As I was putting together a computer from second hand parts, I found the old hard drive hadn't been erased.
This included the previous owners emails.
I felt conflicted about reading them.
But this passed quickly.
To my delight I discovered a correspondence between two people dating back to 1999.
They were truthful, touching and a little funny.
I became addicted and felt compelled to share it. Unedited.
Currently the uploading is on holidays. But Bored Olives will return 22nd April 2012. In the meantime you can read all the emails at http://boredolivesarchives.blogspot.com and subscribe to the next chapter at boredolives.com in the new year.
From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Monday September 28st, 1999 9:36AM
Subject: RE I am so Sorry
Hey Stacey, I think it’s me that needs to apologise. I was off the radar for a week and didn’t let you know. I am so sorry for that. It was selfish of me. Of course it would send you into a tizzy (sp?). It would send me into a tizzy (sp?).
For what it’s worth let me explain:
See this city is intense. This job is intense. My boss is intense.
Indeed she’s crazy and not in an interesting way. She flips out one day, crying and yelling and is nice as pie the next.
I’ve even been collecting some of the things she says and writing them down in a little book.
You never know, I might use them one day in that great novel I will never write.
So as a sneak preview, here are a couple of overheard gems from my cubicle next to the toilets, under the air con, at the back of the Fox Television demountable offices.
“I am smarter than you and don’t forget it.”
“I don’t do that emotion.”
“I think I know most of the words in the English Language.”
“Hold me. I need some comfort”
And these are just a few.
Her name is Pamela by the way and she’s addicted to exercise and personal growth.
ME (Wryly to Himself): Two very generous and caring and empathetic ideas. Hey?
But her addiction is only strong if others are addicted too. So she pushes them down our throats; urging – NAY – insisting that we all exercise and read Louise Hay.
Indeed the Louise Hay kick is so strong that we can’t leave the office until we offer up our daily affirmation.
“When I wake up tomorrow, I will be better person than I was today. I will have more money on my pocket, less fat in my blood and I will stop using the word nay.”
She makes us work stupid hours 7:00am to 8:00pm and expects us also to be on call for Breakfast meetings prior to 7:00 if needed.
She is a passionate teetotaler, who thinks those that imbibe at lunch have a problem. And all Australians are alcoholics.
She also monitors all emails – fearing we might be talking about her behind her back.
Which we do.
When we get drunk at Lunchtimes.
So with all this it has been tricky. Not to mention the Mormon Kids show is in a ditch at the moment and Pauly Shore complained to Pamela about me.
Not sure where this is all going. I’ve got to be out of the hotel by the end of the week and there’s no apartment on the horizon.
I’ve talked to Dad about flushing me another week’s tariff for the hotel. But I haven’t heard back. So if you speak to him could you give a nudge?
So again, my darling – I am so sorry for silence. But I am determined to break the rules and send you emails whenever I can. Actually it makes it quite exciting.
Screw Pamela. No controlling moron is going to get in the way of my love letters.
From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Monday September 21st, 1999 9:51AM
Subject: RE Sorry
Dear Stacey,
I am so sorry I missed your email. It’s hard to get access here. Sometimes I can use the Hotel computer, but I don’t want to push my luck – plus the hotel folk like to play online poker and when they have that gambling look in their eye, I suspect that even if I collapsed dead on their desk, no muscle would be moved to help me.
Royal Flush – Dead Guest – easy choice for the gambler, right?
So that leaves my work computer as an only option – which wipes out weekends and
Blah, blah, blah—
Sorry that’s so boring. I think I’m just trying to evade the obvious and deal with your sad email. I am so sorry that it’s tough for you. If it helps, it’s tough for me too. I mean, why I left just when I met the love of my life. What a fool, right?
How fucking dumb is that?
It’s gotta be one of the stupidest things ever. It has no logic. The only sense I can take from this is self aware self loathing. So much so that even a glimmer of happiness needs to be snuffed out the moment the endorphins kick in.
Fuck.
You are right we need to be punished for being so stupid.
Maybe I’ll just come home.
Love
Dom
PS It also doesn’t help that I met Pauly Shore today in the TV offices. He looked lost as he wandered through this ill considered warren. I approached him at one point to see if he was alright, to see if he was lost.
At first he didn’t answer. Indeed he was silent for a while. It got uncomfortable; like ‘you don’t know where to look’ uncomfortable.
So finally I settled on the most inappropriate place to rest my gaze. I glanced down at his belt buckle. It was a very large golden letter P. I guess he had it in case he loses his trousers.
PAULY SHORE: Excuse me, I’m lost.
I snapped my attention back to his face.
PAULY SHORE: That’s better – eyes on the face.
ME: Sorry. I just love your belt buckle.
PAULY SHORE: I hate it.
ME: Why’d you wear it?
PAULY SHORE: When I wear it, I feel like Pauly Shore.
ME: But you are Pauly Shore.
PAULY SHORE: No I’m not.
ME: Yes you are.
PAULY SHORE: No I’m not. I’m Paul Shore. Not Pauly Shore.
ME: So the difference is the ‘y’
PAULY SHORE: The difference is always the ‘y’
ME: Right.
At this point we lapsed into another moment of silence. Suddenly:
PAULY SHORE: So can you help me or not? I’m lost.
ME: What are you looking for?
PAULY SHORE: What are you looking for? Dude, would you stop being so fucking profound. Jesus Christ. What are you looking for? Man, I wish I knew the answer.
ME: Sorry – didn’t mean to be profound. Let me ask it a different way. Where are you trying to get to?
PAULY SHORE: More metaphysics. Fuck me. You can’t help yourself can you, Yogi?
ME: Are you looking for someone in the office.
PAULY SHORE: No.
ME: Are you looking for the bathroom?
PAULY SHORE: No.
ME: Are you looking for the commissary?
PAULY SHORE: No.
ME: I’m sorry Mr Shore – what are you looking for?
PAULY SHORE: You.
ME: Me?
PAULY SHORE: Yeah you. Why not?
ME: What do you want with me?
PAULY SHORE: I don’t know. I told you I was lost.
And with that he wandered off, deeper into the Fox lot; looking for me once more.
I think I’ve gotta get out of here.
PPS Man, my Post Script was longer than the message itself. That seems out of balance, don’t you think?
From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Saturday August 22nd, 1999 1:15 AM
Subject: RE RE I can’t sleep
Dom...in case you’re worried...we’ve made the right decision...really...it’s the right decision...even Oftenbark thinks so...and he’ll love hanging with your folks for six months...I’ll visit him...hey, I might get some of your folk’s cooking thrown in too...I mean... come on, buster...they should have their own TV show...
And time will go so quickly...truly...you’ll be back before you know...with an amercan accent and a damn fine listing on you resume...
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