by Tim Collins
I was trying to explain this to her when her phone went off. Her ringtone is ‘Mamma Mia’. Apparently, this is her favourite film of all time, and she especially likes the part where Pierce Brosnan sings.
FRIDAY 25TH JANUARY
I had a day off today. We had to use up all our holiday allowance by the end of January, so I thought I might as well book it. Given how much I hate work, you’d think I’d welcome days off, but I actually find them rather stressful.
I feel like I have to do something worthy of a day off, or I’ll have wasted it. I couldn’t work out if I wanted to make a start on The Sopranos, and while I was trying to decide I found myself watching an entire programme about car boot sales.
I tried getting round to ordering some decking for the garden, but it felt too much like work, which is definitely not right for a day off.
I then thought I should go to a museum of some sort, but this still hadn’t happened by 3 p.m., so I turned on my laptop and played Scrabble. In other words, my day off was exactly the same as a day at work would have been except I had to pay for my own heat and electricity.
I really hope Josh doesn’t get rid of me. I couldn’t handle this much choice every day.
SATURDAY 26TH JANUARY
This morning I got sent a brochure from Saga, a company that specializes in holidays for the elderly. At first I assumed I’d been sent it by mistake, but then I worried that I might actually be old enough to be in their target market now.
I threw it in the bin and turned on MTV Base to prove that I wasn’t really old. But all the jiggling arses gave me a migraine so I turned over to a Led Zeppelin special on VH1.
All day the brochure preyed on my mind. What if they were right? What if that really is my sort of thing now?
Eventually, I dragged it out of the bin and sighed with relief as I saw it all still looked utterly horrendous. I don’t want a relaxing, all-inclusive cruise with 24-hour room service and on-board entertainment. I don’t want to experience distinctive cultures, traditional customs and breathtaking vistas. I don’t want to be herded around tourist traps with sunburnt geriatrics spending wads of cash on tat for grandchildren who’d rather just have the money.
In other words, there’s hope for me yet.
SUNDAY 27TH JANUARY
It doesn’t take much to set off my grumpiness these days. This morning I felt like I was going to sneeze, but then the feeling went away again. I spent the rest of the morning brooding about the sneeze that got away. I don’t know why, I just had a feeling it was going to be a good one. Eventually, I convinced myself that other sneezes would come along and I should put it behind me.
I went to the supermarket this afternoon, and I tried to act on my resolution to be more positive by chatting to the woman at the checkout. I said that the weather was surprisingly nice for the time of year, although a colder snap was forecast. Unfortunately, I don’t think she understood English very well, because she rang a bell to call out her supervisor. A scowling woman with a huge cup of coffee in her hand emerged from the back room. I didn’t want to admit that I’d dragged her away from her break just to talk about the weather, so I asked if they had any charcoal briquettes. I don’t know why. They were the first things that came into my head.
She dragged a 4kg bag over to the till and said it was the only size they had. I then had to lug them all the way home, even though I’ve got no intention of ever using them, as I hate barbecues. So this is what I get for trying to be friendly, is it?
MONDAY 28TH JANUARY
I got the early train again this morning, as I didn’t want either of the newcomers to nick my chair. In the unlikely event that I survive the redundancies, I don’t want my screen facing into the office so everyone can see I’m playing Scrabble.
I noticed that Erika had placed a chair at the edge of my desk, so I made a barrier of Post-it notes to mark out my place. I haven’t had to do anything that petty since I made a textbook barrier to keep out Trevor Chalkley’s germs when he sat next to me in school, but I thought I’d make the effort in case I survive the cull.
Jo was the first of the new arrivals to turn up. She looked like she was in her mid-twenties, though from her dress sense you’d guess she was mid-way through primary school. She had a pink hair clip, a yellow T-shirt and a pair of black pumps like the ones we used to wear in PE before trainers became fashionable.
She was also wearing thick black glasses frames with no lenses in, which I found odd. So people who need glasses are getting expensive laser eye surgery, but people who don’t need them are buying frames with no lenses in? Make your minds up, folks.
Jo said hello, took her chair at the edge of Cathy’s desk, opened her thin laptop and put her white earphones in. I think she might be one of those cool people you hear about. Her little-girl image will get creepy if she sticks with it until she’s my age, but right now it seems to work.
Jez turned up at half nine and plonked himself down on the chair at the end of my desk. He had ginger dreadlocks, baggy purple trousers and a waistcoat with an ethnic pattern. I remembered my vow to be less grumpy this year and tried my best not to form an instant hatred of him.
‘Hi, dude,’ he said, holding his hand out.
Then I recognized him. He was the little bastard who stole my chair in Starbucks. At least it meant that I could freely get on with forming my hatred of him.
Jez’s wrists were covered with scraps of grubby fabric, and I asked him what they were. Apparently, he’s been to eleven festivals in the last three years, and he’s kept the wristbands from all of them. He went through them one by one, detailing all the macrobiotic food stalls, sustainable world music stages and costume parades he’d enjoyed. I asked him for the exact times and places of these festivals so I could be absolutely sure to never go within a twenty-mile radius of them.
