Dallas in Paris - Part II

So I went, saw and - instead of winning - got kicked out of Alcatel. Friday morning, as planned, I went to the offices as required by my contract. I had not, to that point, received any communication from anyone that I was no longer needed on my project. Just before lunch, I ran into the Mexican bitch who as usual was wearing a skirt shorter than the prostitutes I had seen the night before on a dark alleyway behind the Galleries Lafayette. She asked me why I was there to which I responded that I had not been officially informed by anyone that I did not need to be there but that as soon as I was I would leave. She told me she would send me a message and I went down - for one last time - to Alcatel's elite French cafeteria. As soon as I returned to my office, I began to draft an email to the project managers notifying them that I was no longer working for them and informing them that I would leave all documents in their offices. While I was drafting this mail, and literally 3 minutes after I arrived upstairs, the woman stormed into my office and threatened to call security. I was obviously - but perhaps un-perceptively - shocked about this, as there was no legitimate reason whatsoever for her to do that. Just for a minute I was tempted to dare her to do it but then I chickened out and merely told her that I thought it very unprofessional of her to ask me to leave without asking me to do a proper handover and that I was doing that exactly to make sure that no documents go missing and no disruption is caused otherwise. On my way out, I went into her office, returned the laptop that I had received from Alcatel to the other manager - a fifty-ish, friendly Canadian with a slow wit and the looks of an anteater - sitting in her office at the time. I apologized to the anteater - he had always been stupidly nice to me and is a decent albeit not exactly upstanding guy - and told the woman that I thought her utterly unprofessional, completely inappropriate and that I hoped never to see her again. I was very proud of myself that I managed to remain calm and civilized despite the huge lump I had in my throat - a natural physiological reaction to the stress caused by the treatment I suffered. What I really wanted to do was to slap that stupid woman's face and tell her that she was a sad cheap old whore who despite her pathetic efforts probably couldn't even get laid anymore and that I knew where she could try her luck if and when she would be out of a job...but I didn't. It feels good to write it down though!

I then spent the afternoon calling lawyers, discussing the story with Tom and the others over and over again - but really it felt so unreal and I kept wondering how on earth I could have gotten mixed up with these people: people I didn't know existed in real life and I certainly didn't think I would ever have the dubious pleasure to meet.

It gets worse though.

After a nice weekend in London, where I went to a couple of parties and I could not help not giving pretty much everyone the story in a nutshell I went to Tom's flat, which is also the "London office" to find out that I, along with Nicolas and - get this! - Tom have been dismissed for "gross misconduct" by Dirk Diggler, the biggest scumbag on the face of the earth. (Calling him D. Diggler is an offense to the movie character. He only deserved this because of the identical first name - based on reliable sources it has come to our knowledge that Tom's nemesis is far less well-endowed with respect to his nether regions than the protagonist of Boogie Nights...) Needless to say, the letter that he sent to me was basically a series blatant lies. The same was true for the letter he sent to Nicolas. We both responded - I disproved every single paragraph in it, as did he. The most preposterous thing, however, is that he attempted to dismiss Tom, which he can naturally not do considering that Tom is the owner of the company. These little details do not bother DD, of course. Meanwhile, the mercenaries continue to keep their mouths shut and believe (do they really?) the malicious lies that DD is spreading around about all of us.

At this point, I am trying to set the record straight with respect to my position. In my letter, I rejected the dismissal and informed him that in any event it would be considered "unfair dismissal" by any employment tribunal. Tomorrow I will also be sending my resignation letter. Either way, he is obliged to pay me four weeks salary, which may or may not happen but I am very tempted to (a) whistle-blow on him at Alcatel (I am encouraging Tom to do that) and (b) report him to the National Insurance authorities in the UK where he fraudulently obtained a national insurance number based on a fake employment contract and fake proof of residence (he never spends any time there), (c) report him to the French labour authorities, tax authorities and any number of other authorities (and boy, do they have authorities in this country!) that I can get in touch with. Of course, (b) and (c) would hurt Tom as well, so I probably will not go for it. But I will threaten to, just in case.

Oh, and tonight I found out from my friend Cina, an ex-employee who is still speaking with DD that he asked her to call a professional moving company to have my stuff removed from the apartment here and have it sent to me wherever I may be. (He thinks I am still in London.) Of course, he cannot do that because I am a named tenant in the rental agreement and - again - the Frenchies are very particular about these things: you cannot through anyone out without at least one month's notice. I think I will let him do it anyway, and have the f*cker pay for my moving costs. What he doesn't know is that he will have to pay lots of money to have lots of stuff shipped to New York because that is where I will be spending the next couple of months starting in the beginning of July.

I was and still am pretty stressed out by this all. Last Friday was bad, as was yesterday. By now though, I feel strangely removed from it all and can see this for what it is: an unfortunate and unpleasant, yet ultimately insignificant and strangely educational episode of my life. Ready to move on.