by Tim Collins
I was so stressed about missing the doorbell that I woke up at six and waited in the hall. I sat staring at the door like a Russian hitman, knowing that I’d have just seconds to react when the time came.
I feel asleep at noon, only to be woken up a few minutes later by the sound of the doorbell and a card being shoved through the letterbox. I jumped to my feet, threw open the door and chased the delivery van down the street. I caught it at the lights and stood in front of it, demanding that they either come back and deliver my decking or run me over and put me out of my misery.
They reversed down the street, plonked the cardboard boxes in front of my door and handed over a touchscreen so battered and insensitive that I gave up on my signature and drew a picture of a house instead. It doesn’t matter, because they’ll never need proof that I signed for the boxes. Even if they contain nests of wasps I wouldn’t go through the hassle of getting them to come back and collect them.
Now it’s two in the afternoon, I’ve finally got my decking and it’s not raining, so this would be a perfect time to start installing it. I’m far too tired to do anything of the sort, of course. But I’ve beaten the home delivery system, and that’s the main thing.
I know I could cut out all this delivery hassle if I got a car again. Sarah took the car when she left. I meant to buy another one but I found that getting by without one improved my quality of life considerably.
Having to spend a day on stakeout to catch the delivery man is annoying, but compared to having a car, it’s nothing. When you’ve got a car…
Actually, I don’t want to get started on cars. It’s getting late now and if I open that old wound again, I’ll be scribbling about cyclists until this diary is full and the morning light is peeping through the curtains.
SUNDAY 17TH FEBRUARY
I popped out to the cashpoint this afternoon, and I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw there were no dotty geriatrics queuing for it. The machine wasn’t out of order and the screen wasn’t even smeared with kebab grease. It was my lucky day.
Then something really strange happened. I forgot my PIN. I’ve had the same PIN for almost a decade. I must have used it thousands of times. Yet today I tried to remember it and I couldn’t. It wasn’t like I knew it would come back if I waited or hit myself hard enough. It had gone. I’d dragged it into trash, emptied the trash and dropped the laptop into the bath.
It was because of that sodding bin website, wasn’t it? I knew I’d dislodge something important.
So now I could tell you that the thing on the wall next to the cashpoint was a two-litre galvanized steel cigarette bin. But I had no idea what the four digits that would allow me to function as a normal member of society were. I just wish my brain had deleted something I didn’t want to remember, like the last five years of my marriage.
I ejected my card and saw that a queue of angry people had formed behind me as I’d faffed around. It turns out there was a dotty geriatric at the cashpoint today after all. It was me.
MONDAY 18TH FEBRUARY
The TC Waste Solutions office was in an industrial estate full of mini roundabouts and signs about fly tipping. The meeting room looked out on a yard of large metal bins. Cigarette smoke drifted across from the workers huddled in the porch, adding to the grim, post-apocalyptic feel. The biscuits were pretty good though. I reckoned I could get through the meeting if I focused on them.
The head of the company came in and started telling us about his bins. I tried my best to take notes, but there was something about him that was distracting me. Why did I feel like I should be flicking him on the ear and throwing his briefcase out of the window?
I stared up at the bald, overweight man sitting opposite me in disbelief. TC Waste Solutions? The initials were right. But that couldn’t be it. I couldn’t really be sitting opposite Trevor Chalkley, could I?
I looked down at my notes and covered my face with my hand. I’m pretty sure I got away with it. He probably doesn’t remember the people he went to school with anyway. Who does?
TUESDAY 19TH FEBRUARY
I sent Jo a Facebook friend request today and she accepted it. Seems like a good sign. I’m pretty sure that’s how it all starts these days.
It’s such a strange way of doing things, though. In my day, if you’d asked a girl for a list of events she was attending in the near future and a copy of all her photo albums, she’d have hit you with a restraining order. These days it’s the norm.
Before I sent the request I thought I’d better check through the stuff I’ve ‘liked’, in case any of it was too middle-aged. I clicked ‘unlike’ on gardening, hiking and Bruce Springsteen.
Sorry, Boss. I’ll make it up to you by listening to Darkness on the Edge of Town tonight.
WEDNESDAY 20TH FEBRUARY
I was looking through Jo’s Facebook photos at lunchtime when I noticed that she’d uploaded one of herself in a bikini. She was pulling a funny face and pointing to her sunburn, so it was obviously intended to be ironic. But it was nonetheless a picture of her without many clothes on.
I wasn’t sure if it would be acceptable for me to look at it, but I couldn’t resist. Then I thought someone might peer round at my screen, so I tried to make it go small again, and I accidentally clicked ‘like’.
I gibbered at my screen in panic. Jo had uploaded over a thousand pictures and I’d ‘liked’ the only one of her wearing a bikini. My heart sped up as I realized what a lonely, creepy stalker this made me look like. Then it went even faster as I realized how much of a lonely, creepy stalker I actually was.
As soon as I calmed down, I spotted an ‘unlike’ option, so I clicked it and all the evidence of my crime seemed to disappear. Jo returned from the sandwich shop a few minutes later, and looked at the screen as she munched her feta and olive wrap. She didn’t spew it all over her laptop, so I’m guessing I got away with it. But I think I’ll stay off Facebook for the time being.
