B

Once again he entered the hallowed shrine of jobs. Cardboard
artefacts from industries past and present (but no future) huddled
together on a wall as if for support or protection from the endless
line of contemptuous, bored stares. Tired eyes looked but didn't see
the usual collection of rubbish (trainee hair-stylist, barista,
security guard, potato-checker...barista?) and tried not to see the
rare glimmer of hope on the game of life board.
A half hour weekly worship shared with never-haves, don't-wants,
fuck-yous and so-whats.
He scanned the vacancies, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes at this
ungodly hour of ten o'clock, every now and then stretching his neck
around to catch a glimpse of the only nymph he'd ever known work at a
jobcentre. He doubted that she remembered him from his bi-weekly
visits, though he fancied that she looked his way every now and then.
Her slight, delicate frame equipped with full breasts and a great arse
gave her an enviable figure, much needed on mornings like this (like
catching the vicars wife throwing open the bedroom curtains to the
waiting choirboys). This heavenly vision of the Madonna, or Mary
Magdalene, he preferred, was topped off with a friendly enough face and
blonde hair.
Her features and their arrangement were certainly above average but he
was a little disappointed that her nose and chin reminded him ever so
slightly of the wicked witch of the West from Oz (he clicked his
trainers together three times and wished himself back in bed).
Her tinkling voice, marred only by an overly-strong local accent, was
warm, and not a little flirty; supplicant and feminine yet combined
with a hint of firmness that he liked. Much easier to listen to than
the harsh, accusatory sounds that emanated from the High-Priestess
Harridens that usually attended to him, occassionally spitting their
acrid venom at him from across the altar.
She still quizzed him in the same way the others did..."And how many
jobs have applied for this week Mr...?" but somehow she made the
patronising just that little bit more bearable.
Still, in an office populated by middle-aged, power-mad battle-axes and
younger but considerably more homely sorts, Beverley stood T&;A
above the rest. Beverley, Beverley, Bev, Bev. He desperately tried to
banish unwanted thoughts of Brian Bevan, a dead Rugby player of old, in
order to keep his little fantasy just this side of respectable (though
he probably had a tattoo on his upper right arm as well).
Every time he came in to worship he had the sound of church bells
clanging through his head, "Dole-Day, Dole-Day...Dole-Day,
Dole-Day...", his imagination trying to set an appropriate mood and
make a joke at his expense at one and the same time.

PACKER - ?3.75 ph
MACHINIST - ?4.35 ph
SECURITY GUARD - ?4.10 ph

He suddenly noticed a vacancy-card that really spoke to him. It spoke
in almost religious tones, making visible the thoughts that had been
raging through his head all morning, and he realised, long before. He
reached up to touch the parchment, to feel its authenticity and make
sure he wasn't seeing things. He popped it out of its holder ("Do Not
Remove The Cards" said a sign...yeah, yeah this is important) and it
read...

HORIZONTAL BORER

He had no idea what one was, well not what the job really entailed
anyway, but the connotations spoke volumes to his unhealthy
imagination. Desperate times call for desperate measures and this
morning he felt particulary desperate. Easily enough to consider the
implications, monetary benefits, embarrassments, income, immoral nature
and financial rewards of a job as a gigolo, a male escort, a rent-boy,
a prostitute. These last two, however, brought a seediness to the
profession which he wasn't altogether sure about, but still, it would
take more than Midnight Cowboy and the status of 'never to be trusted
by real women' to put him off this venture. His mind reeled at the
thought of getting paid a lot of money for doing something that most
women wouldn't tolerate his presence long enough for him to suggest,
something that he had failed at in almost every attempt. But now the
stakes were infinitely higher, not only would he have the chance to
share the company, warmth and hopefully the bed of various women, but
they would give him money to do it. Do it. It. To them.

