The Odd Postcard in the Night

I was up late for no other reason that I couldn’t sleep. I sat at my
desk in my bedroom with a low light on and page 43 on my latest read.
Its 3am also known, to me anyway, as time in limbo it doesn’t know if
it’s supposed to be on the toe end of the night or the cusp of the
morning. Darkness on the edge of dawn ha ha I mocked myself for such a
crap cliché but it made sense to a restless mind. I put on some
headphones and found something melancholic to compliment my insomnia. I
stopped reading and did the staring into space thing that I imagine all
night crawlers do, looking at the walls, floor, shelves, clock and
finally out of the window.

I wondered if it was just me that studied
intricate details of things you’d never think about on a full mind such
as the grain pattern on my wooden floorboards, number of tiny dimples in
paint on the walls or the direction of coloured wool in the knitting
pattern of my carpet. I also wondered how quickly I could empty a room
full of party people by discussing such issues. My insomnia had won I
decided this was it for the night. I stretched, yawned climbed out of my
leather backed multifunctional swivel office chair and trudged
downstairs to make a drink. I noticed something on the doormat it was a
postcard. It wasn’t there when I went to bed at 10pm. On the front of
the card was a strange cartoon face of a woman with a fiery red face
like a pissed off devil not that I’ve seen or believe in devils
irrespective of their mood. Written across the lips of the face were the
words ‘for you’ in a strange gothic font. On the back I read the
following

‘For Unsettled Clouds Kill Yet Only Us’

This made no sense at all to me I also noticed there was no stamp or
senders address. I read the message again and cursed my stupidity for
not immediately noticing a fairly amateurish FUCK YOU in between the
lines. I was sure this obscurity was meant for someone else but I
unconsciously stuck it on my new fridge which needed something
decorative on its blank grey front. I fell asleep for a couple of hours
on the armchair in the living room but woke up in time for work.

My job, to others, sounds sexy to those who want it, but to me it was
a celibate existence. Working in TV Advertising conjures up an image of
attractive people moving in enviable circles driving sleek cars
attending celebrity parties and generally being in love with at least
two people at the same time including themselves. I’m a reasonably
successful Project Director looking after major clients. The money is
good the company car is a blessing I use mine socially to get out into
the country as much as I can and walk over hills and up small mountains.
I have colleagues who use their cars as a penis extension. There is no
suitable analogy for the female colleagues that could be accurate or
inoffensive.

Pretension is part of the game and it seems to me only good
looking under 30s get jobs in this profession. I consider myself an
exception, apart from pretending to be pretentious, given my plainness
and indifference to those in this profession who spend most of their
working lives perched like birds of prey waiting for the chance to land
in front of a director. I just get on with my job and I’m fortunate that
I seem to get on with the clients who become loyal to me. . I arrived
at the company aged 21 after three years learning my trade at a medium
sized Ad agency that went bust thanks to the owners funding a lifestyle
they couldn’t afford.

The Managing Director of the company is Richard
Colcutt, a bullish sixty year old six feet 5 inch ex soldier, officer
class of course, replete with private education and Sandhurst
credentials. I’m not sure if he was ever involved in any serious
conflicts and I was never interested in finding out, war is not a
subject of envy or excitement for me. Colcutt was a wealthy old money
man, married with four grown up children and very good at running his
business.

My interview for the position of account manager ten years ago
was surprisingly short which had me convinced that I was about to be
told I wasn’t suitable for the position but Colcutt simply stopped
taking notes and said he’d heard enough and would I like the job. So
here I am ten years later happily single in a job I enjoy with no
personal complications in my life.

Mondays are no different to Fridays for me I enjoy my work and my
concept of success is when a client relies on my advice, instructs me to
proceed with the project and no longer requires endless meetings to
discuss things that don’t matter. I hate sitting at a desk for longer
than an hour I have to be out and about meeting people or standing in a
boardroom pitching for business. I said my good mornings, sat at my desk
and began checking emails. Kate, a newly recruited young attractive
account manager arrived at my desk with some letters for me. Her lively
personality could sometimes be too much but her enthusiasm often lit up
the office.

One letter was written by hand so I opened this first.
Inside the envelope was a postcard with the exact same features as the
one I received during the night at home except the message was
different;

‘Be Aware Soon Truth And Reality Dawn’

Ok, now I’m a BASTARD, and this is getting silly. I didn’t for one
moment feel anything other than derision for such a poor attempt at
humour. I decided the card would be a cell mate for the other one on my
fridge. I did ponder for a second how someone could write with such a
lack of imagination and piss on the English language at the same time.
The envelope had no postmark.
The rest of my day would be spent scoping a new project for a large
furniture retailer whose head office was 100 miles away. I didn’t look
forward to the lost time sitting in traffic on the motorway but catching
a train was too inconvenient.

..to be cont.

smokejack (C)