszt Ferenc Square. She called me and asked me what do I know of M. Not much, and I told all that to her on the phone.
It was almost like having a date with her. We revived the past, we remained silent of the present, and even less we mentioned the future. She wanted to go, but finally she talked her children into sleeping over at their grandparents. We drank a bottle of wine, and we could even laugh at our old memories together.
I was thinking, maybe if we behaved a bit more mature back then, we would be happy now, both of us. But we didn't say a word of that either. We stayed until late at night, I took her home by cab. Peter wasn't at home yet. The "shoulder devil" was jumping up and down on me to say it, ask her to leave everything behind and run away, just me and her, but then I remained silent. We didn't arrange another meeting.

I'm trying to teach Miss Sylvie, to not much avail. We sit down aside every single day, but her cell phone keeps ringing, no matter how I ask her to turn it off, she always answers this one is super duper important, and chitchats for half hours as if I wasn't even there. After three calls or so, B. usually calls him, and they disappear for hours. M. notices the thing too, she asks me to go out and have dinner with her. She asks me straight away, why am I dealing so much with Sylvie lately. I fold out my cards, I tell her what we agreed in with B. She gets upset. I suddenly get it. M. is endlessly jealous of the gal. I'm just not quite sure whether it's because of B. or me.
After dinner, Sylvie turns to me with a sudden rush of interest. She tries to find out from me what M. wanted from me. I guess it's to report to B. Obviously, I won't betray M. I use her sudden rush of interest and I ask her if she has a contract yet. After long persuasion she admits she does. Putting all my chastity aside, I even ask her for how much. She tells me. My jaw drops. First I get upset, then I calm myself down, that if she can get so much as an intern, me, a seasoned editor will definitely make more.
Half an hour later I'm at B.'s office, asking him how can Sylvie have a contract already. First he tries to duck the question, and then he admits: first they agree with the show hosts. Sylvie? A show host? I'm flabbergasted. He says he sees great potential in her, he shoots some murky hints towards my contract in preparation, and asks me not to tell anyone yet that they mean Sylvie to be a host. That including M. Of course, my first trip goes to her. She gets really upset just now. She hisses that if Sylvie is going to be a show host, she's leaving. But first she will have a little talk with the other owners who promised her she can set up the final crew herself if the channel can kick off. But until then she has to cooperate with B. I feel like throwing up from this whole BS. quite frankly I would love to quit right today. But I can't do it, I can't be without a job. So I stay and hold my peace. I don't even say anything to Sophie. I don't want to hear her I-told-you-so's.

Bells of Perils, When They Ring

M. is a little whore who knows exactly for whom to put those legs apart. Not for an inferior.

Like if I was learning again to walk, live, think. I have a job again, where I have to go in day by day, for that you have to get dressed every morning, shave, show your better face, think, communicate, not just spinning in one spot, by yourself, working up your brain for nothing. With M., the editor-in-chief I'm on great terms, we always wink at each other when the owner, B. starts to tell long tales. The situation is still very ductile, I can still be anything, even vice-editor-in-chief. So far they got another two editors, they are both inferior to me in skills. True, one of them is in a rather intimate friendship with the owner, but with joined forces with M. we can easily make his ideas sound ridiculous to the others. My optimistic hopes (VEiC) are based on the fact that I have to write the program structure, as the others are unable to do it. We put our heads together with M. after the others have left, and get a great job done. Sophie asks me about the contract every day, but I don't want to mention it yet. In these days it's not the best to first point at your pocket and then shine yourself. First I want to prove myself, and only send them the bill when they have to realize that they won't get around me, they won't get anywhere without me. And then I can dictate: a little more money that at my previous position, laptop, car, cell phone with a huge bill limit. If we can make that deal, I can talk Sophie into leaving the company. With her knowledge, she could be cherry-picking from the best positions, and we can finally get rid of her pushy boss. I don't even mind if she makes a few bucks less by the end of the month, at least she won't have to feel like she owes something to her boss. I would love to see his evil face when Sophie announces that she's quitting...
The phone just rung. It was M. She said the management didn't approve of our program concept. She asked me to go in immediately so we can make a new concept. I'm not happy, I was kvetching on Sophie all week because she was coming home late. Well, whatever, this one is important now, somehow I'll just talk it out. If a business gets on track... Up to work!

I can't even count how many programs' start I've been around to see. The formula is the same all the time, get an idea for the show, plan the details, make a marketing plan (sometimes you even have to fetch the money yourself), hoping that if the "movie" passes, you can make it. Problem is, maybe one out of ten will be accepted. And the rest of it was for free (in the best case, because it's not too uncommon that they shoot it without you, because Director X or CEO Y didn't believe in you....)
Anymore I won't work for free. But seeemingly Peter is not suspicious enough. Sophie's instincts ring the bells of peril already though:

I thought I arrived home, but still I feel more and more that I was wrong. The house is not my home. We live by each other like strangers. The old coziness is gone. But everything seems to be going fantastic. Peter comes more and more to life every day. His confidence is growing, we even have been to bed. Truth to be told, we were both thinking of something else during the act. Myself, I was thinking of the next day's presentation.
I'm afraid Peter's euphoria won't last long either and will be followed by a horrible crash. John, my boss knows B., the owner of the new channel well. He said he's an uninhibited worm who would sell his own mother for a cent of profit. M. is just a little whore whose whole talent is knowing exactly for whom to put those legs apart. (It's not jealousy talking of me, she only pushes upwards, an inferior can't even come to thought.) We still don't know what position Peter will fill at the channel, and for how much. I try to push him to ask it, but to no avail, he doesn't want to listen. I'm worried. If you let yourself be screwed over, they will screw you over. It's the laws of the wilderness now. And our marriage won's survive another dive. I'm not even sure yet if it did survive the last one.