"He entered the bar casually, feeling the women turn to look. He
glanced around the room, taking in the whole scene before homing in on
his prey for the evening, a cool, stunning blonde sitting at the bar,
slowly and seductively sipping her drink. Before he had the chance to
catch her eye another man approached her, sliding up nonchalantly,
placing a hand on her arm and simultaneously trying to attract the
barman's attention. She turned to look at this unexpected admirer, then
down at his hand which was skilfully working its way around her waist.
She leaned over to him and whispered something in his ear. The effect
was immediate. His fingers suddenly stiffened and drew away from her
body, he rose from his seat, collected his drink and slid away in the
manner of his arrival.
'Ha!', our man laughed inside. 'She's mine tonight!', and taking no
more chances began to walk towards her.
She turned as though sensing him approach, and despite herself found
her mouth parting slightly and her eyes widening.
Conversation came easily to him, as did compliments and subtle flattery
that charmed the women he entertained, allowing them to relax in his
company.
A few more drinks and the time was right to suggest the next part of
the evening. He leaned forward brushing her neck and ear lightly with
his lips and asked her if they should go somewhere else. She nodded
slowly and, once again despite herself, smiled a warm and excited
smile.
The hotel room was warm and dimly lit, no signs of life except a bottle
of champagne and two glasses on the table.
'How thoughtful', she said.
'Yes', he replied, 'I am', before gently turning her towards him,
taking her in his arms and kissing her delicately on the lips.
She melted under his expert tuition and they sank slowly to the waiting
bed.
Early next morning, while she lay soundly sleeping, he stood naked by
the window gazing through the blind and reflecting on the nights
success. As well as taking with him fond memories of the previous
evening; it's warmth and easy atmosphere, the seduction and
love-making, he couldn't help but think how good this present scene
would look to an observer.
A beautiful, naked women lay half-covered and content close by him,
partially lit by a new days light streaming in through the obscured
window. And he, stood with his back to the room, as though unconcerned
for the beauty of either the scene or the girl. His firm and not
unattractive buttocks in half-shadow, his torso and profile outlined
displaying their finely honed structure and innate beauty.
In his hopelessly romantic, and hopeless in general mind, the whole
thing was exactly like the scene in 'American Gigolo' where Richard
Gere stands by the window and Lauren Hutton plays the part of the
beautiful woman. Poetry. Poetry to those with a romantic idealist mind
at any rate.

The split second fantasy left him feeling a little dizzy suddenly and
he reached out blindly and held onto the wall for support. He also
noticed that he felt very warm, to the point that he had broken out in
an all over sweat, making him feel like the Ready-Brek man, glowing
visibly. A million thoughts were racing through his now activated mind,
the darker, dingier recesses of it anyway - wierd and wonderful
opportunities, more spending money, self-confidence, flash cars,
endless types of women to entertain...
He noticed his wallet had suddenly stiffened in his pocket.

His stupidly implusive mind caused him to make a split decision about
his future career. He marched purposefully over to the available
assisstant; Beverley, plonked himself down on the seat opposite her and
without waiting for her regular spiel demanded to be signed-off
immediately. This clearly took her by surprise in two ways as he had
been claiming his governments ransom for about a year now with
seemingly no attempt at finding work, and also he had done it without
causing any fuss whatsoever. He had never complained about waiting
times, reviews or staff treatment. In fact his manner up to now had
been almost pathetic, to the point where she had trouble remembering
his name each time. But now after this sudden outburst of energy and
forcefullness she looked at him in a new light. After refusing the
advantages of Don Murray in 'Bus Stop', Marilyn Monroe finally concedes
when he finally lets his guard down and she sees a different side of
him, to which she almost cries:
"I'll go anywhere in the world with you now!". The scene flashed
through Beverley's head conjuring emotions and sensations that were
wholly inappropriate for the situation, this then merged with a
spontaneous fantasy that welled up inside her...

She found herself in a bar, nervously sipping a drink. As soon as she
had entered the place she had been fending off the unwanted advances of
men. The last had got as far as sliding his bloody arm round her waist
before she'd managed to tell him to quietly 'fuck off'. She wasn't
normally one for swearing but he was about the tenth in as many minutes
and it seemed the best way to get rid of him, plus her date would be
here soon and she wanted to look right. Suddenly she felt a warmth race
through her body and slowly turned to look at it's source.
A man. Not any man. The man. Her man. He smiled warmly and she tried to
smile back, but her mouth just opened slightly, a clumsy mixture of
silent allure and dumb wonder. She noticed that he looked very
familliar, before realising that she had unconsciously placed the face
of the mouse that sat before her onto the body of her fantasy...

