MR PONTEY

You could call this story Mr Pontey's response to continual bullying at work

Mr Pontey was late that morning. He had slept badly the night before, and was now in a grouchy mood. His bathroom rituals were becoming irksome and slow. He cut himself shaving. His gums bled after vigorous brushing with his electric toothbrush. His clothes were not where he expected to find them. He silently cursed himself for his tardiness, particularly in view of his impending interview with the boss of his company.

It was almost like a summons to appear before a court of law. He had never liked Mr Marshall. In fact he suspected that there was not a single colleague of his who did not share their distaste of Marshie as they called him behind his back. He was a bully. He would often call some unfortunate minion into his large office and then proceed to tear them off a strip about some unforgivable misdemeanour, threatening them with the sack if the occurrence was ever repeated.

All these images swirled around in Mr Pontey’s head as he got dressed in his pin-striped suit. He was after all head clerk. That was a respectable position. He prided himself on being meticulous in his work. No-one could seriously fault him. He always checked and even double-checked what he did. At the end of each day he went over the day’s activities to see that nothing out of the ordinary could be reported. He had put in tireless service over 35 years, starting from the lowliest post of office-boy, which meant just running around, fetching and carrying, and of course making the tea, and to now the exalted seat of being head clerk. He had climbed the greasy pole to reach that dizzy height and he was not going to relinquish that position without a fight.

However, as he ate his usual breakfast and cornflakes, toast, butter and marmalade and two cups of the strongest tea to fortify him for the day’s tasks ahead, he could not help having a sneaking suspicion that today would be different in some way. He started to become highly agitated. At such a time as this, having a companion, even a dog or a cat, especially an animal, which does not answer back, would have eased his anxiety with soothing words of comfort.

Nevertheless, as things had turned out, he had perhaps unconsciously made the decision to live as a confirmed bachelor without the added complications of always having to explain any decision he made or his behaviour for that matter, but evenings especially could be lonely for him.

There was once a certain lady in accounts who flashed up in his memory just then. He could not quite visualize her face, but he remembered the name - Mildred. A somewhat old-fashioned name, but he liked it at the time. In fact, he liked her as well. He thought she would have been a suitable companion for him in his dotage. He even went as far as proposing to her. He could never forget the shame and embarrassment of that day, when after he had gone down on one knee and asked her to be his wife in front of their colleagues during the lunch-break she had just laughed. It was a cruel laughter which she did not attempt to disguise. She was taller than he by a significant margin and that clearly made a difference for her. He felt inferior to her even more so at that moment.

During their courtship or what he termed as such she gave the impression that she was not averse to his friendship, and that given time, she might have professed love for him, but in that cackle of a laugh she had made it clear that she despised him, and that she had always despised him, and that she had just been humouring him. He then decided that from that day forward he would never allow himself to be so humiliated by anyone, that he would remain single for the rest of his life, if it meant that he would never have to go through such torture again. He was a proud man.

And now on this day, when his boss has asked him to see him before the start of his shift in the office, he knew that he would not allow anyone to force him to abandon his principles, by which he existed as a man of integrity and honour.

Despite the fact he had been rushing around finishing off washing up his breakfast, he did something which was completely out of character. He stopped. He sat down on the sofa, and closed his eyes. He was not a meditating man, but for what it was worth, this moment of stillness came close to being a religious experience. If you had watched him, you might have been tempted to say that he had died, he seemed in another place.

Then, just as suddenly as he sat down, he jumped up, brushed down his suit and preened himself like a peacock in front of the full-length mirror in the hallway. “That will do for the old codger!” With that, he was out of the door and into the street. Walking briskly, he took only about 20 minutes to the office, where he encountered as usual the boss’s secretary, a crabby old spinster of an indeterminate age, who had also been employed in the company possibly since its inception. She and the boss seemed to have come to an understanding, or had they called a truce after initially fighting over who had the supremacy in their relationship?

Often Mr Pontey and the others used to hear shouting and slamming of doors from the boss’ office. No-one intervened. It was good entertainment in an otherwise boring routine. They almost looked forward to the next bout, but as the years went by, these became fewer and fewer in number, until they ceased altogether. Everyone without exception wondered why Mr Marshall had not sacked her. It was a complete mystery. Perhaps she had a hold over him. She had some damaging information about him which she threatened to take to the press if he did not keep her in his employ. Well, that was merely speculation, but it did make for a good yarn over a cup of coffee at break-time. Someone almost invariably from time to time would bring up this salacious piece of gossip to the delight of all.

“Good morning, Miss Steele. I am here to see Mr Marshall, I believe.” Mr Pontey looked at her straight in the face, but did not accompany his greeting with a smile. That would have been too much to ask of him.

“Yes, Pontey, he is expecting you.” She waved her thin, bony hand towards the door into the boss’ inner sanctum.

“Thank you, Miss Steele. And it is Mr Pontey for your information. OK, Steele?” Mr Pontey felt good at throwing that insult at the old bat. She may have looked like steel, but he knew that steel melts in the fire.

“Oh, please yourself, Mr Pontey.” The “Mr” was said with as much as sarcasm as she could muster. There was no love lost between these two old-stagers in the company. A mutual dislike, even fellow-loathing, would spring up at the slightest impulse. She also had the unfortunate and annoying habit of peering at you from over the top of her glasses in such a condescending manner that you had this uncontrollable urge to throttle her.

Mr Pontey was now sufficiently riled up and fortified in the prospect of facing the boss. He did not knock on the door but just walked in. Mr Marshall was sitting behind his desk, busy studying some papers. He did not even look up to see who had just come in.