It Hurts to Love, It Hurts to Hate

Till death does us apart, until yesterday.

I feel a chaos of feelings rise in me. Ten years can't just be put in parenthesis in a moment. I hate Peter for what he did. And I hate all those who did this to Peter. The hystery of recession, the downsizings, that life is no more than a mere line of a pen. And now I don't think it's a good idea to leave him. I know it sounds all sentimental, I even cry when I think of it, but I do believe in the death does us apart, I do believe you have to hold on for better or for worse... I almost turn home when I realize I'm trying to reason what he did. I pity him. But my body won't obey, I still drive the car the other direction. If I could spin time back, I would. I want the man who he was. I want a man, a strong, earnest, one who doesn't run into a high of alcohol to forget his own minority. I want the Peter who would carry his whole family on his shoulders without a thought. The one who wanted to wow me. The one who seduced me every night. The one who wanted me and was a partner for me. And my body, my guts know that this Peter doesn't exist anymore, no matter how I would command it home, the car goes another way. Maybe I should have talked about it with my father. Or my first love? I slam on the brakes. Gosh, what am I doing? Am I just looking for a reason to step out of a marriage slowed down? Maybe it's not Peter the problem but me? I don't have to go, but I want to go?

My mind comes back for the mad honking. The people behind me don't understand why I'm standing in the middle of the road. The middle of the road - I realize that from here I can still turn back. I just have to want it. But I can't want it. True enough, I can't even want to continue my journey. I stand there paralyzed. Somebody loses his head and passes everyone by, not caring about the traffic in the opposite direction. He curses with his face transforming into it. I can't start, I turn on my emergency lights. The next driver, when he sees me, brakes and stops in front of me. The man gets out of the car and comes to me. My instincts work as I press the security lock button. He leans to my window and asks something. I can't hear his words, but I see the good will on his face. I roll my window an inch down, and it surprises me as my mouth opens and I say: "I just left my husband." "Ouch" he says, scratching his head. "Why? You can tell me." He looks at me encouraging, and - another surprise - I start to list it. This can only happen to me: sitting in the middle of traffic in my car, and across a barely cracked window I lay out my whole life to a complete stranger. He offers me to continue it by a drink. This gets me back to reality. I can't just go with the first man I find. I want to leave, but he yells at me: "You can't drive like this. I live nearby, the house is big, I promise you I..." Now the alarm is ringing constantly: "You don't think I would..." - I try to jump at him, but he just waves me silent: "Don't leave him, give him another chance!" He turns around and leaves me there. I wait until his car gets out of my sight and then finally I start up my engine too.

Peter didn't write to his blog for days after Sophie left. And then it's a different person continuing. At least so it seemed. But don't go so far ahead. Roughly when Sophie was complaining to the unknown man at the road, I had this strong feeling in my guts: she's in trouble. I dialed her number, but her cell phone was switched off. She didn't want Peter to reach her, but this way I couldn't reach her either. Then.

I'm Not Even Wanted As Unemployed

If he cheated on me, I may even bear that too, but he sinned against his family and that is unforgivable.

I didn't wait until the deadline, I went back to the employment center in a few days. I decided nothing can upset me, if I have to, I will wait for eight hours straight, I'm taking something to read, sandwiches for a day. I had so many papers I couldn't fit them in my briefcase anymore, I had to put them in a separate plastic bag in a giant folder. In about half an hour I even got a seat, that made me almost optimistic. The calling numbers came in a complete mess, I couldn't find a system in it, try as I might. At least one would know how many are ahead, you could just go out for a walk, get a coffee, grab a bite to eat. Time would fly by. But system, no. They call the number ten lower, then twenty higher, then the one right before me. Then 17 after me. And I just sit there waiting, I can't even read, because I look up at every beep of the display. Maybe. But seems that my number is cursed, or just the computer forgot about it. Sophie sends me a comforting text every hour or so, at least that helps.
After three hours and thirty-seven minutes of wait, my time comes. I magically put on my sweetest smile over my worn face, and I step into the shrine of bureaucracy. I sit down at the clerk's desk, I spread out my miles of paperwork, this fact sheet, that application, another certification - she just keeps asking and asking, with no feeling in her voice whatsoever. I select the needed paperwork quickly, I don't want to waste their precious time. She pounces on the corporate papers like an attacking puma. Her experienced eyes point a mistake, she busts the verdict: not eligible. I try to argue, I ask her to show me the law, governmental order, anything. She's just shrugging and changes tone:
- If you really want it, we can put in the application...
A spark of hope shines up.
- ...but it will be rejected anyways.
My brain just explodes. When I was there for the first time I wanted to ask about that point that she doesn't want to accept now. After several hours of waiting I would've deserved at least the answer from the info desk clerk, but all she could say was that all cases are different, the appointed clerk will tell everything. Another several hours of wait gives me forty seconds of answer time.
When I mention this, she just shrugs, she can't do anything, it's the rule. I groan, that I'm not holding her responsible for the rules but for the humiliating and inhumane process of letting me know this.
I curse her. I wish her to be fired too and have to go begging for financial aid, just like I have to. Now all other clerks are watching us too. And me in particular, rather offensively.
Finally the released pressure is not sitting on my brain, I can change tones:
- Ladies, I have a simple favor to ask you! - I raise my voice.

