Philosophical Letters: The Whipping Boy

Sue and I met with the CEO every Friday at 4:30 p.m. to discuss our readers’ literary tastes and brainstorm ways to resolve ongoing problems. The main issue was that I did not consider romance to be “literature,” and I argued that publishing this kind of writer was a waste of money.

Sue glared at me with terrifying eyes; I could see her deep hatred for me. I tried to explain my point of view, but she didn’t listen to a single word I spoke in defense of my position. The CEO didn’t say a word; he remained petrified by the explosion of hatred radiating from every pore of her body—all because I had voiced an opinion that could have been debated or modified through discussion.

At the end of the meeting, the CEO took me aside and told me that Sue had a traumatic history with a man her age. She had believed fervently in his love, but to him she was simply a conquest to show off to his friends. He had made a bet that he could get five girls into bed in a single evening.

Sue discovered the truth by glancing at his phone while he was in the bathroom. She saw the chat for only a few seconds, but it was enough to read that “no girl could resist him” and that he was claiming his prize: a bottle of champagne.

The CEO took my hands and urged me to overlook her behavior. He told me to remain silent, as any reaction from me could seriously damage Sue’s peace of mind. I diligently set aside my ego; it was a true act of compassion for Sue, who saw me only as her whipping boy rather than an honest colleague.

Paul was drinking a pint of Guinness when he was struck by a punch. The liquid splattered everywhere, and the glass shattered on the ground. In front of him stood not a drunken man, but a perfectly sober Sue. Paul began to insult his colleague, and she did the same. The bartender, accustomed to these situations, used firm but kind words to calm them down.

Paul noticed a manuscript on the bar counter; it was wet and covered in conspicuous black spots. Sue picked it up and hysterically shouted at him that it had been edited by Dan Brown. Paul remained perplexed; it was clear that Sue was suffering from considerable distress. Despite his own thirst and a growing black eye, Paul did everything possible to alleviate Sue’s suffering.

However, the young woman misinterpreted his gesture. She was convinced that her colleague viewed her as an inferior being. Paul tried to clarify his position, but his countless attempts hit a brick wall. At 10:45 p.m., he left the pub, shocked by the experience, and took a cab home.

It was the beginning of a nightmare; working with Sue became impossible. One day, Sue told the editorial manager that Paul was staring at her “tits and ass.” When the CEO responded with a hysterical laugh, she interpreted this as a clear act of misogyny and began to hate her boss as well.

The following day, the CEO found a note on his desk suggesting they speak to the bartender at “The King”—Sue’s younger brother. Paul and the CEO went to the pub at the start of the shift to speak with him. Simon was a pleasant young man. Knowing his older sister’s colleagues, he immediately realized something was wrong. They talked for an hour, ignoring the arrival of other customers as if they were in another dimension.

Paul asked Simon to explain what was wrong with his sister and whether he had offended her. Simon explained that the problem was the manuscript. Because it had been edited by a famous writer, Sue was fervently convinced she had written a bestseller. In reality, it had sold only one hundred copies. Burdened by debt, Sue had been forced to accept a subordinate position at the publishing house. Simon told the two men that his sister had previously run her own publishing house, which had failed miserably under her management.

The three agreed that Sue had accumulated a huge amount of rage, which she vented on her colleagues—especially Paul. Because he never reacted to her provocations, she had made him the scapegoat for her failure as both a writer and a publisher.