Hell Desk

Moving down to London straight after University, me-and-my-friends soon discovered the streets were paved with syringes, empty spooky brew cans and chicken bones. Setting ourselves up in a hole in Lewisham we lived a simple life, passing the time by scouring the Monday Guardian Jobs section, crying ourselves to sleep and avoiding pitched Yardie gang battles.

Me-and-the-lads raised our self-esteem by taking temping jobs and becoming �Kelly Girls�. We all had our highpoints from recording data about the bits left over after medical operations, to dressing up in a huge inflatable mobile phone to hand out leaflets.

My own personally tailored stygian creek was a strip lit dungeon in Westminster. There I would take phone calls from the hierarchically obsessed government staff, �my number five has asked me to point out that there is a plant that needs watering next to the sink on the fifth floor� or more intriguingly �my number two says that the toilets are out of paper in the second floor Mens.� I would then have to phone either the janitor or the odd job man to see if they could be arsed doing the job.

The thing I came to realise is that it’s actually a rather clever ruse for cutting down employment figures � the government employ the unemployable. One fine example of care in the workplace could not be burnt out of my memory even after years of counselling � Fearsome George. Fearsome George would wander around the building handing out post. However he believed that one of the perks of his job was wander about without his trousers or pants on, and rush into the toilets to watch you while you were trying to urinate.

Still I did get to learn of the Senior Tory MP who was a little too regular in his morning routine. Everyday he would reside the same toilet cubicle at the same hour. The fire service had to be called as it appears that someone had accidentally left some superglue on the toilet seat. The file reported that three men had to yank him off, leaving remnants of �hair and skin�.

Danny Bobbeck

 

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