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: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Friday October 31st , 1999 7:43PM
Subject: RE RE RE A thought
Okay…gotta tell you about the role play at centrelink today…it seemed like the focus was on smiling…you have to smile, said the Pussy Cat Teacher…So when it came to my turn…I walked into the stage (and when I say stage I mean front of the airless, characterless box at the back of the Centrelink offices in Fortitude Valley) just thinking the word ‘smile’ over and over again as the Pussy Cat teacher set the scene.
“You are going for a job in an office as PA, alright Stacey? I am the job interviewer and you are the applicant. Don’t forget to smile.”
I blinked at the scenario…a PA…just like my boyfriend, I thought…this should be easy…just think of Dom...this will certainly make you smile…
“And scene…” She said.
I took a breath and entered this new world of theatre…
“Good Morning…” I said as I approached the Pussy Cat Teacher, holding out my hand.
“Good morning…”She replied taking it.
“My name is Stacey Marchenkova…here is my resume..”
“Thank you, Stacey”
She took the resume and in a few minutes she had gathered all she needed to know.
“So you don’t have that much experience as a Personal Assistant, Stacey.”
“No, I don’t but I am very personal and very good at being an assistant…” I said taking a risk, trying to be a little human…
“Pause scene” she said.
“Now Stacey, that’s good but try and not be a smart arse.”
“I wasn’t being a smart arse..” I replied… I was making light of my lack of…
“And restart scene...” She said, not interested in my justification…
“So again, I ask Stacey – you don’t have much experience in the field…”
I took a breath…I needed another tactic…
“I know…it’s true and I’m willing to learn…and I’m a very quick learner...
This made the Pussycat teacher smile…I was obviously pushing the right buttons…but as is always my case…once I still winning I immediately start failing…I push it too far…I simply trust my instincts…and with this I said…
“And my boyfriend was a PA too…”
The Pussycat teacher dropped her ears…where was I going with this…
“See, he’s in LA…well New York now…but when he was LA…he was a PA…and simply by talking to him…I have a sense of the what the job is and if I get into any trouble I can always ask him…”
The Pussycat Teacher was losing interest and she broke out of the scene for a split second to remind me to smile…
But I continued regardless…
“But I have to be honest I don’t think it went well for him…he found it difficult and demeaning…and who could blame him…it’s kinda like being a servant or slave…now this might be fine in the short term if the boss is kind, benevolent even…but if they’re unpleasant then the job is nightmare…so I guess if anything I have low expectations and some sense of how to navigate the relationship if it indeed (as I suspect) one that is horrendous…
The Pussycat Teacher blinked…opened her mouth…but I hadn’t finished…
“And I know you’re going to tell my to smile…but it’s hard to smile when he’s thousands of miles away and I don’t speak to him that often and he quit his job as a PA because it made him feel like shit…he told me he was fired…but I spoke to his folks and found out he quit…
….and I feel like shit...cause I miss him and in my darkest moments I don’t know if it’s going to work out…or if indeed it should as he’s on his own path and I don’t want him to stop and be unhappy with me…and I can’t fucking smile..not now…I don’t want this job…I don’t want to be here and I can’t smile…as there’s nothing to smile about…nothing at all…”
The Pussycat Teacher blinked and finally said…
“Well you don’t expect to get the job do you?”
And then and only then for the first time did I smile before I picked up my bag and left the room…
So there you have it…there’s my day…and now I’m home I’m trying all I can to remember what made my smile…just so I can feel happy once more…
I guess I’m having trouble with this…
Should I just let you be…?
