Find Fuck Feel Forget it...

I'd like to tell a story, a little snippet from the dirtier side of life, and about how blind the eyes are and how easily people can be fooled, even though they think everything around them is fine. In 2006, I was still working at a financial equity analysis firm, where you didn't have to go far to see something illegal, or something that conflicted with perhaps still existing moral norms. I could talk about the world of net 93,000 forints (known to everyone but unspoken), the rest paid in cash, and generally about how in Hungary today, contracts are not concluded without bribes and private, tax-free agreements struck in one-on-one meetings. But I don't want to talk about that now; instead, I want to talk about the secret lives of our dear colleagues, the lives they lead every day once they leave home. Husbands, fiancés, men in serious long-term relationships, wives, mothers of several children, girlfriends – that is, us, who are on the hamster wheel 6-10 hours a day, 5 times a week, for an average of 210 days a year. People you spend more time with than your parents or friends, people whose faces you have to look at for most of your life, and women you spend far more time with than your girlfriend. This is true regardless of where and for how long you work, because the corporate structure, the types of people, and the situations are constant. This blog is written for the middle and upper-middle class, and I hope not many people below that read it, which is why what I'm writing here is specifically applicable to office and corporate life, and incidentally, it's most true for this environment, but I have no doubt that it happens similarly everywhere.

If you're lucky, you don't end up at a large multinational where your soul truly belongs to the company, but rather at a well-functioning private company with a maximum of 40-60 employees. Many things speak for private companies; one of them is the private nature of so-called company parties. A lot happens at company parties, especially Christmas ones, and it's not uncommon for a newly hired receptionist to give head to a man considered a model father, or for a recently appointed investment fund manager colleague to hook up with a respectable mother. Company parties act like a strange drug on people because just think about it: our workplace is the most regulated part of our lives, where we spend a hell of a lot of time, and where fear and uncertainty are always in the air. Stepping out of this environment, but still seeing the same people, doused with unlimited amounts of booze, we get a chemical mixture that only needs a spark, and our hormonal Taliban explode. In such cases, the waves of the detonation usually affect our instincts the most, waves that can sweep away all social rules and our proudly proclaimed principles. Barriers break down, and taboos fall, making us say words we can't say from 8 AM to 6 PM, and we do things we think about every single day anyway. When the sales girl bends down for the mineral water on the bottom shelf, or simply sits at the desk opposite in her damn short mini-skirt. Men in a sea of quality suits with a stable background and existential security, which, as we know, affects female instincts the most, and of course, I don't need to elaborate on the effect of twenty-something fairies and well-maintained women in their thirties on men, especially if a damn shrew awaits us at home every single rotten day. These hidden desires burst out of us at company parties, and the biggest taboos are broken, and walls fall that should never have...

These parties are funny because the whole thing is a huge contradiction for me. Who would want to spend their free time looking at the sneaky faces of the same people they see every day, when you're sure at least 70% of your colleagues annoy the hell out of you? People who work in the same place have a predictable social arrangement, which can be summarized briefly as the guaranteed appearance of certain types, best illustrated by the TV series The Office. Personally, my favorites are the women who remind me of school librarians who haven't been laid in at least 10 years. Zero makeup, cardigan, simple hair, sour face, and very likely an LMP or MSZP voter. Anyway, I understand these people. I mean, those in serious relationships, or even marriages, who do something silly from time to time because they also need to feel alive, even if only for hours or minutes. Being in a relationship eventually castrates the man and thoroughly shakes the woman's belief in her femininity in one of the most important areas. A woman needs to feel attractive, to feel that there is still a man who wants her because she wants to feel everything that only a man can give her when she truly feels like a woman next to him. She will feel this less and less as time and years pass, because after a while, the desire for each other fades, passionate sex becomes less frequent, and shared activities diminish. I've seen many truly ballsy and strong guys bleed out on the field of relationships because I'm convinced that if a man lives in a relationship with a woman for an extended period, that man first gives up his dreams, then his individuality, and having pledged loyalty, he also loses the practice of his most ancient instinct, that is, being the alpha male who can have as many women as possible and from which he feels he is a dominant someone. You can protest against these things, and by arguing with these ideas, accuse me of not living in 1850, but let's never forget one thing. You cannot go against basic instincts for an extended period.

One time, the aforementioned corporate meeting took place at a gallery in Hajós Street, where, as usual, the same cliques formed that we were already used to in the office. Women over 35 on the left, hating on the good-looking women under 30, and although I never know what these women talk about, it's damn certain that "look at that stinking little whore flaunting herself" is said four times a minute. In another clique, the senior managers, with their fawning underlings hoping for promotion within earshot, of course, the IT guys carefully isolated from the light in a separate room – in other words, the same thing happens as in the office, just neatly divided into groups of 3-7 people, with some overflow after the sixth Unicum. I usually mark midnight as the time when the most interesting formations begin to develop and men and women start talking to each other whom you would never have imagined even knew each other's names before. We had a 43-year-old woman who, if she took off her shoes and started dancing, it meant there was a situation, and whoever went to her first would sleep with her. I personally know four people who did this. At the last party, the shoes came off again, but no one huddled with her. As far as I know, she's still alone. No kids, even fewer boyfriends, she even bought a dog, so the usual story.

