Chapter 2 Another Parcel
The only thing that month which Beata was supposed to do was to employ Paula. She needed a typical yuppie without children and family to be able to bear the burden of launching a new product still in the development stage, make a few incompetent employees redundant, and introduce more discipline than Paula’s predecessor didn’t or couldn’t maintain. And that was it.
Beata was employed back then these twenty-seven years ago by John himself. She gained his trust and over the years from someone who worked overtime, she was promoted to someone who worked a few hours a month, with a ten times bigger salary.
And yes the salary was good. Was that the reason that she stayed in DADANTI for so long and didn’t seek any other profession? Was that the reason that she admired Paula so much for her ability to adjust everywhere and move on? She couldn’t tell.
But Beata had a different life she was focused on. No, no it wasn’t a secret life of a sex addict working in the sex industry. She wasn’t into this job either. It was mundane. Repetitive. Boredom inducing. And apart from a meeting or two a week, she didn’t have much else to do, so she spent time doing what she did best - shopping.
It started with one bigger salary, which turned into a sequence of bigger salaries over the years. It started with one bag which she saw window shopping that day strolling through Paris and ended with sixty-seven bags, which had to have a special set of shelves built and designed especially for them. Then she moved onto shoes - to match them with these bags, and you know how it works - then it was the upgrade of the wardrobe because clothes should also match bags and shoes. Then she was into kitchen appliances: high-tech robots and mixers, vintage ovens and fridges, Scandinavian cooking utensils, golden and ornamented cutlery, and crockery. She lived alone (somehow never into committed relationships and children) but she had sets of plates and pots able to feed a family of a dozen. She wasn’t entirely sure when things got out of control. Was it after a year of buying sports equipment and electric gadgets able to shape every muscle of your body? Was it after a month of ordering exotic plants (a not exactly well-thought-of idea as she was limited to only a week-long holiday; in between departures Beata was able to water the plants and not allow them to die)? Was it after she collected these sets of jewelry which she stored in her beautiful and numerous jewelry boxes, placed evenly on her vanity, which she wasn’t wearing at all and soon lost track of possessing? Was it after she finally admitted to herself that she would never use all the perfumes, shampoo bottles, shower gels, or at least she wouldn’t manage until their expiration date? She was aware that she had already owned enough of everything. But she felt anxious and depressed if she didn’t order anything at all.
And while her flat was getting smaller (initially it was a sixty-five meter, three-room apartment in the center of Paris; now she had about two-three meters of unoccupied space) her salary was getting bigger and so was the number of items she possessed. She was losing track of the things she ordered and forgot about the things that stood still unpacked in the corridors. One time, possibly drunk, she ordered a new sofa, which was so fashionable (in its dark green and gold fabric) and at that time so desired that she agreed to wait for it six whole weeks. By the time it arrived, there had been no place in Beata’s flat to fit it, so for years, it was standing outside in the communal corridor.
It wasn’t stolen. Surprisingly her neighbors just looked at it with contempt, thinking to themselves that people had a lot of money to spend, perhaps too much.
After a few years of such shopping sprees, Beata started to live in fear. She feared losing her job and her only source of income. She feared war, financial crisis, recession, pandemics, nuclear catastrophe. Somehow she was also afraid of winning a lottery so she purposefully stayed away from every single contest which allowed her to win a prize. She knew that with a lump sum of money she could be dangerous to herself and the people around her.
But she wasn’t an egoist. Her compulsion led her to be kind. She spent on other people as well: her beloved parents got frequent presents and voucher cards. Her friends always got something extra even without occasion and learned to accept it without being awkward or ashamed. Her lovers came to terms with the difference in price between their presents and hers. But all of them hadn’t the faintest idea that those gifts meant Beata had worse days, dark days, gloomy and miserable days, having no idea what she could buy for herself. When desperate, she even rushed to the newsagent just next to her block of flats to buy something, to appease this hunger, to feel at ease. It could be a newspaper or a plastic car for children or a set of cards, something cheap, just to make her occupied.
She lived among boxes. A box next to a box, over another box and another parcel. Sometimes these unpacked things she was forced to throw away in the garbage as there was no space to store them, and new orders were coming in: more exciting, newer, and fresher.
But let’s come back to that day. The day when she interviewed Paula and decided on her employment. Beata considered that day a success. She got drunk, happy to gain a valuable employee - fresh blood that the company was so grateful for, someone to stir things up. After a few glasses of wine, she opened her laptop and visited a few online shops just to get rid of the last month’s bonus.