She started slightly as she returned, noticing that the mouse was
eyeing her with a force and intention that was not only predatory and a
little dangerous but she also realised that she liked being looked at
this way, especially by him. Her mouth opened as though to say
something but only silence sounded. She too was a mouse really and only
this job gave her any degree of power to wield, yet against her better
nature and judgement she felt that she had to say what she was feeling
to this virtual stranger. He, meanwhile, sat opposite, stern and
resolute, nodding imperceptibly as though he had made a cosmic decision
that would stand for all time. He had let his intentions be known and
nothing was going to get in the way of his chosen path of money and a
variety of women, not even Beverley who had intentions of her own to
state. Despite his object of lust before him, wilting under his very
gaze, he, thinking that simply telling them that he wanted to sign-off
was enough, rose from the swivel chair and gracefully left the office,
leaving unrequieted words of emotion and admission on her lips.

Not quite knowing how to approach this new career he buys the local
newspaper and scoures the personal ads looking for clues: Escort Agency
- Competitive Rates - Discreet. Vacancies available, looks unimportant.
Call...
Aha, you just ring them up. Looks unimportant. Easy. Even he can do
this. During a brief conversation with the agency secretary he is
informed of the types of engagement, which vary from a day at the
races, a corporate dinner date, a theatre partner or even just a quiet
drink with a bored, lonely female executive. What could be simpler? It
appeared that it didn't stray into THAT area at all most of the time.
Be smart, polite and respectful and use complements with taste. He was,
by this time, more than willing to part with a ?25 registration fee,
especially as he could expect to earn up to ?300 for an evenings work.
All expenses paid. More if you included extras! He nearly fainted at
the thought of those extras!
He must buy a suit and a pair of shoes if he is to come over as the
charming, sophisticated date that he is. And a haircut, his ragged mop
didn't do his looks any justice for the agency photo. Once registered,
and supplied with his number K274, he sits near the phone waiting for
his date to simply ask him out. On the application form he had ticked
the 18-30 column of women, hoping to lessen the possibility of meeting
an absolute pig. There wasn't any logic in this, as the reader may well
be aware, especially if the female detritus of a friday night out can
be remembered: Gangs of plastered tarts squeezed into unwilling
clothes, convinced that they look fuckin' great and able to pull
without even opening their mouths. He had ticked it anyway just to be
safe.
Days went by with no phone calls. "Bitches!". Still, early days, plenty
of time.
Finally, a full two weeks after registering and now desperately short
of money, the call came. A bored, whining voice dripped down the phoned
to him, "Hello, is that ______? my name's Carol, I was given your
number by the agency and I wondered if you were free on Friday? If
you're not it's o.k. 'cos I can go out on me own, it's alright. I just
wondered...". "Yes, sure, fine, when? o.k. Where? I'll see you there
then Karen, bye" Slam! Whohoo. ?300. Easy money.

Dressed up to his natural limit of medium smart, he approaches the bar
slightly ahead of schedule in order to familiarise himself with the
surroundings, i.e. the toilets. Just in case. He also needed a little
time to mentally prepare himself for the possibilities that may lay
ahead. Never having been one for dates in "Real life" how on earth did
he expect to be able to cope with one of these? Seated at a table he
ordered a coffee to look comfortable, and also because he didn't really
drink. The few times he had tried in his younger days had led to
memorable nights. Memorable in that he couldn't remember what he had
done but his friends certainly could. Through hearsay and rumour he had
discovered that he had a propensity to shed his clothes when even a
modest amount of alcohol had worked it's evil magic on him. He'd also
heard tales of verbal abuse hurled at strangers, male or female. His
friends, on a number of occasions had cause to drag him away from many
dangerous situations. He had no recollection of any of these events and
was not always sure if they were true, though he had woken naked a few
times without remembering how.