I leave a pause of attention.
- More humanity! People who come here are in trouble, have been hurt, a lot of them have been humiliated. Please treat us like people too!
Air just froze.
- See you later, ladies – I say, storming out of the office.
I hear some groans of disrespect, but I don't react. I grab the door to slam it behind myself, but in the last moment I change my mind and just close it quietly.
At the information desk I stop for a second. It's the same lady staring at me the same stupidly who didn't answer me last time. Anger fills me, I would just love to smash her fat head into the counter.
Then I gather my strength and walk out without even saying goodbye.

Of what happened immediately after this, neither of them ever wrote anything. Sophie told me a lot later what happened.
She was in the middle of a super important meeting when Peter called her. She couldn't take the call, her phone was on silent mode, so she just hung up and tried to secretly write a text message that she will call him back ASAP after the meeting, but her husband's message broke it in half. "I was denied, I'm not even good enough to be unemployed." Roughly that's what it said. Sophie felt that she can't not talk to him. She excused herself out with a lot of awkward sorry's, but she couldn't reach Peter anymore, he turned her cell off. She sent her a text message and went back to the meeting. She was hanging on the edge of her seat, but her peers just couldn't finish their discussion. She got a new text message, but not from Peter but the bank: all their bonds have been freed. Her boss looked rather annoyed, but still she went out once again. Her husband was still not available. She sat back on her place, but in a moment came the next message. All money was withdrawn. Sophie lied that her kid got sick and ran away. She drove like a madman to the bank branch where the money was taken up, but Peter wasn't there anymore. She ran home, but no use, her husband wasn't there either. He just disappeared. She called all the friends and family, but nobody has seen him.

He only got home in the early morning, drunk out of his brain. He lost all the papers, but he did have the money, at least most of it. He spent seventy thousand forints. (translator's note: about 355 USD, roughly a month's minimum wage earnings) Sophie was yelling, but the words didn't even reach Peter's brain, he just collapsed into bed still in his clothes. He never told what he wanted to do with the money. She thought he wanted to take off abroad. That night, Sophie only wrote a single sentence into her diary:

That he makes no money, I will survive, I can bear his jealousy, if he cheated on me, I may even bear that too, but he sinned against his family and that is unforgivable.

Believing It May Just Get Better

If she has something to tell, she will. And if not, I'm not even interested.

My notice time was over and still no job. I have to register for unemployment aid. We do have some savings, but even if Sophie makes more from next moth, we can't risk me not having insurance. If anything happens to me, we'll lose everything. So I take a big breath and off to the interwebs: I read everything in the topic. I carefully download and fill in all the forms to the best of my knowledge. I would need some help, as even though it's in Hungarian, it's a tough job to know the answer to all questions. I dig in the laws until I finally put the whole portfolio together. I gather all the hundred and twenty more I.D.'s, certifications, tax receipts, just in case I even add the kids' birth certificates and the dog's vaccination record too, so I won't be left ashore because of those. Our marriage certificate gets in my hand too. I pat it, smell it, in my head I run over all the happy moments together. There's not much of those in the past few weeks, but the old ones are more than enough. I don't let myself get desperate, I chase away the thoughts of Sophie and her boss. I decide I won't bother her with questions when she comes home. If she has something to tell, she will.and if not, I'm not even interested. That's the only way I can validate for myself not going in to check what she's doing in the hotel.
I deal with this unemployment aid, then I will search for jobs more intensely until I finally find one. I'll call even those of whom I didn't want to beg for a job.
When I have a job, I'll show Sophie we have a future together. His sneaky snake of a wanton boss I will just erase out of her life.
She found me in that mood when she got home. I was happy to see I must be on the right path as she was so nice with me as she hasn't been in quite a while. Of course in my brain the alarm started to ring immediately that she only wants to compensate for what she did. But I was strong, I ripped out the clapper from that damned alarm bell.

I rather just had her look through the paper to move on to neutral territories. She also thought it was all right, but it so wasn't...

In the morning she reassured me how sorry she was that I have to apply for unemployment aid. She even offered to look if we can get insurance for me in any other way.
I didn't accept it. I got in this situation, I have to crawl out myself, even if it's uncomfortable or humiliating. And then I didn't even guess how much so it is. They made me wait for three hours, out of which a full hour was on the street, outside the office, then they shoved a portfolio full of the same papers that I took there filled out, stamped them then they told me to come back in two weeks. I tried to explain that I have everything on me at the moment, we could just do the registration now, the woman just phlegmatically told me: nope, this is not how the case is supposed to go. I should go back in two weeks, I have the time anyways, no?

Sophie only has a short entry in her diary of this time:

"After the corporate weekend a new Peter was waiting for me at home. I barely even recognized him. He was sweet, ready to work, we almost jumped in bed immediately, which hasn't happened in a long time. I think he was afraid of failure, that if he doesn't go through his hard-built, paper thin confidence may just crush. I didn't force him, I found it more important that I started to believe it may just all get right again for us. I wanted to believe."

