Tuesday 1 November 2011

THE ELEVEN DAYS OF BRIAN NINE; DAY NINE


            I went to work today.  It doesn’t happen often, which is well good.  I traveled in on the overhead Train watching the city below flash by all shadows and bright diffused yellow from the dome.  There is no garage at work for my rad scooter.  I sat at my desk my fingers flitting over the touch screen waiting for lunch so I could watch the Tortelli’s.
            We work in admin, virtually everyone works in admin, nowadays, or the hospital, unless they are a Bobby Pig or in tech.  It’s well easy, just sitting there, fingers flicking over touch screen’s turning down tea and waiting for lunch.  My desk is next to Douglas Five and he is a right crepe hanger all misery and moaning and scratching.  Scratching his armpits and chest and rubbing his back about on the chair looking well like a zoo animal. 
            ‘You want tea, Douggie?’  I was off to get a mild Seigfried Shake; mild ones are allowed at work just a bit of the old Black and White to keep you going.  Keep you scratching.  Always the scratching.
            ‘No Brian.’  I offer because I know he hates it.
            ‘Go on Douggie, nice bit of old tea, eh?’
            ‘Jesus, Brian, I said no, I’m bloody well working I am!’
            ‘Just offering you a bit of tea, Douggie, don’t get all spitfire.’
            A pause, he touches the screen well fast with his flicking fingers.
            ‘So, no tea for you Douggie?  You sure?  It’s no trouble.’
            ‘Christ alive, Brian, do you not listen?  If I want some freaking tea I’ll get up and freaking get myself a bloody cup!  Christ, do not ask me again!’
            He was well wound up tight all flushed about his eyes, his anger showing itself in his vigorous scratching.  I was about to mosey off and fetch me my Seigfreid Shake but I thought, hey, I won’t get to do this anymore!
            I could see the frustration in the back of his neck all bunched up tight and I said,
            ‘So, Douggie, absolutely sure it’s a no no on the old tea, eh?’
            He got up well trembling, disbelief all over his face and smacked me one solid, cracking my claret jug so proper red muck flowed on to my chin-chin.  I sat down suddenly Douglas still standing over me shaking way much from his Larry Dooley.  I felt a bit like laughing despite the threat of being laid out in lavendar.
            Our Superbvisor Mark Eleven came rushing over all quick
            ‘Is it the stress?  Is it?  I knew it was.  We are all being worked so hard.  Stress!’
            I got up and moseyed off to get my Seigfried Shake and took it to the staff room to watch Tortelli’s on the screen a silly smile playing over my proper red lip-lips. 
            Mark Eleven, the Superbvisor, came and sat next to me talking over The Tortelli’s so I was well short with him.
            ‘Brian how’s your nose?’
            ‘Fine.’
            ‘There’s blood on your chin-chin.’
            ‘Yes.’
            ‘Look, I will file a report.  Say we are overworked.  Clearly stress is a factor here, a massive factor.  No need for all hitting and stuffage.’
            ‘I’m watching The Tortelli’s, Mark.’  Tortelli Jr. had disappeared, run off and rows were brewing in the well small house.
            ‘I know, I know; just try not to ask Douglas if he wants tea anymore.  He doesn’t like tea.’
            ‘I don’t like tea.’  I sipped my shake and watched the screen.
            ‘I know, I know; but neither does Douglas.  He doesn’t want tea to be offered at him.’
            ‘I know, it’s why I did it’
            ‘I know, I know; just try not to OK?  I will file a report, maybe get you both time off.’
            ‘I got my red card, you know Mark.’
            ‘I know, I know; it’s all so stressful.’
            ‘Yes.’  I said eyes on the screen.  He sat there a bit more words on his lips and then he went away all lame looking.
            Pa Tortelli shouted at Ma Tortelli, all blaming, and Sissy Tortelli shouted at them both, well tearful and then a fat Bobbie Pig came round and asked them well loads of questions about Tortelli Jr.
            I went home on the overhead train looking at the city flash by above and beneath me all shadows and diffused yellow.  I had spent all afternoon not offering Douglas tea while our fingers flicked well fast on the touch screens.  Back in the flat I drank wine and after dinner watched Pa Tortelli and Ma Tortelli talk to Jenny Popadopalos’s parents, they found out she had taken their car and their credit cards.  My well similar brothers all laughed way a lot.

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