He was wearing the badge of his dates choosing in order to be
recognised by her: a pink carnation. Jesus! How tacky, he couldn't
believe it when she'd said. If she's done this before you'd think that
she'd have thought of something more subtle. Suddenly there she was!
Karen, his ticket to free sex. Not only that but paid for sex! As she
stumbled through the doors, catching her handbag on the handle, and her
overall shape and characteristics became more obvious, his motorised
libido which hadn't been cranked in anger for some time, fired and then
sputtered as he realised. She was not Kim Basinger.
She looked to be about thirty, short and dumpy. Not only dumpy but also
lumpy in the most bizarre places. Her upper arms bulged inside her suit
jacket (no arm-wrestling!), her upper thigh appeared to do the same in
her skirt. And last but not least, her paunch, if we are to be polite,
seemed to be pushing the limits of fabric integrity. Being thankful for
small mercies, he noted that her arse wasn't really that big. He stood
up as she approached to make a chair ready for her, noting more
physical foibles every second. He stared at her large, brown eyes. He
couldn't fail to notice them as they were magnified to dinner plates
through her immense glasses.
"Hi, you must be Karen, I'm..."
"Carol. My name is Carol."
He groaned inside and tried to make it up as fast as possible. "Can I
get you a drink, Carol?"
"Yes, please a double Gin and Tonic." Christ, he thought, it's only
half six. Returning from the bar he found her applying more lipstick
and then cleaning her glasses with her handkerchief, before reaching
for her drink and demolishing most of it in one noisy gulp. Thank God
for all expenses paid.
"What do you do then, Carol?" He was determined to use her name as many
times as possible in order to convince her that he hadn't got it wrong
the first time.
Pause. "I'm an Estate Agent."
"Do you like it?"
Pause. "It's o.k."
Anything else?
Oh God, he thought.

After a few more drinks she begins to play footsy with him. He knows
that he should respond, after all it's what she's paying him a lot of
money to do. The thought of what it could lead to stops him returning
the gesture. He decides to try something else.
He reaches over to touch her hand. It's cold. Nevertheless, he holds it
and gently squeezes it as she drunkenly explains her working
environment. All the other women are bitches and the men are all gay,
presumably because they refused her advances. He holds her other hand
in order to slow down her drinking. He holds her gaze as long as he can
manage, mumbling words of comfort so that she doesn't degenerate into a
morbid, drunken mess. Her slurred words concerning her colleagues
becomes more vitriolic by the minute. He realises that he has a lonely
and bitter maniac on his hands, one who he is responsible for if he is
to be paid. The agency gave him no clues as to how to deal with this.
He must think quickly if he is to get it right. One option would to be
to take advantage of this woman. She is lonely, willing and has the
money. Unfortunately she doesn't have anything else going for her. The
cumulative effect of rejection and personal neglect have left her in an
untenable position. She is neither attractive nor willing to be
anything other than a miserable, drunk even when she is paying for the
priviledge. The thought of sleeping with her knocks him cold every time
he considers it, despite the fee. She is limply squeezing his hands but
her head is drooping, close to passing out. He decides to do the right
thing: put her in a taxi and send her home. He scrapes the change off
the table and manoeuvres himself round the table to where he can help
her up. She complies dumbly, possibly familliar with the situation,
grabbing her handbag as her arms slide from the table. Once in the
taxi, while asking her for her address, she come to slightly and asks
him why he's not coming with her. He ignores her and gently opens her
handbag looking for some I.D. Her purse, some loose money and a cheque
for ?300 is visible. He knows that it is for him but after only 3
hours, 3 unsuccessful hours at that, he decides not to take it. If she
wants to do it again another time then he'll ask for the money. After
finding some I.D. he quietly tells the driver and closes the door, her
head lolled over to one side, nearly asleep.
Some start to his new career that was. It cost him about thirty quid in
Gin. And taxi fare.