Then, happy and content, after a dose of the shopping adrenaline rush, she fell asleep.
Beata was employed back then these twenty-seven years ago by John himself. She gained his trust and over the years from someone who worked overtime, she was promoted to someone who worked a few hours a month, with a ten times bigger salary.
And yes the salary was good. Was that the reason that she stayed in DADANTI for so long and didn’t seek any other profession? Was that the reason that she admired Paula so much for her ability to adjust everywhere and move on? She couldn’t tell.
But Beata had a different life she was focused on. No, no it wasn’t a secret life of a sex addict working in the sex industry. She wasn’t into this job either. It was mundane. Repetitive. Boredom inducing. And apart from a meeting or two a week, she didn’t have much else to do, so she spent time doing what she did best - shopping.
It started with one bigger salary, which turned into a sequence of bigger salaries over the years. It started with one bag which she saw window shopping that day strolling through Paris and ended with sixty-seven bags, which had to have a special set of shelves built and designed especially for them. Then she moved onto shoes - to match them with these bags, and you know how it works - then it was the upgrade of the wardrobe because clothes should also match bags and shoes. Then she was into kitchen appliances: high-tech robots and mixers, vintage ovens and fridges, Scandinavian cooking utensils, golden and ornamented cutlery, and crockery. She lived alone (somehow never into committed relationships and children) but she had sets of plates and pots able to feed a family of a dozen. She wasn’t entirely sure when things got out of control. Was it after a year of buying sports equipment and electric gadgets able to shape every muscle of your body? Was it after a month of ordering exotic plants (a not exactly well-thought-of idea as she was limited to only a week-long holiday; in between departures Beata was able to water the plants and not allow them to die)? Was it after she collected these sets of jewelry which she stored in her beautiful and numerous jewelry boxes, placed evenly on her vanity, which she wasn’t wearing at all and soon lost track of possessing? Was it after she finally admitted to herself that she would never use all the perfumes, shampoo bottles, shower gels, or at least she wouldn’t manage until their expiration date? She was aware that she had already owned enough of everything. But she felt anxious and depressed if she didn’t order anything at all.
And while her flat was getting smaller (initially it was a sixty-five meter, three-room apartment in the center of Paris; now she had about two-three meters of unoccupied space) her salary was getting bigger and so was the number of items she possessed. She was losing track of the things she ordered and forgot about the things that stood still unpacked in the corridors. One time, possibly drunk, she ordered a new sofa, which was so fashionable (in its dark green and gold fabric) and at that time so desired that she agreed to wait for it six whole weeks. By the time it arrived, there had been no place in Beata’s flat to fit it, so for years, it was standing outside in the communal corridor.
It wasn’t stolen. Surprisingly her neighbors just looked at it with contempt, thinking to themselves that people had a lot of money to spend, perhaps too much.
After a few years of such shopping sprees, Beata started to live in fear. She feared losing her job and her only source of income. She feared war, financial crisis, recession, pandemics, nuclear catastrophe. Somehow she was also afraid of winning a lottery so she purposefully stayed away from every single contest which allowed her to win a prize. She knew that with a lump sum of money she could be dangerous to herself and the people around her.
But she wasn’t an egoist. Her compulsion led her to be kind. She spent on other people as well: her beloved parents got frequent presents and voucher cards. Her friends always got something extra even without occasion and learned to accept it without being awkward or ashamed. Her lovers came to terms with the difference in price between their presents and hers. But all of them hadn’t the faintest idea that those gifts meant Beata had worse days, dark days, gloomy and miserable days, having no idea what she could buy for herself. When desperate, she even rushed to the newsagent just next to her block of flats to buy something, to appease this hunger, to feel at ease. It could be a newspaper or a plastic car for children or a set of cards, something cheap, just to make her occupied.
She lived among boxes. A box next to a box, over another box and another parcel. Sometimes these unpacked things she was forced to throw away in the garbage as there was no space to store them, and new orders were coming in: more exciting, newer, and fresher.
But let’s come back to that day. The day when she interviewed Paula and decided on her employment. Beata considered that day a success. She got drunk, happy to gain a valuable employee - fresh blood that the company was so grateful for, someone to stir things up. After a few glasses of wine, she opened her laptop and visited a few online shops just to get rid of the last month’s bonus.
Then, happy and content, after a dose of the shopping adrenaline rush, she fell asleep.
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