Stop Playing Around

If it wasn’t enough that Gerard got phone calls from Mr. Iero the entire weekend then he doesn’t know what else possibly could be. The phone doesn’t stop. It’s going off every hour of the day like a bomb. It doesn’t make any sense. Surely any rational human being would have given up by now. It’s not like he really thought that Mr. Iero was a rational human being, but surely more rational than this.

“If he doesn’t stop calling by Tuesday you should block him,” Brendon says through a mouth full of cereal. It’s Monday morning, and Gerard has his first job interview in what feels like forever at eleven.

“I’m way ahead of you,” Gerard says, “I’m going to stop by his house this afternoon to personally tell him I quit.”

“Is that a good idea?”

“I don’t care if it’s a good idea or not, I am not going to put up with my phone ringing every second for the rest of my life,” Gerard says, just as his phone starts ringing again.

“It’s ridiculous,” Brendon says. “Three fucking days and he hasn’t realized you’re not going to pick up? That’s mad!”

“It eats up my battery to,” Gerard says.

“Just turn it off. If I need you I’ll send a messaging bird,” Brendon says.

“Great, so I’ll be checking every pigeon’s leg that I come across.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Brendon says, finishing his cereal, and standing up. “I hope you’re interview goes swell.”

“I hope you don’t have to talk to any old ladies without hearing aids,” Gerard replies.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Brendon says before leaving the apartment.

Gerard looks at his phone, lighting up for the millionth time, and he decides that turning it off really is the best idea. Whatever the hell his boss wants is not important to him anymore, and Gerard doesn’t work for the guy. He’s not even Gerard’s boss anymore, so he has no right to be calling him at all hours of the day. It’s mad.

He just doesn’t understand it. What on earth could possibly be worth all the trouble? What could be so important that you would have to call over and over and over? It’s not like he’s hanging off the edge of a cliff or something. He’d have fallen days ago if that were the case, so what is so important? It’s possible that the guy is just calling so often intentionally to piss Gerard off. He didn’t know that Mr. Iero had that much dedication, but it’s possible. Maybe it is just a prank of sorts. Maybe the guy is so inept that he needs Gerard, his ex-assistant to set up interviews to find his new assistant.

He pities whoever has to take that job, because it is not fun. They’ll be stuck with the worst job in the world, but there’s nothing Gerard can really do about it. There will always be people desperate enough to take it on.

Gerard sighs, and starts to count the numbers as they switch on his watch until he can leave for his interview.

~*~*~*~

Gerard turns his phone back on to check the time after his interview. It’s pushing three o’clock, because a particular interviewer was not very punctual, and showed up nearly two hours late. He then proceeded to treat Gerard like an idiot, and all but blamed Gerard for his tardiness. It’s safe to say, Gerard’s not going to be getting that job.

The sky is still dark and gloomy from the other day. It’s been rainy all weekend, and it’s pushing into the beginning of the week as well. Mr. Iero lives on the other side of town, but luckily Gerard is in a busy section of the city so there’s a Subway stop not too far from where his interview took place.

Gerard lazily catches a train, but he’s not very close to his destination, so he takes to scrolling through his phone.

He’s currently got about one hundred missed calls all from the same person. He doesn’t know whether to call and warn Mr. Iero that he’s dropping by or just arrive unannounced. He really doesn’t want to call though so he’s just going to stop at the house.

While messing around with his phone, in an attempt to entertain his highly distractible brain, Gerard stumbles back upon the same blog that he’d read the other day. A new post to make him despair about the state of humanity.

“I think that many people see the elite is arrogant, when in fact the truth of the matter is that people outside that collection just have impossibly low standards. It’s not fault of mine that you grew up without money. There’s only so much class in the lower-class, and that’s what dubs them as such. If you’ve got the money, you have standards, and you have no obligation to look twice at those inferior to yourself. Being a multi-millionaire myself means that I grew up in a society of more upper-class citizens, and I’m sorry if I consider only people of that nature as worthy of decency.

Poor people are used to it, because that’s how they have to live, but why should I be expected to talk to you like an equal human when we both know that I am better than you? I am, and that’s fact. The more money you have, the easier it is to accommodate to niceties.

I guess I just mean to say that I treat you based on your level of success. Have you little success, then the respect you deserve matches that quota, and have you a surplus of accomplishments, then you’ve earned my admiration. I believe it to be unfair for everyone to think they should be treated on the same plain of decorum, because you simply don’t have the right to it.

It’s all well and good for people of poverty to respect one another (though I think that is a display of extreme folly) because they share the same dilemma of frivolousness, but you should still look up to the elite. Those with a higher sum of value on their lives, deserve respect from all kinds, and those with a lower sum, deserve only the respect of people like them. The rich should always be well-regarded, and should always be revered. Fact.”

