Chapter 6

The answer surprised an already confused Michael. He knew that his friend was of the type ‘Obligatory until it matters’. He thought, however, that while he was sitting for hours in his newsroom, he must have been surfing on cyberspace, playing stupid games on the Internet and constantly chatting with friends, and that he worked at the last moment, just before the issue of the new number of the magazine was closed.

More than once, Michael had seen him chatting with friends; playing online or browsing various websites, watching movies, listening to music… It was only now that he realized that he had never seen him working.

“I have just finished!” Proudly announced Simon, their photo editor and journalist in one person, also editorial mocker and court jester. "This is... I mean... I finished this morning!" He added after a moment, seeing the fury on Michael's face.

The others started muttering under their breaths that if they sat down at their computers immediately, they could finish their articles soon too.

Before Michael could wake up from his meditation and reflect on the sense of further work in the editorial office, the boys left their cards, and the whole file notes and empty beer bottles under the table. They sat down at their workstations and silently bowed their heads like bunnies and began to finish their articles.

“Who am I working with?” He complained under his breath. “A bunch of characterless eunuchs! Afraid of a stupid woman!” He grumbled.

“Don't whine, Michael! Get to work!” He heard his friend's voice who was coming back from the kitchen with a cup of freshly brewed coffee in his hand. “I bet... my favorite dinner, which you will cook yourself, of course, and a dessert, for example a chocolate cake, ultimately may be almond pastry with vanilla cream, that you have nothing!”

“What an aroma! Alex! Friend! Will you take pity on a thirsty buddy whose throat is dry? Will you bring him a cup of fragrant coffee as well?”

Alex smiled at the pitiful expression on his most lazy friend’s face today.

“I did brew it for you. It is waiting in the kitchen where it always is, but you have to bring it yourself!” He said as he walked away.

‘I can only count on him!’ Michael thought.

He got up and went to get the coffee. After returning after a solid while in the kitchen, he sat down at the table, examining the mess left on it. He started watching his mates’ cards. Thomas didn't have the slightest chance. Fact! He made a really good face for a bad game. He should make an example of him!

Time passed relentlessly. He did not feel like doing anything that would involve his brain’s grey cells as they were still heavily strained by the previous night’s almost all-night party. He wasn’t able to think creatively, much less write.

He wondered about the words said by the new chief editor. Maybe they didn't apply to him, the editorial secretary? Or maybe he should ask if he is bound by the same rules as the entire editorial team?

Michael had a brilliant idea, it was the only one he had anyway. He will outsmart the mean woman. Yes! He made a decision quickly.

With pain in his heart, he put down his, this time quite good, cards. He got up from the collegiate table, took his coffee and went to his room, which he had not visited yet that day. It was impossible to breathe in the unventilated room since the last time he had been there was the previous week.

The air conditioning didn’t work since he had started to cool some bottles with various contents near it. Until one day, when it had been flooded with a high percentage of alcohol, then it had stopped working completely. He had to open the window however he didn't like doing this.

Noises coming from the busy street next door distracted him and kept him from concentrating. In order to think creatively, he had to have absolute silence.

He turned on the computer. There were a lot of distracting fingerprints on the screen, but he didn't have time to wipe it off.

There was total chaos on the desktop. Even though it was only his computer, his personal working tool, he couldn't figure out what each unnamed folder contained. He was utterly lost. Eventually, he created another folder where he moved folders whose contents he knew.

Finally, he found a pretty good column, published over four months ago. He copied it, of course without a date, and sent it to Nicolas.

He waited, watching what was happening outside the editor's office through the open door. One by one, his friends were leaving the chief editor’s office disconsolately. Unaffected with the discussion, they showed their dissatisfaction by purring under their breaths, which meant one thing. Their articles had to be corrected.

Time passed relentlessly. At one point, Michael found that now was the right time. He got up and pulled his shirt down under his pants, tucking it neatly before he adjusted his tie. And then he began walking towards Nicolas’ office. He entered with his spine erect like a military soldier with his head tilted exaggeratedly backwards, showing his pride as usual.

"When you finish reading my column, please call me." He muttered and left.

After a short while, Nicolas came out of the office with a gloomy face.

“Michael! Could you come inside for a second, please?” He said, looking around the room, which was finally silent. Journalists hid in the corners like terrified rats.

Michael entered as proudly as he was two minutes ago.

“What is this, Mr. Johnson?” Alice asked, pointing at the computer screen.

“How's what? My column! You don't like it?” Michael laughed and didn’t lose his spirit even for a moment.

“Yes, I know... Your column! I read it, four months ago!” Alice said with a poker face.

“Really?” Michael was still in great shape. “Do you read our magazine?” He asked sneeringly.

“Unfortunately yes, Mr. Johnson!” Alice smirked as well. “Unfortunately for you, I read carefully.”

‘What a cheeky guy!’ She thought.

“Tomorrow morning…” She continued stoically. “I would like to read your column for the next issue of the magazine and the topics for the next three. I would advise you to leave some frivolous jokes for your colleagues, Mr. Michael Johnson!”

She looked at him sternly. She wanted to see some regret or even a trace of shame on his face, but there was no sign of anything on his face from the shelf labeled ‘humility’.

‘Cold, calculating bastard!’ She thought. ‘Time to teach you some humility!’

“You can leave now! What are you still waiting for, Mr. Johnson?”