THURSDAY 21ST FEBRUARY
Josh was hovering around my desk this morning when I skulked in. He said that he had brilliant news for me. Apparently, Trevor Chalkley thought the chemistry meeting had gone well, and he’d decided to give us the account.
‘Impressed much?’ shouted Jen from the other side of the room. Then she started applauding, and everyone else joined in. I’m sure she was just doing this to crawl to Josh, but it still felt quite good. It had been so long since I’ve had anything resembling success at work I’d forgotten what it was like.
I thought Josh was about to shake hands with me but he held his palm in the air instead. I stared at his hand in horror as I realized he wanted me to high-five him. I gritted my teeth and did it. Jen whooped. As soon as everyone got back to their work, I went to the toilets to wash my hands. But no matter how hard I scrubbed, I couldn’t erase the shame of the high-five.
I went to the supermarket on the way home to stock up on ready-meals. When I told the woman behind the counter that I needed plastic bags, she gave me such a scowl that I opted to buy yet another organic Fairtrade ‘bag for life’. I must have about twenty of those things now. I want to get rid of some, but ‘bag for life’ sounds too much like a threat. I expect some sort of carbon-neutral hit squad will come round and finish me off if I attempt to bin one of them.
No time to think about all that now. I’m off to bed early tonight. I need to be at TC Waste Solutions at nine tomorrow for my briefing. I feel like I ought to do a decent job after all that applause.
FRIDAY 22ND FEBRUARY
When I got to TC Waste Solutions this morning, the receptionist showed me into Trevor’s office. I was hoping there might be a few people in the meeting, but it was just the two of us. I shook his hand as quickly as I could and looked down at my notebook, hoping he wouldn’t recognize me.
Trevor launched straight into one of his monologues about bins, and I thought I was safe. Unfortunately, he stopped after just a couple of minutes.
‘You think I’ve forgotten, don’t you?’ he asked.
‘Forgotten what?’ I asked.
‘You’re Dave Cross from Oakland Comprehensive School. You invented that whole “Chalky Balls” thing.’
I hadn’t realized I was the one who’d come up with it. I felt an odd surge of pride.
I looked up at Trevor and tried to sound surprised. ‘Jesus, is that you, Trevor? It’s been so long. How are you doing, mate?’
‘We weren’t mates,’ said Trevor. ‘You made that clear at every single opportunity. Don’t think that I’ve forgotten that barrier of books you used to build if I ever sat next to you. So you wouldn’t catch Trevor germs.’
Trevor pointed to a framed picture of him standing next to a bin. ‘I bet you wish you had caught Trevor germs now. Then maybe you’d have your own business rather than working for someone who wasn’t even born when we were at school.’
He dragged a photo of a plump woman wearing too much eyeliner out of his wallet. ‘Look at my lovely wife.’ He followed it with a picture of two glum girls. ‘Look at my children. This one has been predicted straight As in her GCSEs and this one has Grade 8 in the cello. Has your daughter got Grade 8?’
‘I don’t have a daughter,’ I said. ‘Can we get on with the meeting now, please?’
‘Don’t tell me what to do,’ he said. ‘From now on, you obey me. And if you question anything at all I’m going to fire your shitty little agency and blame it all on you. Do you understand?’
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Whatever.’
Trevor pulled a packet of chalk out of his bag. He took out one of the pieces and crushed it with his stapler.
He pointed at the pile of chalk dust. ‘Rub that on the front of your trousers.’
‘Oh, come on,’ I said.
‘I’m serious,’ said Trevor. ‘I’m calling your boss if you don’t do that in ten seconds. Ten … nine … eight …’
I scooped up a handful of chalk and rubbed it across the front of my jeans.
‘Happy?’ I asked.
‘It’s a start,’ he said. ‘It’s a start, Chalky Balls.’
SATURDAY 23RD FEBRUARY
I think it was a mistake to go down the high street this afternoon. I find it stressful enough at the best of times, so attempting to get down it after yesterday’s meeting was asking for trouble.
Pavements are just as important as roads. Why don’t pedestrians have to pass tests and get licences? And why can’t we punish people who use pavements incorrectly? I encountered a few I’d have banned for life today.
First I was stuck behind a woman who was texting as she walked. Does this multitasking really save any time? Can’t she just wait at the side of the pavement, text her friend and then continue at a normal walking pace? Or is she unable to stop texting at any time?
Next I got trapped behind a young couple walking hand in hand. And there was a pedestrian barrier at the side of the pavement so I couldn’t even overtake them. I’m guessing that the barrier was there to prevent accidents. Well, it nearly caused one today. It would have caused a couple of fatalities if I’d had an assault rifle.
Finally, my path was blocked by a woman with a pram who’d stopped to talk to her friend, and had for some reason chosen to park it across the entire width of the pavement. Now, I’m all in favour of people having children and sustaining the human race. Actually, no I’m not. I don’t have to be in favour of it if I don’t want to be. Let’s all stop procreating and let the grey squirrels take over the planet. You can tell they’ve got their eyes on it.