Date No.2
Scene in a bar where Smith is talking to a very attractive women aged
about 25. Long, blonde hair, blue eyes, slim, slight pout, defined
cheeckbones etc.
She is telling him how she is off men for good as all the ones she has
known are bastards and useless. From now on she just wants to date and
have 'flings' and also, Smith perks up at this, maybe some casual sex
when she feels like it. Initially he is prepared to let the evening
take it's natural course until she begins to catalogue the types of men
she has gone for; muscleheads mainly, insensitive, uneducated,
bodybuilders. Smith then imagines that she needs a change of man. Smith
tries his best to persuade her that he doesn't think all men (i.e.
himself) are like that and that she shouldn't give up hope of finding
someone worthy of her. Eventually, somehow, it seems to be working and
she begins to be a little more optimistic. She excuses herself to go to
the ladies. She is gone for slightly longer than is expected, Smith
turns round to see her chatting to a man at the bar. They seems to be
getting on very well; she laughing and flirting, he in control of the
situation, making the moves. She spots Smith looking at her, says
something to the man at the bar and walks over to Smith. She tells him
that he was right, that she shouldn't give up on men as this one at the
bar is really nice (though he is clearly like all the other men that
she has dated) She picks up her bag, leaves some money for the drinks
and goes back to the man at the bar. He finishes his drink and they
walk out, leaving Smith stunned at the turn of events.

Date No. 3
We can hear the sound of a woman's voice on the phone, she is excitable
and a little manic. She is trying to explain to Smith where she wants
to meet him. He can't get a word in.
He approaches the restaurant and is about to walk in when a woman comes
running along the pavement towards him. Not sure who she is he quickly
enters the restaurant to escape. She is right behind him talking
already as though she knows him, something about the buses being what
they are. She talks too fast. They are given their table and she just
keeps talking. She is sure that her husband is having an affair, that
she can smell the other tart on his clothes and that the working hours
that he keeps are very odd. Smith assumes this to be the reason for her
distracted manner. She even eats too quickly, though without making any
mess as though she is trained to eat this way. Only when she eats is
she unable to talk and Smith notices that she isn't really that bad
looking after all. She's about 35, long dark hair, brown eyes and
slightly olive skin. Her eyes are a little wild but attractive
nonetheless, with a boundless energy they search and pierce whatever
she looks at. He crosses his fingers under the table, hoping that this
evening will go all the way. Meanwhile she is recounting various events
that have made her suspicious recently; late hours, going out in one
set of clothes and coming back in another etc.
They are seen leaving a taxi, Smith barely unable to stop himself from
grinning as he gladly pays the driver. They enter the house and she
goes to the lounge to make them drinks. They are seen sat very close to
one another on the couch, drinks in hand, both a little drunk, she has
no shoes on and one of her legs dangling over Smith's leg. Her speech
is a little slower but with the same intensity, tempered only by the
alcohol. It is late. They are both fairly drunk when she suggests that
they go upstairs. Smith is barely able to contain himself, he's gonna
get paid to sleep with this woman. He excuses himself to go to the
bathroom to freshen his mouth and take a much needed piss. He gives
himself a little pep talk in the mirror to try to get through this
successfully. When he enters the bedroom she is reclining on the bed
wearing very little. he realises that she had stockings and suspenders
on all night and flimsy black underwear too. Once again his wallet
stiffens in his pocket. He slowly eases himself onto the bed, brings
his face to hers and they kiss, a long sensuous kiss. she begins to
undress him as they continue to kiss and before long they are nearly
naked on top of the bed. He begins to move down her body, planting
lingering kisses on her neck and breasts when beneath them there is the
sound of a key in the door. They both freeze as they realise that it's
the husband. We get a very quick glimpse of the husband closing the
front door and turning round to face us. Instantly she pushes Smith off
and kicks her clothes under the bed. Smith tries to get dressed very
quickly until she grabs his remaining items and throws them out of the
window. We see the husband again downstairs taking his shoes off and
cleaning lipstick from his face and collar. She is also physically
pushing him towards the window in an attempt to get rid of him that
way. He is protesting somewhat, until he begins to weigh up the damage
that may be inflicted by the husband in this situation. Clumsily and
half dressed he clambers out of the window, dangles briefly on the
window ledge with his fingers and drops to the garden below in an
undignified heap. Collecting his clothes he makes off down the
street.

