Mijnheer General Manager, deel 2....

‎"Ik heb een envelop in je bus gestoken met nog wat facturen en de KBC online bankkaart. Oh en ik wis mijn e-mail account." Dat waren de laatste woorden van de lafhartige lul die mij laat zitten met een door hem veroorzaakte schuld van 35.000 euro (het is eigenlijk zelfs meer).

Een jaar lang gelogen en bedrogen, in mijn naam contracten geschreven, facturen laten opmaken. Mijnheer de General Manager. Wel beweren dat ik een looser ben, geen vrienden heb en dat mijn hele leven een opéénstapeling van mislukking is. Is dat nou wat ze reflectie noemen?

 Ziehier zijn Linkedin

 "Uitgever van Lifestyle-magazine (maandelijks huis-aan-huis-blad) op 220.000 exemplaren. Grote oplage apart (niet tussen reclame) bedeeld met de Post, aangenaam leesmagazine, kwaliteit, ... Organisatie Lifestyle-Events. Eigen top-events (concerten, modeshows, ...) gericht naar breed publiek."

Interessant om te noteren dat Mijnheer General Manager van het Lifestyle Magazine Vlaanderen Lifestyle hiermee ook failliet is gegaan. Het Lifestyle magazine waarmee hij zo mee pochte was een veredeld reclameblaadje die doorgaans hun weg vonden naar de kattenbak. Ow ja ik was vergeten mijnheer is een begenadigd schrijver, hij schreef spiritueel getinte introotjes, die waarschijnlijk niemand las. Is ook niet zo gek als je het gemiddeld profiel van een inwoner van de Kempen besturdeert.  Ik was ook vergeten te vertellen dat niemand voor dat blaadje betaalde, m.u.v. de bedrijven die adverteerden. Hm eens kijken hoe lang dat heeft geduurd? 15 exemplaren of zo.....

"Marketing Services: advies, reclamebeleid, huisstijlen, .... Business Services: drukwerk, folders, ..."

Haha, ik krijg buikkrampen van het lachen. Ik ben nog nooit zo'n onkundig iemand tegen gekomen, die nog harder probeerde het tegendeel van zijn onkundigheid te bewijzen. De eerste websites die hij liet lanceren waren ver verwijderd van enige SEO, of internet marketing capaciteiten. Nog maar te zwijgen dat hij probeerde een website bij een bordeel tegen natura te verkopen. Dat zegt toch wel iets over iemands karakter. Het ergste van alles is, hij gelooft ook nog wat hij verteld. Hij laat praktisch gezien wel weg dat hij failliet is gegaan. Wel 2 keer en nu dus 3 keer. De eerste keer was overigens een kledingzaak. Nee, het was de schuld van zijn vrouw, ze had teveel ingekocht....

Onnodig te zeggen dat deze informatie op zijn Linkedin zwaar achterhaald is. Lifestyle Vlaanderen is jaren geleden over de kop gegaan omdat mijnheer een event organiseerde met Clousseau en allerlei andere hotemetoten tot en met een modeshow aan toe. Alleen was hij vergeten dat het misschien handiger was geweest om entree te vragen zodat hij zijn dure tent met aanverwante zaken van rond de 65.000 euro kon bekostigen.

Hij is daarna bij Proximedia gaan werken, een onbetrouwbaar zootje in Internet land en na 2 maanden bedacht hij dat hij het kunstje ook wel zou kunnen nadoen. Ik verbaas mij hoe éénvoudig zo iemand opnieuw een bedrijf kan starten.

Hij wist het allemaal zo goed... Hij kon een browser niet eens van een mailbox onderscheiden en sleepte voortdurend een laptop mee, waarvan het beeldscherm niet werkte. Hoe professioneel ben je dan wel niet? Mijn heer de General Manager reed ook nog met alle verantwoordelijkheden van een General Manager zijn auto op een zaterdagochtend om 2 uur in de prak. "Nee het er was geen alcohol in het spel", zei hij 6 uur later, met een kegel van hier tot Tokio in mijn gezicht. Toch wel vreemd dat iemand dan naar huis loopt en gaat liggen pitten. Typisch voor iemand die gezopen heeft.

Ja mijnheer is ook spiritueel. Hij ging regelmatig naar een Chinese massage voor zijn welzijn en zijn energie veld. Toch moest hij er ook bij vertellen dat hij altijd probeerde die arme Chinese masseuse zijn pik af te laten trekken. Het laatste wat hij ontdekt had was de Tantra. Tja goedkoper kun je niet aan je gerief komen. Tussen al die chanting spiritual higher beings is er altijd wel een zwakker karakter die voor spirituele prietpraat valt.

