You cannot escape.
Everyday a part of you turns to shit.
Don Sabbath and Mandel Hall “End Product, The First Taboo” quoted in “How to Shit In The Woods” by Kathleen Meyer. Ten Speed Press Berkeley California 94707
CHAPTER 73
IF YOU WERE MORE CONSCIENTIOUS
YOU COULD CRY
“I'll just look at the e-mails,” said Maggie Gilchrist. “Ah, good. They're paying you the Australian royalties. That'll pay for Jennie's digs. That is good.”
John Gilchrist munched on a piece of toast, then just stopped.
“John? What's the matter?”
“Um....Well.....”
“Are you ill?”
“No, no. Nothing wrong. I just don't want to go to bloody work. And I've got this pins and needles in my arm again.”
“Oh love. Maybe you should see a doctor about that. Could be circulation.”
“Yeah, if it gets worse.” He finished his toast.
Driving the MG to work was the same as ever. Same trees, same grass. He didn't bother putting the roof down. Only have to put it up again. The Carbonec car park was a lot more empty than years ago. People leaving, and not being replaced because of the staff cuts. Or leaving because they didn't want to move to Abbey Wood.
Daft. Departments moving round the country, shedding people and expertise with each move.
John parked. The pins and needles were worse. Maybe something to do with holding the MG's wheel. It was a struggle to get out. He sighed. He was to old for an MG.
His legs were a bit funny as well. Not pins and needles, but sort of numb. Difficult to describe. Like walking through water. Like walking up hill. He sighed.
He actually stopped at the foot of the steps and wondered if he really was ill. But he was just old. Old and tired. He sighed.
As he clocked on at the flexi machine he could hear a siren. It got louder as he crossed the foyer to his section. He opened the door. This is where the noise was. Damn.
He walked in past empty desks and nodded to a few others.
“It's from the server room. They have been told,” said Ian Murdoch. “Don't know when they're going to fix it. I thought if it keeps up we could go home.”
John sighed and took his coat off. Howling Mad Murdoch was his boss. John thought of that because he used to watch The A Team years ago when he was young and, oh it didn't matter. It wasn't funny. “Right.” God but that siren was really, just one more thing to put up with. Not John’s problem.
“You can put, try to, try putting your computer on, but mine isn't working.” Howling Mad hadn't shaved or combed his hair for a few days. He was like that, except sometimes he'd wear a suit, or dress really old fashioned like he was a retired officer.
“They haven't emptied my bin,” said John as his computer warmed up. “There's a note here. What? This is crazy. It's the new cleaners. They say we have to put paper in the secure sack for recycling and cardboard has to go with the boxes by the photo copier.”
“Don't know why we need, we bother with cleaners. They never wipe my desk.” Murdoch sniffed “Don't know why we pay them. They don't take any, remove any jars from the kitchen, in case they smash, brake em and get cut. They don't take full bin bags full up in case they hurt, do their backs in. It's stupid.”
“Right.” John tried to ignore the siren and went through the computer log ons and security passwords.
“Is your computer working?” asked a man with a plastic toolbox.
“Um, hang on” John went through the final part of the log on “Yes it is.”
“That's strange. The switch servers are overheating. That's what the siren means. So none of these should work”
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