Love Stacey
From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Friday October 31st , 1999 10:43PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE A thought
From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Friday October31st , 1999 2:43PM
Subject: RE RE A thought
Hi Dom…your future seems so much more interesting than mine..I just spent the last two days doing a centrelink course on how to fill out a resume…kinda interesting…and when I say kinda interesting I mean…hellish… depressing…as I realise that when I fill out my resume it comes close to being a blank document...I mean how do I make poetry, failed song writing and nihilism seem appealing to a potential employer…
Nothing like a reevaluation of ones life to make one feel so totally like a failure… (and make one commence using the royal we to make one feel more important…)
Also …as it’s Halloween…the teacher…if I can call her that…took it upon herself to come in costume to today's class…if I can call it that…
So nothing like a slightly overweight woman… dressed as pussy cat (her words, not mine)… to reinforce you have no value…
Anyway feeling a little low…don’t want to bring down your travel…heard from your mum that you’ve booked your tickets to NYC…so no doubt there’ll be silence for a few days…I understand and will now return to this classroom Hades where the the Devil is only a few moments away from cleaning herself while teaching us how to present ourselves in a job interview…
From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Monday October 27th , 1999 10:11AM
Subject: A thought
Okay…I’ve been thinking about your options after our call and for what it’s worth…I think you should try your luck in the east…
Go to New York, I reckon…they’ll understand you more…you can write about truth…you can watch Woody Allen play his bassoon every Tuesday night…
Love
S
From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Wednesday October 29th, 1999 3:21AM
Subject: RE A thought
This is not a bad idea. I’ve always had some kind of love for New York. And it’s not all cinema based. See I have an uncle in New York. My Father's Brother. His name is George and he went to New York after he did National Service to carve out some kind of future – to enter a city that would allow him to rise above his class.
And he did.
His did it by managing to fall back into the old family trade – he went into the rag trade.
See my Father decided to do one of those family tree things a few years ago and what they discovered was his side of the family had been London folk for a few generations.
Prior to that they had come from Germany.
Upon arriving in London around the mid 30s they fall into tailoring – based on generations of skill - and for the first time they had success. They actually made some money.
And Uncle George had followed the path.
Now when I say rag trade in a New York context, I mean more the fashion industry for Uncle George. It was high rise buildings; some design and a lot of marketing.
See he was one of the people responsible for coloured nylons.
It made him a lot of money.
So he became an aesthete, populated his small Upper East Side apartment with high end Asian furniture and became friends with Tuesday Weld and Jane Fonda.
He also fell into a deep friendship with a fellow named Carl Stanojikov (who for interest sake was one of the first artists for the Spiderman strip)
Now when I say deep friendship; you can make of it what you will. It’s just my Father can’t quite accept the potential and only refers to his brother as Bachelor with very high tastes.
Now I’ve only met Uncle George a few times.
The first was when he visited when I was about 5. He was a generous man and bought me the most elaborate science kit and spy disguise box. I enjoyed them both very mush – mixing the gifts and creating my own narrative where I played both hero and Villain – secretly mixing formulas heroically and skulking around the house as a spy trying to steal them in shortly after.
I never caught myself and inadvertently ended the world when I crept into George’s room and found what I later realized was gay porn.
The second time I met Uncle George was when he flew all of us to New York to spend a week with him. We stayed in his second apartment (yes he had two) and took us out to a number of Broadway shows and introduced me to BBQ spare ribs in this fanciest of Chinese Restaurants (served by this waitress with the longest black hair I’d ever seen in my life – pig-tail to knee)
The final time I saw Uncle George was back home again when he travelled to us, this time with Carl (His good friend). They were on a world tour as Carl was quite sick and they wanted to see the world in case he passed.
This was a great few days. Carl drew for me and George cooked while telling the filthiest of jokes.
I was sad to see them go.
And now, as you’ve suggested, I should see him again. Carl’s health has deteriorated and I can maybe even help my Uncle out.
Okay, so now I’ve scribbled I am convinced I should go.
Booking tickets now (or at least asking my father or even George to do so)
From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Sunday July 15th, 1999 11:31 AM
Subject: RE Had an adventure
Stacey, oh man, you have had an adventure. My story about Keith seems so lame in comparison.
Are you okay? Do you want to meet up? Do you need some friendly faces? Do you want to come over for dinner?
Oftenbark is worried.
Dom.
PS Yes I would love to live in New York or Iceland. There’s just something really interesting about Iceland.
Maybe even LA.
Actually to tell the truth I’d really like to live in LA – live the dream, write like Faulkner in a writer’s villa in a deco studio. Then retire, a rich man to a house by a lake, knowing that my stories made a few people happy.
That would be nice, don’t you think?
You could even come if you want.
PPS I’m going to give you a ring to see if you’re okay.
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