Ik ben niet de enige die de dupe is. Hij heeft meerder klanten en leveranciers voor ettelijke duizenden Euro's geld afhandig gemaakt. Och arme, nu is hij het slachtoffertje. Hij is failliet en heeft niets meer. Hij is zo zielig. Tranentrekkende verhalen over hoe hij in een auto heeft overleeft. Hoe hij de wereld zal verbeteren en hoe gelovig hij wel niet is, maar ondertussen met verholen trots vertellen hoe vaak hij vreemd ging in zijn huwelijk.

Mijnheer haarimplantaat. Ik moet nog lachen om de naar schatting 2000 euro aan haar die Dania uit zijn kop getrokken heeft toen hij mij probeerde op mijn gezicht te slaan in mijn kantoor. Het is een tragikomisch verhaal. Helaas ben ik er de komende jaren zoet mee. Ik heb in een jaar tijd het product om kunnen vormen dat een professioneel internetmarketing product, al mijn kennis in gestoken en van veel klanten het vertrouwen gekregen. Ik moet alleen zien hoe ik nu de schade kan beperken die deze absolute topimbeciel heeft veroorzaakt. Wat hem betreft ik blijf hopen en geloven dat alles wat je geeft je dubbel terugkrijgt....

Één ding heb ik geleerd, vertrouw geen mensen die spiritualiteit uitbraken, mensen die zeggen dat ze diep gelovig zijn en mensen die consequent en ziekelijk vreemd gaan. Oh ja en dan zeggen dat ze je vriend zijn.

Face of shame

It is almost 2 years ago since I wrote my last blog. Much has happened in that time. I am happily married with my amazing wife Dania, who made the big jump from Nicaragua to Europe, I've started my own business, I moved to another place, I got on my feet by and finally struck down again.

My ambition is my trap. It's as simple as that and therefore I trusted the wrong guy. First being my boss he offered me to start with his help my own business. That turned out to be a huge mistake. It was all a plan to use me as a straw man so he could save his ass, let his business tank and then take over mine. By the time it was clear what was going one he created so much financial crap that it was to late for me to bail out. Now I am stuck with it. More then 60.000 € debt with an income for the next 2 years for about 90.000. Next to that around 11 projects unfinished without my staff who I had to fire.

When I look back at the last year I see only that I worked my ass of for nothing. I was humiliated by this incompetent bastard who claimed that I had no knowledge at all just to silence me and making sure that I would not question his behaviour. I never met such an incompetent looser, manipulative, pathetic liar, bigger ego then Napoleon and no knowledge whatsoever. My small comfort is that I know now that I didn't had to doubt myself and that Dania ripped out a part of his hair for the net worth of about 2000 €. I found out that he had an expensive hair transplant some years ago.

My other comfort is that he probably he washed out. He has no friends, no wife and probably his family doesn't like him that much either. Though I guess he will play the victim role and tell the world how bad I was or how bad doing business is with this crisis.

Well for an entrepreneur he is total looser only focused on money and not on product. Spending way to much money then is getting in and taking uncalculated risks. He even never asked himself how the price of a product should be calculated, he just best guessed what a client wanted to pay and then sold it. That it was way underpriced was a non-topic to discuss.

So how does this face of shame look like? Well here it is lade and gentlemen, the looser of the last decade:

Steven Verbeeck

Don't let yourself be fooled by this smile, this is the way serpents smile.

27 december, the raid....

Exhausted she leaves the bus. After a 3 day trip and 48 hours of bus back and forth she is happy to be home soon. Her sister and friend following her in her footsteps. She thinks back of the exhausting dancing in the club, but she made money. Not that much, but still she worked for it. The days of christmas spent in a bar full with men, smelling like liquor and watching her with hungry eyes. But she made it, she is almost safe, home again.

She notices a cab, walks up to it and starts negotiating the price for her and her party. There are already 3 people in the cab, but that is not so unusual. It will only be more easy to negotiate a fair price. The driver opens the trunk for the luggage and they get in. The cab moves through the streets of Managua, finding it's way through the busy traffic. She feels safe. At night it is always a different story. The car drives on, meanwhile her thoughts wander off not really looking at the other people in the car. The window is open, it's hot. The wind caresses her chocolate colored skin, she blinks preventing her eyes from tearing because of the wind. She thinks of her husband, what would he be doing right now? In about an hour he will call. She longs for his voice, his comforting words. She feels how much she misses him. Maybe this will be the last Christmas she has to be alone....

Suddenly she notices that the car is not following the logical route to her town. She turns her head and is asking what the driver is doing. The woman in the front seat, tells her to shut up and pulls a knife out of nowhere. The young guy in the back sitting next to her friend pulls a gun and points it in her direction. She is startled by this unpleasant surprise. They are all silent. The young guy with the gun smiles and uncovers the gold filling in his front teeth. We are taken you out for a ride he says. Her sister starts protesting and he swings the gun into her direction. The woman in the front pushes the knife on her throat.