What really happened at the hotel she wrote quite later. When she didn't believe in them again.

Walls of Blames

Words have their weight. Those never uttered even more so.

The night before the trip I was laying on the bed, staring into the darkness with my eyes wide open. Our lives reached a turning point, and I knew I had to decide. If she goes, everything will change. Doesn't matter if anything happens or not. I felt that even if it's just a harmless presentation, I will still be branded by the doubt forever... Sophie and her boss, in two, in a hotel... I couldn't bear the knowledge. Around 1am I got to the decision: she will cancel the trip. We will say it was some sudden illness. From that I felt better and I finally fell asleep. But at five I was up again. I couldn't rest my brain, I thought Sophie has to decide. On her own. If I force her to, it's not worth a damn thing. She has to know what pain she causes if she goes.
But Sophie got up and started to pack her suitcase. I was watching silently, and I was waiting for her to suddenly stop and announce the no. Even the kids were rowing my boat: they were openly begging their mother to stay. But she just kept packing. I almost said I WON'T LET YOU GO when she started to sort her make-up things.
- I hope at least you take a few condoms? - I let it slip.
- Go f**** yourself! - she burst in front of the kids. - I go there to work, understand? Even if YOU don't know what that's like.
I let the irony pass my ears. I stepped towards her and tried to hug her, but she turned away and started to sort in her bathing suits with large, theatrical moves.
- You know, at first I thought I would say I'm on period and I won't go to the pool party, but after this I'm not so sure I'd do that – she hissed with her lips tightened, and tossed her tiniest, barely covering bikini in the suitcase

- Well if you won't even do so much for me, don't even come home! – I answered quickly and tried to snatch the bikini from her luggage.
She was faster than me and slammed the lid of the suitcase.

- Well then I won't! - she said pouting.

- Mom, come home! You will come home, won't you? - the girls were begging.
- Don't worry, there won't be anything wrong. Mom goes to work. Be good!
She said goodbye to them - not to me -, and she rushed away.
- Daddy, what's gonna happen now? - my younger daughter asked, distressed.
- Nothing – I said, then added: - She goes just to work..., at least so I hope.
Ten minutes later my phone was ringing:
- If you want to swill, ask my father to take the kids! - she said coldly.
- I won't! - I answered and hung up.
„But not because I want to be a good babysitter” - I told myself, and I called my mother that I have a work meeting, Sophie is WORKING too, would she take the kids.
I had a better idea then sitting at home, chewing myself on what Sophie may be doing at the moment...

She arrived late to the cafe at Franz Liszt Square. She wore dark sunglasses, even though it was nasty and rainy outside. She didn't come to me immediately, first she carefully checked out all the locale. Maybe another two or three people were sitting there aside from us. First she looked through me as if I wasn't even there. I was about to stand up when she gave me a barely visible hand motion to stay still. She suddenly walked back to the door and looked back on the street. Just after this she sat down to the table. She looked worn, she must have lost a few pounds. The grey suit she wore to work was way loose on her. She had thick makeup on, but it still couldn't hide the bags under her eyes.
She called me an hour earlier, that we need to meet immediately. I asked her on the phone, but she wouldn't tell me why. I would've had an important meeting, but she begged me so hard I cancelled it.
That's when she told me about the morning of her trip:
- He watched me with blame in his eyes, I knew he was waiting for me to stop packing and tell him I'm not going anywhere, I won't leave you here. But then I had already decided: I only go to the official presentation, from the rest I will just pull out because of feminine problems.
The waiter came and Sophie went silent. She only continued after we ordered:
- He was watching with a keen eye what lingerie I take. It angered me to no end that he even thought anyone would see it, but still I tried to find my least sexy pieces. I don't know if he noticed it or not because he just kept staring with a blank face, never saying a word. Once I was done with the underwear, I asked him to bring me my towel. "You have to solve that yourself” - he answered, not clearing what he means on purpose, and he didn't move. But I didn't want to take the towel because of the wellness things. I always take one, because I had ended up without one before in a hotel, expecting they had one but no. I went out and grabbed one, about the size of a hand towel. I even laid it out so he can see it. No reaction. When I started to sort my makeup, he suddenly ordered me to put in a few condoms too.
Something broke. How can he be so profane?
She started crying. I put my hand on my shoulder and I tried to comfort her, saying that I know of a lot of people who always keep one on them. If it does happen, at least it won't have those kind of consequences.
- If it happens, it's all the same anyways – she said darkly and looked at me. I tried to read her eyes – not much luck.
She told me how bad a fight they had, and that Peter told her if she doesn't fake period, she shouldn't even go home. Sophie didn't even want to answer that then she won't, but she said she was unable to control herself. After this she couldn't reverse it in words, but she still tried to send messages to Peter on a level of gestures. She theatrically checked her bikini line in the mirror, and then she just flicked her hand and left it as-is. (I remembered from our old times that Sophie has always been maddeningly accurate about this, she wouldn't even wear a swimsuit in front of me if everything wasn't in its proper order.)
So I asked her, why is she telling it to me.
- Don't you see?
I didn't, but I didn't want to go into the spiel. Instead I gave the question straight:
- Sophie, did you cheat on him?