LAST DATE.

A couple of weeks go by before he receives another call. This time it
is a very well spoken lady who asks him to accompany her on a dinner
date, a fairly posh dinner date. It was to be held in a private
function room of an expensive hotel. He gets to the hotel bar slightly
early to prepare himself. After the fiasco with Carol he must expect
anything from this job. Right on time a young lady approaches Smith and
introduces herself as Evelyn. She seems to be about 25, well dressed
and well to do. Smith stands to introduce himself looking a little
awkward, but covering it fairly well. Thinking only of how to conduct
himself in this unfamiliar situation, he asks her if she wants a drink.
Gin and tonic. Oh no, here we go again, but far from gulping it down
she ignores the drink to tell him of the party. It is an important
business meeting in the form of a dinner. Informal on the outside,
formal and serious at its core. He nods in agreement, tacitly aware
that she is telling him to be respectful of the people he is to meet as
they could be beneficial to her companies future.
She finally takes a small sip of her drink, rises and motions him to
follow her into the large room which guests have started to
enter.
Over to the right is the nibbles table which in any other party would
have constituted the most lavish spread imaginable. A few people are
milling about; some drinking, some talking. Waiters hover around the
clusters of guests with drinks on silver trays, mostly champagne, but
anything can be ordered. He approaches a waiter to ask for either a
coffee or anything alcohol free. The waiter takes on a slightly pained
expression as it means making more of an effort than he is prepared to
do. Evelyn is busy introducing herself to the other guests and
occassionally bringing Smith into the conversation when it is something
other than business. Despite his deliberately sheltered existence he
hasn't festered in bed all his life, and when he did he still watched
the news and read the papers. His grasp of world events was as good as
anybody elses in his opinion. Some of the characters around him made
him groan inwardly as they spoke. Many seemed to be reminiscient of
C.J. from the Reggie Perrin series; blustering, self-made men who
believed in application and hard work. He daren't tell them how he been
conducting his life so far, they may not be too sympathetic, even when
they knew how he was rectifying it now. He had, after all, decided to
take the easiest possible route to self-sufficiency; no 9 to 5 or
back-breaking for him. The only energy expenditure he wanted to do
tonight would be to fulfill his mission with Evelyn, who was now
beginning to look very attractive indeed. His nervousness at the start
of the date had blinded him to her slender but figure, long dark hair
and a face that belonged on a magazine cover. No, not one of those, but
a classy Cosmo type thing. The prospect overwhelmed him for a moment
and he had to catch himself as the thought took hold. Later, he said to
himself. He is introduced to a man about his own age. He is also in the
consultancy business, as Evelyn is. Smith cannot quite bring himself to
ask anyone what a consultant actually is. His ignorance would be too
much to bear. His is the parent company to Evelyn's and is to help
begin her career. Even Daddy's money can't open that many doors, it can
merely grease them a little. This man, called Stephen, also used family
money to aid his career and has something of a dislike for anyone who
isn't from his background. Despite his own humble origins Smith keeps
his head and nods gently as this man more or less insults everyone
Smith has ever known, calling the unemployed layabouts and accusing
anyone in a low class job of having no ambition. The other people are
similar to Stephen in their outlook of the world, theirs being a far
removed circle from street level living.
The dinner is eventually served and he is seated next to Evelyn half
way up the table. The evening is going as well as can be expected. He
thinks that he is coping with these unusual surroundings quite well.
The food is magnificent, as is the service. He begins to relax,
confident that the engagement will now proceed as planned and and will
be a blueprint for future dates. The conversation is mixed between
chit-chat and business talk, which is the function of the evening. When
asked his opinion Smith keeps his answers short and to the point, not
wishing to reveal that his short and to the point comments are all he
knows on that subject. His strategy appears to be working, and he seems
to be coming across in the right way. Every now and then Evelyn turns
her head towards him to give an approving look. YES. he thinks.