Finally they arrive at remote dust road in a forest. O.k. says the driver, hand over all your stuff. She resists but is aware of the threat there is not much she can do. Shivering she takes her purse and hands it over. The young guy pulls it out of her hand and opens it. He searches through her stuff. She sees the make-up set that she got as a gift from her husband. The young guy grabs the money and gives it to the cab driver. He sees her cell phone. Instantly he opens the phone and looks at all the content. He finds a picture of a white male. Who is this guy he asks. She refuses to answer. He repeats his question more forcefully while swinging his gun. Who is this? Is this your husband? Your boyfriend? Suddenly her friend breaks silence. She stumbles.... "it's her husband". The guy laughs with triumph. Probably he finds it despicable that she is married to a gringo. The young girl that didn't say a word and is probably his girlfriend notices the silver heart necklace around her neck and the earrings. Both a gift from her husband. She demands the pieces but she refuses. The woman with the knife puts her fingers around the necklace and pulls it with force from her neck. And now the earrings she yells. Or should I pull them too? Trembling she removes the earrings. She got them because of her allergy for metal and they are made from surgical steel. She hands them over.

Out of the car she yells. They all get out of the car. Lined up in the forest. She doesn't know what is going to happen. The cab driver stands outside with the woman and the young gangster hands his gun to the older cab driver. He walks up to her and hisses in her ear, so you only like white dicks? She trembles. She feels tears in her eyes but she holds them back. His hands grab her pants and slide down. He touches her private parts while the other hands unbuttons her blouse and grabbing her breasts. Maybe I should show you how a real man looks? Suddenly the girl starts protesting. She says it's enough. In the meantime a woman is walking in the distance with a child. Following the road in the forest. The older guy notices the woman and warns the others. They look at each other. He takes back the gun and is pointing it at her. She closes her eyes. Would this be the end? She is afraid and waiting for the sound of the gun. Instead she hears the guy saying, if you try to talk to the police I will find you.

The jump in to the car and with spinning tires they head away. She falls on her knees and starts crying, her sister and friend too. All in shock holding each other. She thinks of her husband. How much she would like to be hugged and hold. She would really need him now. In this very moment. But he is not there he is far away overseas.

The woman with the child comes closer and looks surprised at the scene, not understanding what is going on. She doesn't know that her appearance was a possible cause for preventing more bad things to happen.

3 hours later she calls the number she can almost dream. She feels like bursting in tears but is holding back. How should she tell him, what happened, the horror, the fear? The phone is picked up. It's me, her husband. I listen to her voice. Instantly I sense that something is wrong. I am stunned. I tell her that I call her back right away.....

A Dutchman in Belgium

I am in this coaching and workshop thing. It's a project to start my own business in a safe and cosy environment without the risks involved. It's a way to see if my concept is working or not without falling on my face. I am eager and enthusiastic about what I do. I feel always very vibrant and lively and see many oppertunities. I am curious and want to learn, also from the experiences of others. But I feel that many times somekind of resistance is coming from people. Based on the language I use and the way I speak and communicate. I hear to many times this is typical Dutch, are you sure to do business in Belgium? You are such a typical sales person. Dutch are this and Belgiums are that. The tendency of labeling is sometimes in my opinion stronger then before. I have to admit, I feel really tired of it. It makes me feel I am to smart and the rest is to retarded what of course is total bullshit. I have my weaknesses as well and I am far from best or better human being. Is my enthusiasm also my trap?

Sometimes I feel living in Belgium is almost like living in the dark ages. Painfully people tend to point at the differences and the impossibilities coming from that. I start to walk on eggs and I feel that I better shut up and hold back. From this point of view it looks like nothing is going forward anymore, even worse things go backward. There is no open mind towards refreshing different views. Even though Flemish is close to Dutch there is to much differences in nuance. Maybe I should really focus on the Dutch market and forget about Belgium. To them I am the smooth talker, the salesman. They have difficulties to look beyond that point. I am much more then that. It gives a feeling of complete solitude, something that I sometimes like but not always. I think of burning bridges and ships. But what options do I have? I don't want to go back to Holland, a country that in my opinion drastically changed into a extreme society with extreme views, fear and anxiety rule. Extreme populist politicians rule without taking full responsibility. Jeez what became of this idiot world. I feel really tired.....

Micmacs à tire-larigot

Last year in autumn I went to the cinema in Antwerp. While people were piling up in front of another entrance, some stupid sequel about hot cars and hot girls, I found myself in a total empty room. I never experienced this, especially in the Metropolis of Antwerp.

