You know that feeling you get when you wake up in the morning and something good's about to happen, but you can't remember exactly what? Like on Christmas morning, in that woozy state between waking and sleep, you have a vague sense that it's going to be a special day, something big and good is waiting but you just have the feeling, not the details? I start to feel like that.
I've gone from being unable to get out of bed in the morning, to jumping up and flinging the curtains open to greet the day, like some singing cartoon princess. The songbirds in the morning don't flutter in to make my bed and clean up my room, but they are music to my ears and I can't wait to take a hot shower and have my coffee out on the deck before I head into work.
After months of gloom (and most likely low-grade depression), suddenly I'm a one-woman fountain of joy. Things that used to annoy me at the office slide away, like I'm encased in an invisible bubble of happiness. Every task is a pleasure; whatever dull and repetitive thing they want me to do is welcomed and completed briskly, with a smile. Because I know the day is coming, and soon, when I can walk out of this place forever with a jaunty salute and I'll never have to work a crap job for crap pay again. Freedom is coming.
This instils in me a quiet serenity, a tiny nugget of calm that soothes my normally-racing mind..
Everyone needs a job, even the wealthy, so I've decided to create my own. After Audrey is taken care of and I divorce Clive, I plan on sinking as much money as I can into the food bank. I want to expand the network of food distribution — provide a steady stream of nourishment for people in poverty around the province, organized right here in Grey Harbour.
I'll run it with Father Jake – he can handle operations; I'll deal with all the stuff he hates like fundraising and marketing. I want to do something good with this money, to help my town. I remember the bag of donated food handed to us on a frigid winter night and the hope that it brought our small, struggling family. I want to do that for others. When poor kids eat, and feel like someone out there cares about them, who knows how far they'll go?
"Hey, Darce?" Derek, one of the agents calls to me over his shoulder as he rushes by, piercing my daydream. I shake myself out of it.
"Yeah?"
"I've got a beast of a day. Could you be a doll and pick up my dry cleaning? And if you're passing by the post office, I've got some mail that needs to be sent." He winks. "You're a peach." He points at me with a finger gun as he opens the door.
"No." It's a gut reaction, and it's out of my mouth before I have time to think. So much for completing every task with a smile. That doesn't include running errands on my precious lunch hour (that isn't quite an hour) for someone who isn't even my boss.
"Excuse me?" I can hear the tone of incredulity in his voice. I'm the 'get-it-done' gal who says yes to every shitty job at work. This is not like me.
"I'm not going to the post office today. Or the dry cleaners. Even if I was, you should run your own errands." I turn back to my computer and start typing, heart thumping in my chest. I've never spoken to an agent that way, especially one that brings in millions each year. It feels terrifying. And good.
I brace myself for anger, or disappointment. His reaction is neither. I glance back at him and he looks unsure of himself for a second, then calls out cheerfully, "Have everything on my desk by 2 this afternoon ok? Thanks."
Ah, that's the plan. His tactic was to act like he didn't hear me. I notice all chatter and activity in the office has quieted and all eyes are on me. Suddenly, I'm in a showdown.
He's hovering by the door, waiting for me to stop this foolishness and reassure him that he's in charge and I'm just a lowly servant he can boss around, so he can get on with his busy day.
"I said no." I turn back to him and hold his gaze, watching his expression change from entitlement and confusion to pure rage.
"Do you have any idea how much money I bring into this place every year?" He's let the door shut with a bang and is striding back towards my desk. His voice is a harsh whisper and his eyes dart around, taking in the audience now staring at the showdown with rapt attention. "Don't you know who I am?"
Before I can help it, I rise to my feet and slam both palms on my desk. It makes a surprisingly loud noise in the quiet office, and he reels back as if slapped. "Don't you know who I am?"
I say it with such confidence and ferocity, he takes a step back. The shocked look on his face is mirrored on everyone else's and all activity in the office has come to a complete stop.
"Darcey, can I see you in my office for a moment?" My boss is suddenly behind me, and I rise and follow him into his office. Normally, my guts would be in a twist of anxiety at this point, but that serenity is draped around me like a blanket and I feel calm.
We have a chat about 'professionalism' in the workplace and 'there's no I in team' and how 'we never turn down a request from the agents, they are the lifeblood of the company,' blah blah blah. Ordinarily, a dressing-down from my boss would shame the life out of me, but I listen to his spiel with no emotion at all.
"Are you finished?" I say, when I get tired of listening to him. He now has the same shocked look on his face as Derek and half the office. I take a breath and say the things I've been wanting to say for years.