TUESDAY 29TH JANUARY
Oh well, here goes. I’ve been invited to a meeting with Josh on Friday morning. Imran has his meeting at nine, Cathy has hers at half nine and I’ve got mine at ten.
Josh clearly wants to get rid of me, so why not do it right away? Then I could scrape the contents of my desk into a cardboard box and piss off without having to hear any more about Jez’s gap year. He’s being going on about it for ages now and he’s showing no sign of stopping. Is it possible that an anecdote about a gap year could last longer than the year itself?
What is this obsession young people have with travelling, anyway? When I was young, a holiday meant sitting on a pebbly beach with your parents in the pouring rain with nothing but your seething resentment to keep you warm. Now it means playing the bongos and ‘finding yourself’.
I can’t help noticing that these kids who find themselves always seem to find that they like sitting on warm beaches and living off their parents’ money. Must be such a revelation for them.
On my way home tonight, a woman handed me an invite to an open night at the local gym. I have no intention of ever signing up to one of those places again. Last time it took me so long to cancel my direct debit that the four trips I made must have cost about £200 each. But this was a free offer, so I thought I might as well go.
I rushed back home, stuffed my jogging trousers and T-shirt into a bag and ran out. The offer was only valid until eight, so I had to take a shortcut through the council estate. There were some frightening teenagers on bikes outside the underpass, so I had to forge an alternative route through the estate’s maze of pathways.
I had to leapfrog over three randomly placed pedestrian barriers, sprint past a loose pit bull terrier and dodge several abandoned shopping trolleys to escape the estate, but I managed to get to the gym just before eight. I dashed into the changing rooms, threw my stuff on and hurried down a corridor into a bright room full of exercise machines.
A man wearing a polo shirt and tracksuit bottoms came over to me. ‘Hi, I’m Jay,’ he said. ‘I’m here to talk you through the facilities. Do you know which ones you’d like to try first?’
I had to wait to catch my breath.
‘Yeah,’ I said eventually. ‘Do you have a café?’
WEDNESDAY 30TH JANUARY
It’s the end of January now. Time to reflect on how my resolution to be more positive is going.
Not very well, really. A little better than that year I vowed to give up drinking and then remembered about my ‘beers of the world’ gift pack. But overall, I wouldn’t say I’ve managed to be positive for an entire month.
Does it matter, though? After all, if the Greeks and Romans had sat around grinning all day, would they have bothered inventing civilization? Maybe negative thinking is the driving force behind all culture. By demonizing pessimism, we’re forcing ourselves into irreversible decline.
Would Isaac Newton have discovered gravity without negative thinking? Would Leonardo Da Vinci ever have drawn a woman with a wonky smile and inspired a crap airport novel without negative thinking? And would Dave Cross ever have won a bronze award for business-to-business copywriting without negative thinking?
I forgot about that award. Maybe I should bring it in tomorrow when I’m pleading with Josh. If it doesn’t impress him, I could always club him to death with it.
THURSDAY 31TH JANUARY
You know what? I don’t mind being a grumpy old git. When you look at the modern world, with its coffee franchises, reality shows, banks, social networks, cyclists and funky bosses, the only rational responses are grumpiness, depression and madness. And I’m pretty sure I’ve chosen the best option.
I don’t need pills, padded cells or art therapy workshops to get me through it all. I just settle back for a good old-fashioned rant at the idiocy of the modern world and I’m fine again.
A woman from my electricity provider called up while I was writing that last entry and asked how happy I was with their service on a scale of one to ten. I told her I was chronically dissatisfied with everything, so it would have to be a one. But I told her that as I found dissatisfaction comforting, it would also have to be a ten. She said she’d put me down as a ten and hung up. I’ve never had a cold caller hang up on me before. That’s a new one.
FRIDAY 1ST FEBRUARY
That was weird. I came in on the early train again and watched from my desk as Imran went in for his meeting. He emerged a couple of minutes later carrying a letter, and went straight home. I think he looked sad, though it’s hard to tell with him. I only found out he split up with his girlfriend when his shirts started looking more crumpled.
Cathy emerged from her meeting after just a couple of seconds, carrying a letter and wiping her eyes with her sleeve. So I knew she was a goner, unless she was crying because she’d found out she had to stay and sit next to Jez, which would be understandable.
Then it was time for my walk down the green mile. I knocked on the door and sat opposite my prepubescent executioner. Here I was, after years of hard work, about to be tossed on to the scrapheap. Well, a few months of hard work and years of skiving. But it was good skiving. I put a lot of effort into that skiving.
Josh was going on about how the company was going through a difficult time following the loss of the Donaldson Sweepers account, and how he had to restructure the team blah blah blah.
Why do they always give this preamble when they’re getting rid of you? I’d prefer it if they started with insults. As I’m sure you’re aware, you’re a lazy bastard and we all hate you. We’ve put together a very generous redundancy package and we’d be very grateful if you shoved it up your arse and fucked off.
