For years, I lived on the fifth floor apartment of a building with no elevator. Once you enter my place, you're on a different realm. The soothing atmosphere, the quiet tones, mirrors, toys, all reflect my inner being. And I work hard to mantain this piece of luxury, for I may not live in the best neighborhood but my place has nothing to envy them. I've lived in Astoria, Queens; I've lived in the City; I've lived in Forrest Hills and Maspeth. All of which are great neighborhoods, so I brought along with me the class and tastefulness. How I came to live here, in this nightmarish neighborhood had to do with my work for a company as a Regional Manager. They found a place for me to be literally minutes away from the site I was assigned to. It was hard work, and I don't remember going to be bed for more than four hours at a time without having to deal with something related to my mission there. I delivered, and in time I stepped down, because from that line of work my health deteriorated, I gained weight, all because of an internal battle with my immediate boss. I dealt with upper-management, and the only one who could fire me, in his own words, was the owner. I was inexperienced then, I worked hard, not smart; I wasn't cunning like I am today, and mistakenly placed virtue and loyalty above my predatory instincts. In business, you've got to have the highest standards, have one hand to shake other hands upfront and an iron fist on the other hand. You've got to be very ambitious and tough. In the end, I managed to keep this place just so that I could piss off my former employer while at the same time complete my mission and ensure my immediate boss's downfall. You don't mess with the likes of me and come out unscathed. Not to raise suspicion, I stepped down, gracefully. And eventually left for a better life, where I didn't make nearly the same but felt a lot better. Best to earn a modest living doing what you love than to be rich in misery; you don't want to be the architect of your own prison.
And so, in order to destroy a man's career, you've got to know this man's weakness. I stood on the sideline, because in the spotlight it would have been too obvious. Ambush still is the best offense; you go to war first and declare it afterwards. Don't give your enemy space to react, be very aggressive in your quest and yet have a cold head on top of your shoulders. Vengeance isn't a dish best served cold; it's a dish cooked a fuego lento, so that you can see the agony in your prey's eye while it slowly is consumed by the flames.
Enough semantics.
First, I knew this boss of mine to whom I had been so loyal only wanted to take credit for my hard work and felt threatened by my skills. You may give your cheek once, it doesn't mean you can't return the favor the second time around. I didn't wait for seconds. While I can exert a virtuous patient character, passiveness has never been my thing. Like the snake, I sneak in without being noticed, strike without a second thought, deliver the venom and swallow prey ten times larger at a paced, calculated motion, and I don't feed for months. And just like the snake, I am cold-blooded at it. My formation had more to do with Aristophanes than Socrates; with Schopenhauer and Nietzsche than anything that came thereafter; with Macheavelli; with Seneca; with more of the modern writer Robert Greene (check more recently War, or its precedent 48 Laws of Power, more than the The Art of Seduction, which by the way isn't a rosy depiction either) than all of the seudo-scientific talkers combined, from Deepak Chopra to revered Anthony Roberts. I am in touch with my animal self, and I'm proud of it.
His weakness were women. He'd hire them in bunches, and had been accused of sexual harrassment in more than one occasion. Again here, his nature was to facilitate the process. At one point, he told me not to hire this gorgeous Puerto Rican girl (the tall, slender, blue-eyed, curly hair, sweet kind) who had probably deflected his advances. I hired her regardless and when he confronted me about it in front of the boss, I defended myself by saying that I had given her only a part-time position and that she was willing to pick up the schedules he didn't give to five other girls he'd hire the same week with 9-5 Monday through Friday schedules. He looked foolish.
In time, this girl served me well. She'd make me coffee, had the greatest degree of respect for me, and I persuaded her to follow suit against our common enemy. She did complain legitimately for wrong-doing, and she wasn't touched. She wanted him almost as much as I wanted her but due to work ethics... Oh, what the hell! In reality, I put work first always, just to build the tension of us working late alone for no other reason than to build the tension of the forbidden and succumb eventually to the inevitable. Our fling was not born out of her necessity for a job, that would equate prostitution; it was just explosive chemistry, the one that knows no obstacles, no social boundaries, no moral restrictions. I may have downplayed the fact here that this fling perhaps took away some focus the job demanded. Since then, my rule has been: don't mix business with pleasure. Ironically, in time, I made pleasure my business.