I Don't Want To Be Your Life Lie

If a man is promoted, he does his job well, but if a woman, they just want to bed her?

I got the first serious rejection today. (I'm not trying to draw in negatives by saying first, so that there will be more, but I'm realistic. Everyone says in this situation now it will be damn hard to get a job.) I put in an application for a bigger commercial channel, for a pretty high position. I matched all their requirements, and I even had connections at the company. Just a few days after applying my phone rung and they were glad to tell me I was past the first round with my application. Soon I also had my interview, I thought it went well, though when I answered the HR manager's question about my ideas of a salary, he just pulled his eyebrows together. I know the prices, I didn't overestimate myself, and I added that I'm open for discussion as circumstances, possibilities for promotion or further education, managerial rights and duties, etc. are more important than money. And I really thought so.

But even still I got the letter that I didn't get to the second round. This wasn't good especially because there was also a third round, so I can't even comfort myself by saying "almost". I didn't call Sophie, I didn't have the strength to tell her. She was so hopeful that they will choose me. I would've started next month, so I could've had some time to relax, and we wouldn't have had to touch the reserves as my notice time is still going.
I have to be honest, this is the first time I really got scared. What happens if I don't get a job until the money runs out? We can't live from a single income, even if we pull all strings and belts. What if we won't be able to pay the mortgage on the house? I tried not to show my fear in front of the kids, but obviously they got it that we're in trouble. I said my tooth hurts bad. Even when I started to drink at home. I sent them to their room to play. I didn't want to get all drunk, but hours just passed, and Sophie just wasn't coming. I called her, but she didn't answer. It was well past eight when she got home. She immediately noticed I had been drinking.
- I was rejected -I tried to explain.
I saw that she was shocked by the news but she tried to comfort me:
- It's okay, the next one will do it. Did you take care of the kids?
- Yes - I answered quickly. - Do you want a shot too? - I took the bottle out.
- No, and you shouldn't drink either! It doesn't solve anything.
I answered that I need it to get my calm back.
That's when my younger daughter ran out and in a single sentence she babbled that they haven't had dinner yet and that Daddy has a tooth ache.
We had an epic fight. For the first time since I was fired, we yelled and screamed in front of the kids. She was all about why I lied, I was all about why she got home so late. She told me she was promoted, and I - even though I know I should be happy because this way she will make more money - just said sarcastically that at least this way we will see her even less and I can just stay at home to babysit. For that she got really upset, I was anything but a good boy. I know I was a scum, but it really did bother me that her boss only fought for her promotion as Head of Communications so that they can spend more time together. He has a huge crush on Sophie, and I can't just tell her to leave the place before something bad happens, because then we go bankrupt in a week or two. When she just yelled I shouldn't have gotten myself fired, I got totally upset, because so far I thought at least she was on my side. When I told that to her, all I she said was that we have to quit the life lies. I walked over to the guest room without a word, slammed the door and just dropped on the bed, but I couldn't fall asleep. I sobered up completely and I decided to write down everything. I read it all back and I was ashamed of ourselves even in Sophie's name.

Sophie was truly worn by this fight. She was still talking about it when we met, quite a bit later. She was feeling guilty for going into such a humiliating fight, and to make it worse, did it in front of the kids. As an explanation of her rush of fits she said that when she entered the house and saw a half-drunk Peter, she just got the feeling she's living with a stranger. And this was the first time in the ten years they spent together. She especially hated that she had to deny the joy of her promotion. She told me she could already see how Peter would react, what he would feel, so in the heat of the argument she just decided not to act any longer, her husband will deal with the news however he wants to. She had been hiding it for so long, she didn't care any longer how Peter feels or thinks about it. I agreed with her: she can't just swallow it forever just because her husband is having a bad hair day. She has to release the tension. But not in front of the kids, screaming inarticulate - she answered. She was especially sorry for starting the yells:

I noticed immediately that he's been drinking. He didn't come to give me a kiss, rather he took two steps back. He never drank alone before, he always waited for me and talked me into joining him. Then something has already broken in me. He must have seen it on me because he started to explain things that he got the letter from that channel and he didn't even make it to the second round of interviews. I took a deep breath and acted like it didn't shake me too bad. But it did really affect me bad, but I tried not to show it. When he saw I'm not upset, he tried to drink again, and pull me into it like if everything was okay. And in the meantime he didn't feed the kids, didn't put them to sleep, and he lied to them, saying he's drinking because he has a tooth ache. I hated lies, and I told that to him. I didn't want to yell, but all this made me so upset that I just couldn't contain my anger. If he at least tucked the kids away first, and then he started to drown his sorrow, maybe I would've joined him to quietly complain about fates.
And instead of saying sorry he was feeling higher! He was blaming me for coming home too late. I even let it slip that alas, if he doesn't make any money, I will have to make up for it. So then he just told me that in my contract it says pretty clearly that my hours are nine to five. So I had to admit that it's not like that anymore, because I was promoted. (So much about celebrating with champagne, dinner and some cuddling). I work flexible hours, for a lot more money. And for that all he could say was congratulation, now the kids will see me even less. "But they will see you more - I answered - until now they barely saw you anyways." "Now what do you want me to do? Do you want me to work or rather just stay at home and be a babysitter?" - he riposted. Before I could've answered him, he went on: "I hate how you make traps: make a boat load of money, but be at home a lot. Like if there was such a job! But if you stay in until late night to flirt with your boss for a few more bucks, that's fine, the kids don't need a mother because her majesty is completely fine at her office!”
Looking back I don't even understand why I didn't quit. He was drunk. But I couldn't stop: "So you think all I do is to shake my butt at my job, rather than working hard so we can stay afloat?" - I yelled. "Your boss only appointed you because he wants to screw you, he only wants you to be within reach at all times!" "You have no respect for my work. You didn't even think I may be appreciated for doing a good job? Of course, if a man is promoted, he's doing his job well, but if a woman, they just want to bed her? Eh? You can't even imagine that you can even work at a job, not just flirt around and get yourself fired." "That was under the belt" - he said softly. "I'm sorry, it really was, but so was all that you said before." He suddenly got all emotional: "Understand me, I'm jealous, I don't want to lose you." "Me neither" - I said and I started to hug him. "So far I thought you were on my side, not on those who fired me. But now you're on your boss's side, so my whole envy is all justified." - he threw it at me hating. This was just so stupid I started laughing. "It's time to quit the life lies" - I joked, opening my arms for a hug and preparing to say "I'm always with you, you fool", but he was quicker than me, grunting only a hurt sentence: "I don't want to be your life lie." He slammed the door behind himself. I didn't go after him.