So all in all, it wasn’t a good day for a woman in a fluorescent tabard to leap into my path and ask if I wanted to help some donkeys. I told her that I didn’t give a fuck about donkeys. They don’t have to use banks, wait for trains or worry that their phones are out of date. And, more to the point, if she gave a fuck about donkeys, she’d be down the stables tending to them rather than getting an hourly wage to bully direct debit details out of vulnerable pedestrians.
There was a boy at our school called Alex who used to block your path in the corridor and charge you 10p to get past (50p if you were Trevor). We all thought he was acting weirdly because he came from a broken home. Little did we know he was simply ahead of his time.
SUNDAY 24TH FEBRUARY
I’m definitely going to lay the decking in the garden today. Decking will make everything better. Decking will fill the void.
Update: I didn’t get round to laying the decking. I spent this morning writing a letter to the council about how they should divide the pavements into fast and slow lanes, so people who want to mill around and chat can keep to the left and people who actually want to go somewhere can stick to the right.
In the afternoon I called Brad on his mobile and pretended to be a property developer. I told him I was interested in buying the most expensive house he had, but I was only in town for a day, so I needed to see it this afternoon. You could tell he was weighing up the inconvenience of working on a Sunday against the possibility of a big fat bonus. His greed got the better of him and he arranged to meet me outside the property at five.
I wanted to go and watch him slapping his dashboard in frustration as he realized no one was coming. But then I worried that he might bring Sarah along, she’d point me out, and he’d come over and beat me to death with his BlackBerry. So I stayed at home and imagined him getting angry instead.
I’m not sure why I feel the need to annoy Brad like this. He took Sarah off my hands. I should be thanking him. But there’s something about those dead eyes I saw on Facebook that makes me want to keep picking on him. Even Sarah isn’t punishment enough.
MONDAY 25TH FEBRUARY
I was woken up by a car alarm at six this morning. It clearly didn’t wake up the owner of the car because they didn’t come out and switch it off. How are those things supposed to prevent theft? The only thing the alarm announced was that no one who gave a shit about the car was within earshot, so you might as well go ahead and nick it. I was considering breaking in myself, just so I could drive it into a canal.
I seem to live my life against a constant backdrop of alarms now. My new microwave beeps every minute until I take the food out. Heaven forbid that I should leave my carbonara inside until it’s cool enough to eat. The only effect these arrogant little gadgets have is to make us block out all alarms, so we ignore the important ones like the smoke alarm in the orphanage. Thanks, microwave. Hope you’re happy with yourself.
Amazingly, things got even worse when I dragged myself out of bed and attempted to eat some corn flakes, as I’d run out of granulated sugar and had to use caster sugar instead. Why do I buy caster sugar? Do I ever find myself overwhelmed by the urge to bake fairy cakes? No, I just use it as a disgusting substitute when I run out of proper sugar. You might think that a simple solution would be to buy two packets of granulated sugar next time, instead of one of each kind. But I know I won’t. I can guarantee I’ll have exactly the same problem again in three months’ time.
With two major annoyances before 7 a.m., I decided to write the day off and go into work early. I was so tired I couldn’t even enjoy Scrabble, so I made a start on the brochure instead. But here’s the weird thing. I kept going until I finished it. I didn’t even stop for lunch. I don’t know what came over me. Maybe I’ve caught workaholism from Jen.
TUESDAY 26TH FEBRUARY
Jen was behind me in the sandwich queue this lunchtime, so I felt like I should make conversation. I tried complaining about queuing, but she said she didn’t mind it. I tried complaining about the sandwiches, but she said she liked them. How are you supposed to make small talk with someone who won’t moan? I even resorted to complaining about the local area, assuming that no one could find anything positive to say about that. But Jen said she liked it because it had a ‘village-y vibe’.
No it doesn’t. It’s right in the middle of a city. It couldn’t be less like a village. And why would we want it to be? What’s so great about places where everyone has six fingers and no passport? Why spend all your money moving t
o a city and then obsessively seek out the bits that aren’t like one?
Jen waited until she got to the front before reading out the options on the blackboard. Then she chose something, changed her mind, changed her mind again and asked if the hummus was organic. A man in the queue behind us tutted, and a woman looked at me and shook her head. I don’t see what it had to do with me. I chose my order before I even got in the queue. I had the exact change ready and everything.
WEDNESDAY 27TH FEBRUARY
Josh popped over this morning to check how I was getting on with the brochure. According to my diary, he wasn’t supposed to see it until Friday. How did he know I’d had a fit of madness and finished it? Maybe I was typing too loudly.
I printed out the document and showed it to him. He skimmed through and said, ‘This is really punchy.’ It made me feel really punchy when he said that. And really slappy. And really stabby.
‘We should fire this off now,’ he said. ‘Get ahead of ourselves.’
Fan-fucking-tastic. So now I’ve got to find something else to pretend to do for the rest of the week in case he comes over for any more impromptu meetings.
THURSDAY 28TH FEBRUARY
My hair’s getting out of control again. If I look at it from the front it’s just about neat enough. But if I turn my head even slightly to the side I transform into a maths lecturer who’s been dragged through a hedge backwards.