Sometimes Gerard just hates people. How do these people exist? How does someone become so ignorant and nulled to their own stupidity?

When he comes to the right stop the sky is grey and desolate, but at least it’s not raining. The walk to the Iero house is familiar to him, but he walks leisurely. He’s taken this very route many thousands of times. Sometimes upwards of ten times a day.

Gerard watches his feet as he walks down all the length of the sidewalk, and because of this he doesn’t notice anything immediately wrong with the picture in front of him. He looks up as he approaches the house, or mansion or whatever the right word is. There’s definitely something off. Most specifically in the form of a moving van.

Spencer is standing in front of the house, with a bored posture. He watches as a series of men brings things out of the house and into the van. Gerard doesn’t really know what to think.

He goes up to Spencer and asks the obvious question, “What the fuck is going on?”

Spencer turns and looks at Gerard almost taken aback, “you quit, didn’t you?”

“I did, indeed. Mr. Iero keeps calling me though, and I was going to tell him that it’s completely inappropriate and has to stop. I also have a few things I want to say to him about his personality, and maybe a choice finger or two.”

“Well that’s not going to happen,” Spencer says, surely.

“Why? What’s going on? Are they moving or something?”

“Well they’re definitely moving, but not really in the way you’d think,” Spencer says.

“Could you give me a straight answer?” Gerard asks.

“It’s the IRS, they levied his bank account,” Spencer replies.

“They did what?”

“They levied his bank account. Seizing his property as we speak. The house, the cars, anything and everything he owns,” Spencer says blankly.

“What?” Gerard asks, dumbstruck, “Why?”

“I think they said that he didn’t pay his taxes. He’s built up such a huge tax debt that they’re taking all his property to satisfy it.”

“But that’s not possible. I did his taxes for him! Well, I took them to an accountant for him, but I did see to it that they were done,” Gerard replies.

“Both identities?” Spencer asks.

“What? Both? Was there more than one?”

“Apparently there was two,” Spencer says, “But both identities, and the person they belong to, have fled the scene.”

“Why’d he have two?”

Spencer shrugs, “why did he do anything? It was probably a greed thing. More money. Blew up in his face though, didn’t it?”

“You’re saying he was paying taxes for two different identities, and I was only taking care of one of them for him? Is this my fault?” Gerard asks, horrified.

“I don’t see how you’d think that. You didn’t know. None of us knew. Not even his own son.”

“So Mr. Iero is gone then?” Gerard asks, questioningly

“Yeah, no one’s seen him since last night,” Spencer says. “I think he got scared of the responsibility so he just took off. Left his son behind, and everything. Got away with a few thousand dollars, but I think that that’s probably illegal.”

“That’s terrible,” Gerard says, “Where’s Frank now?”

Spencer points to someone a little ways away with his head in his hands. He’s sitting on the edge of the sidewalk with his knees pulled into his body. His body is slack, and it’s probable that he’s crying, but Gerard can’t really tell from the distance.

“So they’re taking everything? Even the house?”

“Everything,” Spencer replies.

“Do you mean to say that the boy is homeless?” Gerard asks.

“Well he doesn’t have a house, so I’d say homeless is a fair statement,” Spencer replies.

“But that’s not good. Where’s he going to live? He has no money! The guy grew up as rich and arrogant, he doesn’t know a thing about the real world.”

“That’s not my problem,” Spencer says.

“But it’s not fair. Just because he’s treated us like scum doesn’t mean he deserves to be cast aside as if he were,” Gerard states.

“Don’t you see that that’s the point? It’s his just desserts.”

“But that makes you know different than him, don’t you see? Sure Frank is a bit of a douchebag, but he doesn’t deserve to have everything taken away from him. That’s just unfair.”

“The way we’ve been treated under him was unfair, so I’d say it’s perfectly fine for Frank to have to get a taste of his own medicine.”

Gerard groans, “But that’s wrong! Don’t you see? I’d never sleep again if I knew that I pushed a guy in need out into this world without a second glance. He’s got no knowledge of the world, he wouldn’t last a day.”

“That’s a you problem,” Spencer shrugs. “Right now, I have to go find myself another job.”

“Where’s Pete?”

“Left already,” Spencer says, “We got the news this morning. I’m just here because I’m not the one who evaded his taxes, and I want to see if I can do anything about getting my paycheck. It’s not likely, but I am owed a few hundred dollars for the last week, so it’d be nice.”

“Good luck,” Gerard nods to him, and then looks back over at Frank.

He shouldn’t sympathize with the guy, he really shouldn’t. Not after the hell he’s been put through. He’s sensitized to feel sorry for the downtrodden though. It looks like Frank is now highly classifiable as downtrodden. It’s hard not to feel some sort of emotion for a guy that’s crying on the sidewalk curb.

Gerard groans to himself, because he’s really going to regret this. Slowly he makes his way over to Frank.