Redundant :: No Such Luck

I got to the site, somewhere near Birmingham, reasonably early, but the gateman said my colleague Phil was already looking at the job with the engineer; I went and found them, Phil had some drawings, and said he was almost done, he pointed to a couple of areas and said we could talk about them later.

I wondered whether to go straight home from the site visit, or to go back to the office, unusually I chose the second option. Back in the office, which was laid out like my school chemistry classroom, I was looking for my boss Kevin, but he wasn't about.

I really don't understand this job, it seems to be all large, above ground ductwork, and civil engineering, not a jot of interest for a fine-tuned electrical engineer like myself.

I was told that there was a meeting in the yard, and that I ought to go. I really didn't want to go, not my type of thing, but reluctantly I went along.

It was like a prison exercise yard; all along the back wall, beneath the fence, stood men with signs; like road signposts, but made out of blackboard material; they had messages scrawled on them, in chalk.

Steve said I should go and see one of the organisers, and get myself a board, because it was about redundancy. I went and joined a short queue, my name was number 3 on the list; they gave me a noticeboard and wrote a date on it, which was the 3rd of August, yes that's right, today's date.

I went back and stood by my music friend Steve, he said wasn't I the lucky one, to be made redundant so soon.

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Classrooms And Bus Stops

I was late, or rather I had turned up for a bus that wasn't due. It was a busy square, in a small Cotswold town, I was supposed to be going to college in Gloucester. I had caught the earlier bus yesterday, and just assumed they would be every hour, they aren't, not another until teatime.

I was supposed to hand in my presentation: An Answer to Six Questions. I had twice revised my PowerPoint slides and was feeling pretty good about my answers. I had got some classy artistic images to accompany the neat text.

Then a colleague told me that we were supposed to be answering the questions as seven year old children, not seasoned executives. I panicked, all that work wasted by setting off in the wrong direction, by not clearly reading and understanding the instructions, by not being attentive, nor listening clearly to the teachers guidance.

I did see my answers at the time, my well framed answers, yet now I can neither recollect the answers, or the questions.

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Coach Trip

Where it comes from might be all we need to know
By 'it' I mean the flash, the instant, the split first-second of a thought or a memory, the mental processes equivalent of a reflex reaction, the Duende

I had in mind to try and recall the first time that I slept away from my home, that I thought would be a good way for the trail to begin

That idea came from reading Judith Viorst's book Necessary Losses; this would be my own venture to find out, what I would have to give up, if I wanted to grow

Anyway the memory processes took me to Torquay, to Babbacombe to be precise; my first holiday away with friends, the first time I had seen blue sea, the first time I had seen a pop group live (The Kinks), the first time I had travelled through the night; also it may well have been my first bedroom away from home, but unfortunately I can't recall that detail

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Sitting

I was sat on the floor
We didn't have too many chairs
I was listening toVan Morrison's
Instrumental song Scandinavia

The children were laughing
At my attempts to write lyrics
I wasn't too good with words
Even less useful with beat and rhythm

I am sat at my desk
The office is full of workstations
I am listening to the air conditioning
And the abject absence of camaraderie

The bosses are all crying
At our failed attempts to make profits
I was never too good with the money
Even less capable with the deceit

I will walk out on the salt marshes
I know there to be a bench on the path
I will listen to the breeze and the birdsong
As they capture the precise present moments

The tourists choose to be joyful and mindful
Interested with my attempts at description
I was never too good with the knowledge
Yet I am ever more trustful, of the feelings

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Projections

It wasn't a daydream, it wasn't a night dream, it happened in that halfway space; time between the waking and the sleeping, before rising to face the day ahead.

I had met a young, vibrant, energetic, joyful and attractive reporter, at an international industrial 'expo' exhibition in Milan.

We had snacked together, we had laughed together, we had talked of nothing at all, and now she wanted to interview me, for an article in her lifestyle magazine.

I wanted her to say that Christopher was a new age engineer, that he goes to Manjushri Buddhist Temple to meditate, that he writes poetry and wears Victor & Rolf Spice Bomb Extreme eau de cologne, that he wears John Frieda serum to keep his permed auburn hair soft to touch, that he drives a Lexus Convertible when not out on the plains riding his Harley Davidson.

We arranged to meet at lunchtime. I was walking through the crowds when I felt the need for a nature break; the temporary facilities had full length glass windows, and were located by a path where all the womenfolk walked by; I wasn't phased, yet neither a show-off, I discretely released my fluids.

Back in the throng the young reporter had put on her swish silk coat, she was going around in circles looking out for me, when she at last saw me she ran across and hugged me; "Where can we go" she said. I suggested the large lecture hall auditorium, she said no that was too public, could we go somewhere quieter, to one of the small intimate rooms, up by the organisers offices.

We bought a coke and a sandwich, then strode off together most happy.

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