Mr Pontey decided that he would not stand in front of Mr Marshall, but make himself comfortable in one of the armchairs and wait for him to discover the reason for his having been summoned to be here. It must have been at least a good five minutes before anything was said.

Mr Pontey figured that this silence on the part of his boss might have been designed as a tactic to cause the former to be agitated and confused. However, the reserve was the case. Mr Pontey was preparing his case and his emotions. He would not be the one to lose his temper. He would win the argument. He was not like the others. After all he had served the company well for 35 years - a period of time which ought to be acknowledged with due consideration and gratitude.

Mr Marshall looked up from his papers and peered over the top of his horn-rimmed glasses. “Ah there you are, Pontey.” Mr Pontey was not going to allow this insult pass by without comment. “Sir, it is Mr Pontey to you.” He was proud that he had said this without getting upset or raising his voice. He felt in a good mood. He felt that he was going to be able to go back to his work that day in a few minutes after being metaphorically patted on the back for his faithful service.

“Pontey, if I say it is Pontey, Pontey it is. Is that understood?” The boss was gearing up to having an argument over what he considered a trivial matter, but one about which Pontey clearly had other ideas. He glowered at Mr Pontey in order to emphasize the point, which was lost on the latter.

“No, sir, it is not by me. If you will excuse me, I will not be thus insulted by you or anyone. I must get back to my work, if you don’t mind.” Mr Pontey was about to get up from his seat and move towards the door, when Mr Marshall’s voice bellowed at him like a hurricane.

“You little, insignificant man, I can address you any way I like.” His sneering words cut like a sharpened knife, and Mr Pontey fell back on the armchair, as though he had been hit by a bullet or a fist. His face changed to a deathly pallor. Mr Marshall continued his vitriolic bile: “Your years of service here mean nothing to me. In fact I had called you in here this morning about the slow pace at which you get things done. Pontey, I have decided that the best thing for me is to fire you, so you can enjoy your retirement.”

As the boss spoke, somehow Mr Pontey regained his equilibrium. His face went from white to an incandescent red. He was not going to lose his temper. He was in full control of his faculties. He had prepared this speech for some time, because he knew his time had been fast approaching. He looked at Mr Marshall full in the face without flinching. Mr Marshall reciprocated with a contemptuous glare. He had said his piece. He was about to make a flicking gesture to show his diminutive employee the door, when the latter stood up and faced him.

“You will regret ever having said that, Mr Marshall. I have given good service to this company over 35 years and well you know that. To try and dismiss me in this fashion will go badly for you. I can promise you. Don’t say another word, otherwise you will only make it worse.”

Mr Pontey placed his downward-facing palm out towards Mr Marshall, as he spoke. He had kept himself in check during this interview, and now he could leave the premises with a clear conscience. No, he would not go back to his desk. There was no point anymore.

He walked out of the building and went home. He opened his front door, changed into something more comfortable, and took his office clothes, which were now a bit dusty and smelling of smoke, straight to the backyard and placed them in the incinerator to burn them. He then went back into the house and poured himself a whisky. Something he had not done for a long time and thought he now deserved it in celebration. He then sat down in his very comfortable armchair, and went to sleep.

A few days later, he bought the local paper and saw the headline: Fire at local lawyer’s office, two bodies found inside, appeared to have been tied up, blackened bits of rope found on the scene near to the charred remains of the corpses, hunt for the perpetrators goes on.

He smiled. At last he could relax. It was done.

It happened early the next morning. He was suddenly woken up by the loud banging on the front door. Putting on his dressing-gown, he rushed downstairs. “I’m coming”. He had no idea why anyone should want him at this ungodly hour of the day.

“Open up.” The voice from outside seemed to be so insistent. “OK! I said I was coming.” He was raising his own in complaint at this disturbance of his sleep and home.

He opened the front door and realized that he would not have another day of peace again.

Two very nice police officers stood in the doorway, one of whom said very politely: “Could you please come with us to the station to answer some questions about a recent fire?”

Reviews

[KarMarBar]

I am not the best at reviewing short stories, poetry is more my repertoire, but as promised, I'll do my best. Also, I could not find the other story you had asked me to review. Can you send me a read request for that one? As far as MR PONTEY, at first, it reads like the first chapter of a novel about a man being late to work. I enjoyed how you incorporated that a pet doesn't answer back, which eases anxiety. My cat sure helps me with that at times. When you talk about "Mildred," I feel like I know her. I felt your pain and embarrassment when she turned down your proposal in front of everyone. I liked your line about a stillness being a religious experience for some of us, it is so true! Mr. Marshall calling Mr. Pontey a "little insignificant man" almost brought tears to my eyes! The ending had my jaw on the floor. This can really be the first chapter of a great mystery/thriller novel because I really want to know if Mr. Pontey set the fire because he was so sick of Mr. Marshall's ignorance and bullying, or if the police are just there to question him because he was recently in the office. I was left wanting more! I think this was very well-written and I really think you should expand on it. If you do expand on it, make sure to let me know. I would LOVE to read it!

[Bill Grimke-Drayton]

Karen, read the story again. Remember his clothes smelled of smoke. The implication being that he was in fact the perpetrator - little insignificant Mr Pontey!!!!

[KarMarBar]

Aaahhh!! I missed that part the first time. Mr. Pontey had the guts to do what a lot of us wish we had the courage to do, without of course, the police knocking on our door afterward. Good for him! That's probably not the best thing to say, but after all the ridicule Marshall put him through and the proposal denial, I can certainly see Mr. Pontey's reasoning. It really sucks when we get to that point where we are just so fed up, things like setting fires actually cross our minds. Even still, I think you should keep going with this one.

[Bill Grimke-Drayton]

OK, Karen.