The Terror of Fear

Cramp in your stomach, more and more poisonous air around you... Revolt or resign?

A week after being fired we went on a merit vacation. No pun intended. I got it when I was still a great asset to the company, two or three months before I was kicked out. I have the cover letter to the coupon even now: congratulations on your outstanding performance. It was for two, but with a little extra payment we could take the kids too. I could see they didn't understand this whole thing: if their father was such a good employee, why was he fired? The answer, of course, was simple: I got the bonus when our old CEO was still at his place. And when he was stood up from his chair, they used the recession downsizing to get rid of all his men too. But you can't just take back a gift.
After the leave of the CEO the gossip started immediately about a certain list being made by the new guys, listing all who will have to go. I didn't quite believe it yet, but in a few weeks I heard it with my own ears from G. (who was on the winners' side) that there's not only a list but also a lot of backstage haggling about who stays on it, who gets off, who gets on. G. also told me I was on it too.
By then the atmosphere became unbearable. The editorial office was completely split into two camps. The later winners sat down in a corner to discuss things multiple times a day. And the others were just guessing what it can be they talk about. Only the years of routine was keeping the crew together. And the fear. It did matter whom you shared a word with, whom you sat with at lunch. I would never have thought that only a few people in only a few weeks can poison the whole life of the channel. One evening I went home totally upset. Sophie got it immediately, that something must be completely amiss. As I told her what happened that day, I had to realize that I had nothing specific, nothing tangible about it. Just a lot of guesses, hints, unfinished sentences and even more speculations. I decided I would ask my question in front of everyone the next day: What is happening on the unannounced meetings? If they are about the future of the channel, why don't they call the others too? Is there really a death list? If there isn't, what made the atmosphere so bad that everyone would talk about it still? Where did everything go wrong?
Sophie tried to calm me down, she said I shouldn't look for trouble. If I grasped the situation wrong, I will just ridicule myself. And if I am right, what do I win on facing them to it? My argument was that I needed it for my own peace of mind, to see if there is anything to be revealed. Sophie just tried to tell me not to be naive, I can't win anything, but I can lose a lot on yelling. She didn't quite convince me, but I kept quiet. Especially that the next day the corridor gossip was about the new guys having spies on the loser side, who will tell them who said what about them, to whom, when and why, who meets the old ones outside the channel and whom they meet. Of course at first I thought it was an exaggeration too, but when I wanted to ask G. about this and the death list, he asked to meet outside the office, as in the current situation it wouldn't be fortunate. On the agreed day he still didn't call me, if I called him he hung up. Days later, after recording a show he pulled me aside, took a deep breath and just poured it all at me, that he didn't turn up because he was trying to get me off the list, and in that case it wasn't a good idea for us to be seen together. I didn't quite understand what he meant, why can't we talk, since we're good buddies. He thought they don't know that's why he wants to get me off of that list? Or he had to deny me to be able to stick to the winners? I didn't ask anything about it, I rather just kept making myself believe that me, my work is needed, will be needed. I'm not in danger.

Whether or not there was a death list, I don't know. I suspect they have reached their goal just by spreading the gossip of the making of it. As also I was contemplating going on my ownr. Of course it was more just playing with the idea: during a recession you don't just leave a secure job without another one already waiting.

I was fired roughly a week after I talked to G. I've been waiting for his call since then...
So, merit vacation with the kids. They are having a ball, the hotel life, the buffet dinners, the jacuzzi are still all new for them, but my mood still touches theirs too. And also Sophie's. I can see how stressed she is, I am trying to comfort her. But also I'm infinitely desperate, I'm constantly thinking where I went wrong.