Josh had finished talking. Something was wrong. He was smiling.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Am I staying?’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘We’ve got some great opportunities coming up and we’ll need someone senior around. And Steve says you’ve got a great attitude.’
A great attitude? Immediately, I could see what was going on. This was Steve’s idea of a practical joke. Tell this little upstart I’m a good worker and let him find out the hard way that I’m as useful as a chocolate teapot.
SATURDAY 2ND FEBRUARY
The shock of yesterday’s non-sacking has worn off, and it’s now sunk in that I’ve got to spend all day sitting next to a ginger Rasta who says ‘dude’ and ‘buddy’ at the end of every sentence.
There was nothing else for it. I had to go to the electrical superstore in the retail park and buy some douchebag-cancelling headphones.
As soon as I stepped into the shop, a man wearing a short-sleeved shirt pounced. I told him I was just browsing, and hurried off into the store. I’ve made the mistake of engaging with those people before. Listen to their hypnotic lies and you’ll emerge blinking into the daylight with a trolley full of gizmos you didn’t want. All of which will be guaranteed until the year 2050 because they’ll have tricked you into buying warranties that were more expensive than the products.
Making my way around the maze of shelves to the headphones section at the back while avoiding the commission-hungry staff was like playing a real-life game of Pac-Man.
Finally, I reached the huge display of headphones. Why did shops have to get so big? There was a time when you’d simply wander down the high street and you’d have three choices of whatever you wanted. There’d be the cheap but rubbish one, the good but pricey one and the average one. You’d pick the average one and be home in time for Final Score. How are we supposed to choose between the million options we get these days?
The cheapest pair was £6.99 and the most expensive was £299.99. I grabbed the £49.99 ones and looked around for one of the men in short-sleeved shirts. Now that I actually wanted one of those little bastards, they were nowhere to be seen. Obviously.
I’m still trying to work out what happened on Friday, and I’ve come up with a theory. It’s a little far-fetched, so you might have to bear with me. What if I’m actually pretty good at my job? I know I don’t do much, but what if the small amount I do is good enough to justify my salary? Maybe I’m not a practical joke after all. Maybe Josh really will benefit from my experience. Maybe I just need to turn up a little earlier and go to a few more meetings and I’ll be fine. Get me with my positive attitude. Told you I wasn’t a grumpy old git.
SUNDAY 3RD FEBRUARY
I did nothing at all today. It was great. I meant to order the garden decking and watch the first disc of my Sopranos box set, but I just sat on my sofa drinking instant coffee and looking out the window.
It was pretty boring, but I like boredom. We’re the only generation who have truly experienced it. Our parents grew up without basic labour-saving devices and they never stopped faffing through their daily list of chores. The generation beneath us are bombarded by constant entertainment options from their phones, laptops, tablets and consoles, and they’ve committed themselves to describing everything they ever do on their profile pages. But we’re the ones who had to go to bed early because TV had stopped for the night. We’re the ones who got turfed out of the pub because it was closing for the afternoon. We’re the ones who spent entire mornings on the circular bus route just to pass the time.
Well, that last one might just have been me. But the point is, it’s our responsibility to keep the great tradition of boredom alive and I spent today doing my bit.
MONDAY 4TH FEBRUARY
Cathy and Imran didn’t come in today, so I’m guessing they accepted their redundancy pay and emptied their desks over the weekend. So that’s it for them. No leaving drinks, no goodbye card. Just a Stalinist removal from history. I wouldn’t be surprised if smiling images of Jo and Jez had already been Photoshopped over their faces in the Christmas party pictures.
Jo and Jez moved their stuff into Cathy and Imran’s desks and at lunchtime Erika handed out the new phone list. Jen, Jez, Jo and Josh were all clustered together, while I was floating up at the top of the page, a remnant of a forgotten age.
In the afternoon Josh sent us a link to a website where we have to log exactly how we’ve spent each working day. I can briefly remember Steve trying to introduce
timesheets ten years ago. As I recall, I led a successful uprising against them with my timesheet paper plane contest. I suspect it will be harder to turn these fresh-faced idiots against the idea. Jen’s already been jabbering on about what a great idea the website is.
In better news, the headphones worked. Jez started telling me about an unspoilt beach in Thailand that he visited and presumably spoilt, and I popped them on. His lips were still moving, but it was the shouty voice of Joey Ramone that was blasting into my ears.
TUESDAY 5TH FEBRUARY
It was quite frosty this morning so I made my way in carefully to avoid breaking my hip and ending up on YouTube. I almost made it all the way to work, but I slipped on a frozen puddle right outside the office window. Luckily, no one saw me, and it gave me a great idea for a game. I stood by the window with Jo and Jez and we had to predict who would slip over. You got five points if they landed on their arses, ten if they fell on to their faces, and minus ten if they made it safely across.
It was a brilliant game, the best I’ve invented since ‘Trevor Chalkley Dodgeball’ back in school. Unfortunately, Jen spoilt our fun pouring a kettle of boiling water over the icy patch. She said that an old lady could have fallen over and hurt herself. I didn’t think of that. That could have been worth twenty points.