"I'm not getting his dry cleaning. His, or yours or anyone else's. I've been here for five years, and do you know how much money I make? It's peanuts. My salary is the change your agents shake out of their pants pockets at the end of the night, or the coins they find in their couch cushions. I've never gotten a raise, despite consistently excellent performance. Sure, the agents bring in big money, do you know how that happens? Administrative support. It's what I do that keeps this office running and keeps these agents in six figure houses. I'm the lifeblood of this company. Do you know after all these years, I still only get 45 minutes for lunch? And you want me to run errands for agents who make five times what I make? Fire me if you want, but good luck trying to replace me."
I walked out of his office 20 minutes later with a raise and an hour and a half lunch every day. And a guarantee that running personal errands is not part of my job description.
"You seem different," the boss says to me before I leave. "More confident, or something."
"Nope. Just tired of eating shit," I say, closing the door on my way out.
Who was I? Not the mousy person everyone thought they could take advantage of. Good old Darcey will stay late updating these files. Good old Darcey will work extra hours for no overtime. Well, not anymore.
Good old Darcey was coming into money. And no one was going to push her around ever again.
I'm beaming when I return to my desk, just in time to see Sam tip me a wink from the photocopier and give me a thumb's up. "Good for you," he mouths. "Derek's a jackass."
Indeed. Darcey: 1, Jackass: 0.
My phone buzzes; it's Johnny from the car dealership. "Darcey, we have your car ready."
When the old car died, I faced facts: it was time to get another one. Despite the money that's coming, I still went to the used car side of the dealership and chose a very cheap, reliable model that was about 10 years old. It was plain and boring, but it'll get me where I need to go. I want to wait until the money is in the bank before I go spending it on a new car. Besides, I'm not materialistic. I don't need fancy things like new cars.
"Listen, I know you said you weren't interested in a new car."
"That's right," I said firmly. "And don't try and upsell me, Johnny." I went to elementary school with the sales guy, so I know him well, and anyway, I am wise to the tricks of salespeople who are always looking to get you into something more expensive so they can get a bigger commission.
"It's not that," he says, dropping his voice. "I know you want to save money. But the car you chose is a lemon. Don't let my boss know I said that. You'll be spending hundreds a month on repairs if you go with that one, so it's not actually going to be a deal for you."
"What are you suggesting?"
He says there's a three-year old car they just got in, driven by a granny – immaculately cared for with less than 5,000 clicks on it. "She only drove it around town to get groceries." He's offering me a deal on it. It's still way too much money, but I decide to take a look. No harm in looking.
It's gorgeous.
It may be a couple of years old, but it's brand new to me, a sleek and shiny Acura — candy apple red with plush cream leather seats, a butt warmer just like in my aunt's truck, satellite radio and a backup camera. I get in and shut the door and I'm ensconced in quiet luxury. It's beautiful, but I can't afford it. Reluctantly, I make myself get out of it.
"I'd love to Johnny, but I can't swing it right now." If only the money was in the bank already. I glance at it with a pang in my heart. The monthly payments are crazy, I'd be going from no car payment to over $500 a month; it was crazy to even think about it.
"What if we waived the payments for the first three months?" His mischievous grin made him look like a kid again.
In three months, the money would be in. Every cell in my body told me to resist, to make the smart, sensible choice. But I'd been doing that all of my life and where'd that get me?
When I drive it off the lot, a light rain mists the windows. It takes me a minute to figure out the wipers but when I do, I'm delighted to see I can set the duration of how long it takes between wipes. Technology!
I'm chilly and remember the butt warmer, one tiny push of a button and my backside is toasty and warm. It's a smooth, comfortable ride and I feel safe and secure having the all-wheel drive when the mist turns into a driving rain. When I perfectly back into my parking spot at the office, I wonder how I'd survived before without a backup camera in my car.
I leave the car running, looking at the drab grey building. I think about how I want to put that car in drive and head home, order some take-out Chinese, open a bottle of wine, and spend the afternoon in my pyjamas watching true crime shows.
On a whim, I call the boss and say that I feel disrespected and drained by Derek and his inappropriate demands, and I need to take the rest of the afternoon as a mental health day.
It's something that Me Before Money would never do. But Me With Money Coming feels like it's time to do whatever the hell I want to do and stop living my life to please other people.
An hour later, I've warmed up with a hot shower and have my favourite cozy pyjamas on. I'm eating kung pao chicken under a blanket and sipping a nice shiraz, watching Netflix as the rain lashes the windows. I should fake sick more often.
Whoever said money doesn't buy you happiness was full of shit.