Peter decided to write his blog about the story of his firing this weekend. (Many of you have asked where the original blog is, but no use to search anymore, it was taken off. I have the whole thing, but no, I won't publish it all at once, because the timeline and Sophie's reactions are crucial to understanding why everything happened this way. It's not a book where you can just jump ahead, and the very end is still unknown to all.) Sophie didn't like the idea of blogging, she was afraid Peter would burn up bridges in his disappointment:

The "merit trip" was horrible. Peter was unbearably stressed all weekend. He kept yelling at the kids even when they gave him no reasons. He kept just thinking and thinking how he could take revenge on those who, in his opinion, screwed him up. We were sitting in the jacuzzi, I was waiting for him to finally calm down for a second so I can tell him the good news, but he just chased himself deeper and deeper into his fits. And then he came up with the idea of the century: he will write a blog about how he was messed with. Well that was all we needed! Even this way I could barely keep him somewhat calm, how will it go when he will keep himself on edge with the writing? All he will do is to get the whole business on his back. He has no political sense whatsoever, and if I would try and smoothen his words a bit, he will just yell that I've always been way too compromising. I remember how long I was arguing for his most important job being finding a new job at the moment and that he shouldn't run his chances with spreading out the dirty sheets. I thought I won him over. He gave up on the idea and he started to calm me with saying that things will soon turn around. For a moment he was so nice I almost even told him the great news, but then I had a better idea: after the kids go to bed, I will seduce him with a glass or two of champagne - I even made a few hints at that - and tell it just afterwards. And then nothing happened according to plan. Instead of champagne he had a beer (he knows how much I hate when his breath smells like beer when we cuddle up), then he refused my advances "because of the kisd". He said the walls are thin, they would hear us. The walls were exactly the same as at home. And he was just the same distant as at home since he was fired. But it was an old ritual of ours to try out every hotel bed we slept in. In ten years, this one was the first time we didn't.

First Love

What would you do for it?

You would think it's just freak chance that she was the first. After all, this is no more than a chronological order, usually the first one has nothing to do with the true one. Love is the emphasis here, first is just an ordinal, followed by more and more until you find that true one, your mate - if you find it at all.

But it's not like that. The first one will follow you all your life, no matter how it was or how it ended. The first one will take a piece of you along, if you're lucky, it will go nicely gift-wrapped with a ribbon and a bow, if your fate is not that, bitten, ripped out, tearing a big chunk out from the living flesh.

For years I don't even think of Sophie, then she just pops to my mind from something small, a straw tipping out of the glass or a drop of rain rolling down the window glass.
It wasn't an easy break up, we both got our share of injuries, we didn't even talk for long months afterwards. Then one day - you would think it's by chance, but believe it, it's not - we ran into each other at Moscow Square. Maybe if we notice each other earlier than the last moment before literally bumping into each other, maybe if we have some time to prepare ourselves, take a deep breath and decide, everything would've been different: most likely we would've just hung our heads down and get out of each other's sight.
But this way we were just standing there, stammering and stuttering, and of course the old and well-practiced move swept our faces together, a superficial, accidental - but of course! - kiss on the lips, that of course made everything even more difficult. Then slowly we start to chat, question after question, even the fifth tram leaves us. When we freeze through, we continue the talk in a nearby coffee shop.
We were surprisingly honest, and even though I did think of how good the familiar touch would feel - just like in the old times, after a long and nice talk ending up in each other's arms, but somehow it didn't fit into our re-dimensioned, reborn relationship. I just wanted to talk, complain, laugh, play without a mask on.
It was already dark when she realized she had to run, we quickly exchanged phone numbers, agreed that we won't lose sight of each other this time. And then and there we were absolutely serious about it - not so much the next day.

Years passed by. I heard that she got married, from an old girlfriend of hers I heard she was happy.
Then she came to the opening night of my first book.
She waited through the official part, got her copy signed and told me smiling that in one of my heroines, Soph, she recognized herself. I tried to say it was just coincidence, she just flicked her hand. "Nothing is coincidental" - she said with a mysterious face. I get the shivers if I think that she may have sensed it then, what will happen to her, them, us...
Altough I invited her to the banquet, she didn't come. She gave me her number and we agreed to stay in touch.

Another two and a half years passed, so I was absolutely shocked when I heard her voice over the phone. She asked me to meet for a talk. She said she was afraid.
We met four our five times, I'll tell about those later.
I felt she was exaggerating. But if I paid more attention then... (Three cheap, stupid dots - like if it solved anything that I swallow the end of it, like if I could make all of it never happened, all that I messed up so bad.)
I will be honest, in this blog I want to atone, I want to pay honors to the woman who - now I know - was not the first in my life just by freak chance.

The first is always a reference point. Not just for you, also for your later lovers who want to own your past, they want the selfless, giving flame, the flame that was high in you before you first got yourself burnt, so you dared to, you wanted to fly close to the fire, you weren't worried about your personality, you opened up, you melted, you gave. And no one is capable of doing it again spontaneously. Maybe consciously, learning to make yourself believe you do, but if you look deep inside you, it's just acting, miming to give up your stances.
It's hard to tell your partner that you're meeting your first lover. He knows it too, but you know it too, that you're searching for your past, going back to the springs, you want to relive the irreversible past armed with all the knowledge you have since then. Like if you could go back in time and change your fate.
Of course, it's a dead end to think it can succeed.
I don't believe that. That's why I never looked for her. But now she came to me, she asked for my help. And she didn't want to just hang on to me, she didn't want to rewrite the past to redefine herself. She wanted to save her marriage, and I didn't help her in that, but in the meantime we swerved onto dangerous paths where it's easy to lose your way. And maybe we did...