A waiter approaches with the wine. Smith, his confidence brimming over,
nods to the waiter to give him a glass, fully aware of the past and the
current danger of alcohol. Nevertheless he feels sure that one glass
can't harm him. It's only a small-ish glass of white wine, with his
meal as well, where's the harm in that? Stephen is seated opposite them
and once again expesses his opinion of the 'great unwashed' as he calls
them. Smith ignores his ignorant comments for Evelyn's sake, though his
irritation occassionally shows through as a fleeting twitch on his
face; his lips tighten slighty and his eyes widen a little. By calmly
closing his eyes he is able to block out Stephen's ill-informed
comments, and by taking another mouthful of food or a small sip of wine
he is able to regain his equilibrium. He suddenly notices that he feels
a little flushed. He's not sure whether it's the surroundings, the
food, the conversation or the wine. He asks for a glass of water.
Unfamiliar with the first stages of an alcohol rush, he is oblivious to
the fact that it has begun to work it's evil magic upon his brain,
relaxing his tongue and loosening his defences. He leans quietly
towards Stephen and gently tells him to try expressing those same
opinions at a dole office if he ever gets near to one. The well-bred
Stephen takes it as a joke, smiles a little and says that he wouldn't
be caught dead in an unemployment office. Smith smiles this time, a wry
grin that quickly becomes a maniacal slash across his face.
"You're right. Those worthless pieces of shit don't deserve anything
from our government. They sit on their arses for a fortnight, pissed
and broke, turn up to the office and expect to be paid. Paid? For what?
Watching T.V.? Squandering their meagre talents in an endless daydream,
sure that one day their ship will come in, that their lottery numbers
will work, that a miracle will happen, that someone will approach them
in the street and offer them a million quid, that their guardian angel
will descend from above to offer them eternal rest from all of their
worldly undertakings; drinking, smoking, betting, wanking, dossing
about, eating pizzas, playing fruit machines, wasting their time and
everyone elses? Those fuckwits don't deserve the air that they breathe.
They should be forced to do something with their sorry little lives,
made to contribute something to those that help them, whatever it is
that they can do, which isn't much in most cases. Some though, probably
had something going for them at one point, but probably through apathy
and laziness they ruined themselves with self-doubt and self-loathing,
any spark of talent that they did once have snuffed out by themselves
so as not to be found out as an obvious loser. Instead they hide
themself away, far from the limelight, slowly burning away, nothing
ventured..."
He trails off and pauses momentarily, just long enough for Evelyn to
place her hand on his to calm him down. He snatches his away like a
wounded animal and flashes her the same look of contempt that he has
been wearing throughout the barrage. She holds both her hands to her
chest in defence, unsure of what he will do, though he is only looking
at Stephen as his target. He looks like he is to begin again, but
instead pauses to take a drink, still unaware that it is causing this
outburst and wrecking the dinner, and ruining any chance that he had
with Evelyn.
"I'll tell you what you should do with 'em, make the fuckers work, make
'em work for their money. Anything; sweeping the streets, cleaning
cars, anything simple, it's all most of 'em can probably cope
with..."
His words are beginning to slur and he is pointing randomly at each of
the people seated opposite him. He continues more slowly.
"Dawn raids...no, afternoon raids on front rooms across the country to
catch them doing nothing all day. Do a Good Morning special on wasters,
they'd be in to watch that, if they're out of bed. Put the job boards
up in the pub or the bookies where they still won't read 'em."
His eyes are becoming heavy as he talks, He takes one last gulp of wine
and drops the glass onto the table and slowly crumples face-down onto
the table. All around him the dinner guests sit stunned at his
outburst, unable to comprehend what has just happened. Smith is out
cold on his plate, breathing heavily and oblivious to the scene he has
caused. Evelyn has begun to sob at the ruination of her dinner party.
Feeling anger rising inside her towards Smith, she kicks him hard under
the table, he doesn't notice.
He is then bundled into a waiting taxi, thrown across the back seat
carelessly. Stephen reaches into Smith's inside pocket for his wallet
and removes a ?10 note. He hands it to the taxi driver and tells him to
drop him at the Unemployment Office.