I think she still works there, now as a supervisor. Good for her. Slowly, though, I planted the seeds of discomfort within the ranks of the company, spred well-founded rumors about the boss's after-hours activities, his romantic excesses. Not too long after it, he came crumbling down. It took me sixteen months to see it happen, working from the shadows, serving people who at one point had been under my command. But it happened and not a week after it took place, I left without so much as a resignation. Just one day, I didn't show up to work. When they call me, I said: "Oh, I forgot to mention: I already have another job." I crashed the company car accidentally, and had filed reports on its defective brakes, so I was off the hook; the clients left one after the other in the sector I had so digilently worked .. my demotion. My work there had been completed.
And so, in order to destroy a man's career, you've got to know this man's weakness. I stood on the sideline, because in the spotlight it would have been too obvious. Ambush still is the best offense; you go to war first and declare it afterwards. Don't give your enemy space to react, be very aggressive in your quest and yet have a cold head on top of your shoulders. Vengeance isn't a dish best served cold; it's a dish cooked a fuego lento, so that you can see the agony in your prey's eye while it slowly is consumed by the flames.
Enough semantics.
First, I knew this boss of mine to whom I had been so loyal only wanted to take credit for my hard work and felt threatened by my skills. You may give your cheek once, it doesn't mean you can't return the favor the second time around. I didn't wait for seconds. While I can exert a virtuous patient character, passiveness has never been my thing. Like the snake, I sneak in without being noticed, strike without a second thought, deliver the venom and swallow prey ten times larger at a paced, calculated motion, and I don't feed for months. And just like the snake, I am cold-blooded at it. My formation had more to do with Aristophanes than Socrates; with Schopenhauer and Nietzsche than anything that came thereafter; with Macheavelli; with Seneca; with more of the modern writer Robert Greene (check more recently War, or its precedent 48 Laws of Power, more than the The Art of Seduction, which by the way isn't a rosy depiction either) than all of the seudo-scientific talkers combined, from Deepak Chopra to revered Anthony Roberts. I am in touch with my animal self, and I'm proud of it.
His weakness were women. He'd hire them in bunches, and had been accused of sexual harrassment in more than one occasion. Again here, his nature was to facilitate the process. At one point, he told me not to hire this gorgeous Puerto Rican girl (the tall, slender, blue-eyed, curly hair, sweet kind) who had probably deflected his advances. I hired her regardless and when he confronted me about it in front of the boss, I defended myself by saying that I had given her only a part-time position and that she was willing to pick up the schedules he didn't give to five other girls he'd hire the same week with 9-5 Monday through Friday schedules. He looked foolish.
In time, this girl served me well. She'd make me coffee, had the greatest degree of respect for me, and I persuaded her to follow suit against our common enemy. She did complain legitimately for wrong-doing, and she wasn't touched. She wanted him almost as much as I wanted her but due to work ethics... Oh, what the hell! In reality, I put work first always, just to build the tension of us working late alone for no other reason than to build the tension of the forbidden and succumb eventually to the inevitable. Our fling was not born out of her necessity for a job, that would equate prostitution; it was just explosive chemistry, the one that knows no obstacles, no social boundaries, no moral restrictions. I may have downplayed the fact here that this fling perhaps took away some focus the job demanded. Since then, my rule has been: don't mix business with pleasure. Ironically, in time, I made pleasure my business.
I think she still works there, now as a supervisor. Good for her. Slowly, though, I planted the seeds of discomfort within the ranks of the company, spred well-founded rumors about the boss's after-hours activities, his romantic excesses. Not too long after it, he came crumbling down. It took me sixteen months to see it happen, working from the shadows, serving people who at one point had been under my command. But it happened and not a week after it took place, I left without so much as a resignation. Just one day, I didn't show up to work. When they call me, I said: "Oh, I forgot to mention: I already have another job." I crashed the company car accidentally, and had filed reports on its defective brakes, so I was off the hook; the clients left one after the other in the sector I had so digilently worked .. my demotion. My work there had been completed.
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