Her girlfriend looked me up a few weeks ago, she told me what happened. She gave me a CD and asked me to write the hell Sophie lived through, because she deserves to be seen as the victim, not the cause of the events.

The disc had a single document on it. My first lover's secret diary. I decided that, no matter how much it hurts, I will make it public. Just as I will publish her husband's blog too, that I found online. Crisis Manager - that's how Peter called himself. Irony of fate:

After two weeks I even started to think of suicide. I can't fulfill my duty of supporting my family, so why live. But I do love Sophie. Do I love Sophie? Everything's value changed. In one moment, you work for a cool company, in the media to top it off, and in the next instance you're on the street. I sent my resume to everyone, and the first answers came in. We are sorry, but it's a recession... I called a few acquaintances in the media business, but all they kept saying was that it's hard times for them too, they fight for their jobs day to day too. And all our friends, when I mentioned it, just thought I wanted to borrow money, so they shook me off quickly. The noose started to tighten, and I was left there alone.

I found no mentions of this period in Sophie's diary. Perhaps then she didn't quite sense how grave the problems are.

Who Would Want Someone Who's Rejected By All?

I think he was ashamed about it with his friends. He told himself nobody likes losers.

The secretary still kept herself to the story: she said the boss takes the employees three by three for a little talk. We went to the old office of the CEO, I had two of the ladies I worked with on my side. The desks, the shelves were all empty, dust everywhere. The editor-in-chief seated us on the sofa.
- Well, you all know about the recession - he started.
I didn't even hear what he said, I was watching one of the colleague ladies, she was fighting back tears. I was sorry for her, because I was firmly sure that I'm only here because of some fatal mistake, they will re-check the list again, and then they will find it out. But my renunciation was there in the pile, too. Meanwhile, the editor-in-chief gave over to the HR representative. She tried to be really sympathetic, but to me she was only the hangman, promptly and immediately executing my capital sentence. The little show's last act was the lawyer, asking us politely to sign the renunciation notice before leaving the room. The other lady tried to argue, to call her lawyer, and I was just staring in front of myself, not believing that this whole thing is happening to me. I'm not even sure if she could finally talk to someone. I thought, what would happen if I ran out of this room, down the corridors, out to the street. There's none of this whole thing, no renunciation, firing, execution. I later heard that some would escape into temporary disability leave so they can extend the whole procedure. I didn't say a word, I just motioned for them to give me the paper and I scratched my name on it. I get my salary for two more months, and then it's over. Ten years' work goes into the trash with a single line of the pen.

- Also, you are exempt of work from now - the HR rep showed us to the door. Which means that the next day we don't even have to come in. The editor-in-chief called us in to his office one by one. He told us the clichés that must be just the same at any given point in this world: you did your job good, but certain external conditions... According to some gossips, he could have saved at least half of the people fired now if his position doesn't weaken in the inner fights. That "if" has been echoing in my head a million times and more since then. If I tried and positioned myself better, if I picked up more hours, if I was more aggressive, if I chose a different profession, if I learned something more tangible, if I'm not born in this country, on this Earth... eh, forget it. I didn't want to show him how it hurts, so I just answered him I already was thinking about going. I saw the relief on his face. I'm sure he wanted to believe it. The survivors just tried to disappear into their monitors, the fired ones were standing in the middle, talking and complaining. I went to my computer, but I couldn't log on anymore, my password was cancelled. I emptied my drawers, tossed my inside papers into a trashcan, my personal matters into a small blue plastic bag. I threw my jacket over my back and I walked out of the editorial office. The clerk who coordinated the "death run" was really nice. I just named it a death run, the last walk around the company, going to each and every department to sign a paper that we have no company property on our hands anymore. Nice little jog, but at least the boss's secretary had some pity on us and offered to just take the signed sheets to each department. Just go back the next day when she has them all collected. Only one thing was left: handing off the picture ID badges. It couldn't wait till the next day, we had to take them immediately to the board of trustees. Not to the reception, where you could just drop it on the counter with a casual smile "thanks, I won't need it any longer". Nope. We got a brand new card to replace it, with a single word on its face:

EXIT ONLY

Peter's blog had not a trace left of the casual tone. Sophie took the first week with an enormous empathy, she tried to calm Peter by saying he should just take the notice time as well-deserved holidays. Don't do anything else than sending his resume everywhere, resting and meeting old friends. But Peter closed up. Sophie lived it like this:

I should have been suspicious when he didn't get out of the house in the first days. He was digging online feverishly for jobs, even though Zsolt, the head-hunter told him clearly that he won't ever find an editorial job online. Only through friends and acquaintances, maybe with a head-hunter company. But Peter just kept saying that secretly he has been looking for a while, and he has seen four or five offers each month that he may have even taken. But it's a recession, and possibilities shrink by the moment.
He was more and more beside himself. He never went anywhere, no matter how I was encouraging him to look up old friends and acquaintances. Then he always just shut my up by saying that he will never go begging for alms. They know he's out of his job, they can call him. I think he was ashamed of it with his friends. He told himself that nobody likes losers, who would want someone who was rejected by someone else - by everyone else. I tried to tell him he's exaggerating - to no avail, and truth to be told, no acquaintances really popped up when it leaked out what happened to him.
Something else has changed then, too. At first I didn't even notice it either that days are passing, one after the other, and he's not making any advances to me.