The movie another little treasure of Jean-Pierre Jeunet is about an average person working in a video rental. His youth started cruel with the loss of his father who died as a mine sweeper in a bomb squad. Some stuff from his dad was sent back home, including a piece of shrapnel. The image of this piece with the name of the factory was burned in his mind. Many years later he sits in the video store and one day there is some noise outside of the store. He walks to the door to look what is going on. Standing in the door a strange situation is unfolding in front of him. Two rival gangs are having a shoot out, complete with car and motorcycle chasing. One bullet misses the target and hits Bazil (the video store guy) in the head.

This is where the story starts. After operation, actually a non-operation, he ends up loosing his job, loosing his home and on top of that finding his personal stuff scattered in the neighborhood. Back at the store arguing with his former boss the girls that tooks his place hand him over the hull from the bullet that hit him. He keeps it as a souvenir. Bazil is not the depressive kind, though he doesn't speak much during the movie. He get's on the way and first starts making some money. He has an absolute talent in synchronized speech of movies. In the metro system of Paris he makes money by singing synchronized to a girl that stand behind a column.

One day he meets an old jailbird, who has little threatening talks but in heart is a true and lovely person, he takes Bazil to his home, a pile of garbage. But looks can deceive the pile of garbage is nothing more then a camouflage for their home. His new job is gathering metal scrap and things people throw away. Quickly adapting to his new situation he finds him one day on the way on a big boulevard. And suddenly he is like struck by lightning. Across the street he recognizes the sign with the name of the factory who created the mine that killed his death. But surprised exactly on the other side of the road is the factory who created the bullet that almost killed him. He chooses the direct approach and enters the factory that killed his dad. He doesn't get far. Thrown out at the street, a plan unfolds in his mind, it is time for revenge.

Micmacs is a typical Jeunet movie. It is not hard to recognize his hand. When you watched Delicatessen and Amelie, you instantly know it's him. That was also what the critics wrote. I personally think that it's a brilliant movie. I love his art of film making. I think people these days are to much spoiled with the mega billion dollar movies from Hollywood. Micmacs is a small story about small people. Victims of the big money and big companies. And they take their revenge with their means. It is dark comedy at it's finest, not so dark as Delicatessen but dark enough for me. I would say it is also much more art, because the effort Jeunet takes in the details. Every shot in the movie is like a small piece of art, rich in detail, color and light.

A must see movie for fans of this genre!

Ich habe Sie geliebt.

Goodbye?

It hurts. She told me today she doesn't love me anymore. She said: "you are my soulmate, you are like family, I care for you". But she doesn't love me anymore, not the way it should normally be between a couple. We cried, we talked, we tried to grasp the feeling. She asked me to lay down in bed with my macbook. The ritual of laying in bed and chatting. I am so afraid of loosing the chat. That it could be the last image ever of her. I feel complicated by this ordeal. Why is it that women think I am the greatest guy, passionate, lovely, caring, a good cook, adventurous, creative, smart, humorous, romantic etc. But they seem always to look for something else. The superficials, the mean types, the muscles, the macho's. All the guys that seem to like to think of a woman as a chick, and only see them as a body and not a person. I wish I could be just like those assholes. But I can't. I know after this breakup I won't be in favor of a relation anymore. I can't do it anymore. Investing myself again, being accepted again, going thru the whole thing of building, investing and compromising.

I feel sleepy, but I am afraid to fall asleep. She has her eyes closed, lays on her bed with her angel like face. I look at her. Tears in my eyes. They already hurt so much from the pain and the cries the last hours. Before she laid down, she put on some music. Music that I played in the past for her. I feel you, les Djins, Coldpay, more songs. She dances in her red panty in front of the cam. Her typical dance, that is so her. It makes me always laugh and happy. Not this time. Now I can only think what I loose, how to proceed without her. Some say that no woman is worth the pain, but I can't help it. It's how I feel, I love her, every fiber of her. The little mole on her left ear. The 4 dimples when she laughs out loud. The strange birthmark on her back above her buttocks. The shape of her long fingers that so gracefully play the guitar. Her hairless armpits that I am always so obsessed with. The bridge of her nose, that I like to call my spot. Her beautiful full lips that can make so much noise when she is eating satisfied one of my dishes. Her legs, ah those legs. And my fascination for her pubic hair. So many things about her body that I know in detail.

She turns on the bed and some mumbling noise escapes from her mouth. It looks like she looks at me, but I don't see her really reacting to my staring. I lay down a bit more. My burning eyes frozen on the screen. I dose of a bit. Sometimes I scare awake, still checking for the image. If the chat is still open. Then suddenly it happens, the chat screen freezes. The last image of her on my desktop. Will I ever see her again......