Returning to the company party, a corporate jamboree brought together two people who absolutely shouldn't have; from now on, they are Peti and Kata. Roughly, what you need to know about Peti is that he was an accountant at the company, his wedding was weeks before the party, and his wife was 3 months pregnant. Kata, whom I still don't know how the hell she ended up at the party, because she was fired 2 months prior under unclear circumstances. She's at CIB now, if I'm not mistaken, but about her, she was a damn hot woman despite being married for 7 years and having had two children. Now, this beautiful and legitimate couple got together at the party, but of course, no one knew about it... Only me... But damn, how I found out.

One day, a few weeks after the party, Peti comes up to me and asks for a favor, and that what he's about to say should be treated confidentially. At this point, I knew there was crap in the punch bowl and I was about to be dragged into something shitty. At first, I thought he'd found a loophole in the system on how to screw the company and needed me for it, but unfortunately, that wasn't the case. He asked me to book a double room in my name at a Budapest hotel from Friday to Sunday. I stared at him like a fish and asked why he needed me for this. The little sneak was evasive and wouldn't tell me, so I told him, "Listen, you asshole. You're asking me to use my card, give my details for a Budapest hotel for 3 days. Okay, fine, but tell me immediately what you're doing there because if you're planning something illegal, I wouldn't appreciate the room booking being in my name." Then the idiot blurts out that he's going there with Kata for the weekend because they simply can't coordinate their time together, and they don't want to have to give their details anywhere. One word led to another, and among other things, I learned that at home, he tells his pregnant wife that they're going on a business trip to Vienna for 3 days, but imagine this: packing a suitcase, leaving home with bags and everything, and he goes to screw that woman, who, by the way, has two children at home, and that girl is also playing a similar charade at home for her husband, obviously with packed suitcases too. And why do they need me for this? Because it would be hard to explain the card charges, what the hell they were doing at Hotel Aquincum during the time they were supposed to be conferencing in Vienna. No trace, a perfect crime, three days of intense screwing. They did this every 2 months with my help, but they perfected this whole scam so well that when they finished, the guy would go to the Mozart shop in Deák Ferenc Square and buy souvenir Austrian chocolates there to take home, saying, "Here, my dear, with much love from Vienna." Why there? Because it's not labeled in Hungarian... These are wonderful things, and no one at home suspects anything, or maybe it's just too painful to face it, I don't know.

Your husband is screwing someone else, your girlfriend is sucking someone else's dick, and a few hours later you get a goodnight kiss from them. Behind infidelity and the dirtiest deceptions, many things can lie, and often there's no reason needed, but I believe that infidelity is never the fault of the person who cheats, but rather the fault of the person who is cheated on, because they created such conditions around themselves or shaped things in such a way that the thought of cheating crossed the other person's mind. I don't know which path is right, but I see this whole relationship thing as a huge dead end. It simply cannot work long-term. The critical second and seventh year, of course, but there's constant messing around in between. I won't go into detail because we live the same life with the same problems, so you know what I'm talking about. There's no woman who can't be seduced, no matter how much she loves her boyfriend, because it's only a matter of time and persistence before you get a woman. There will always be a short skirt that sparks the imagination, and a guy will always come along who convinces you that he can give you what will make you feel special. Oh, you trust the other person? Just ask your "partner" once, when you don't know where they are, to check in on Facebook....

I can't quite remember what I wanted to get at with this post, but the underlying idea was something like this: many people live in a non-existent world, surrounded by facades. Don't let the false words of your immediate surroundings be your guide, because they only tell you what you want to hear, and this is true for absolutely everything. They don't hurt you because they "love" you, they don't tell you so they can "protect" you. If I say secrets that you are the last to know because it's about you, because you're the one who gets screwed in the story, does that situation sound familiar? Or let me go further, because which guy would dare to say to his girlfriend, "Listen, pull yourself together, damn it, do you really have no self-criticism? How the hell do you look?" Just as no girl would say to her boyfriend, "You should have studied, you stinking peasant, and then we wouldn't have to struggle in poverty now while you're doing such a common job."

 "Have I gained weight? Of course not. Does my beer belly bother you, and that I haven't seen my dick since 2003? You know I like bears." The lie factory works both ways. This is good for everything except inspiring you to move forward in life. The problems swept under the rug may not be seen, but they are still there, and sooner or later we will trip over them and fall flat on our faces. They make you believe that you are good and talented. I don't know you, but I'm telling you sight unseen that who you are now sadly greets who you could truly be, because you settle for relative well-being. There is always better, always more, and this applies to your body, your quality of life, your relationships, and your work. Learn to fight for a better quality of life, for which the first steps should be training sessions where you learn to suffer and persevere for positive change. There is always more, much more, and never settle for partial successes and insignificant results. Did you graduate? Who gives a damn? 2 billion people have done the same. Would that make you stand out from the crowd? Are you crying because of mediocrity? Shouldn't you achieve that first? Run 10km and you've already humbled 96% of Hungary's population. Don't be an individual because of your phone's wallpaper, but achieve things that millions of people are incapable of. Yes, for example, be able to run 10 km, get abs, or be the best woman at your workplace. Let this be the first step, and believe me, if you achieve these, you will be so strong and so much more than other people that the other advantages will come naturally. This was something like the message, and of course, the eternal question...

Why do you close your eyes when we make love...