Sawn-Off Tales (8 page)

A Personal Message

I
T BOILED DOWN
to a fear of novelty ceramic objects, that's all, but this doctor fellah took it very seriously.

He clasped his hands together. ‘Your, er, system. Is it closed or open?'

‘System?' I thought for a bit. ‘I'm very open.'

He glanced down at his papers. ‘Then you need a key. To release the pressure.'

‘But where is the key?'

‘You have the key. It comes with the system.'

The central heating droned and hiccupped and he looked at the radiator.

‘Sometimes,' he added, ‘there's a build-up of thick sludge.' He sighed. ‘Complete draining is required.'

I snatched the papers from his hand. It was the instruction manual for the boiler. I looked at it and smiled. Tomorrow I would collect all the instruction manuals from around my house. It was as I suspected. Every piece of printed material ever produced contained a personal message for me.

 

 

Doctor Logic

I
T TURNED OUT
that the lads had an insulting nickname for every manager apart from me, and according to the gurus, this is a sign of enormous affection, so I had to get one too.

I tried everything. An elaborate corkscrewing limp, a breathy
ee-aw
sound when I spoke, but nothing happened.

‘I'm at a crossroads,' I explained to Gary. ‘One way I get a nickname, the other way, oblivion. Could you arrange for me to be called a funny name?'

‘That's not a crossroads,' Gary said. ‘That's a T-junction.'

After he'd gone I thought about how logical he was. I rang Keith.

‘Keith, I've been talking to Doctor Logic.'

‘Who the fuck is Doctor Logic?'

‘Gary. You know how he's always logical.'

Soon everyone would be saying Doctor Logic and when Gary discovered the favour I'd done him, I was sure he would devise a suitable name for me.

 

 

Dead Star

I
WAS OFF
sick from the buses with my back when I saw the ad for a park-keeper and I thought what the hell? I'm stuck here, drowning in afternoon telly pap, why shouldn't I do something useful? So I got a start with parks and after a week of trowelling rang in sick on that job too. That's when it struck me; there's no limit to the jobs you can be off sick from. I bought an
Evening News
, got four more jobs and after a few weeks called in sick to all of them.

Keeping it up was a full time occupation. There were six Christmas dos. Yet I was addicted. I conjured with multiple homes, multiple wives, a thousand parallel existences, each nourishing the other. Because somewhere in the universe I was already gone; a star that burns in our sky but died a million years ago.

 

 

Think About it Baby

T
HIS IS NOT
about the money. It's about the gorgeous curved stem of the headset and the cute bobble microphone. It's not just till something better comes along. It's about the giant slabs of data shuddering into life at my command, the cooing sing-song script, the juicy clack-clack of the keyboards, the whispering disembodied voices at three a.m..

But my accent wasn't right. They'd set up in Middlesbrough for the lovely Geordie lilt and I hailed from Swindon.

Viz
is on the top shelf and I can see why. It took three months of reading aloud, but before long I'd nailed it and was back in the nest.

It was even better. They loved my voice. Would I say something else? Would I repeat a word? Did I know how sexy I sounded?

Tony from Crawley wanted to marry me and I think I might take up his offer.

 

 

Life Just Bounces

T
HE SALESMAN'S SKIN
glistened with sweat. ‘Where's the big money?' he cried.

‘Bouncy castles!' we replied.

‘Correctamundo!' His legs quivered like a manic preacher's. ‘And I know that those of you who respect yourselves as people will sign up today.'

The words of the presentation echoed in my head as I stared at the rusted generator and sagging vinyl edifice that covered the lawn. All my redundancy, everything, sunk into this. Rowena would kill me. I had no van to transport it and no money for advertising.

I switched on the power, the generator throbbed and clunked, and slowly the gaudy plastic puddle rose up to become a quivering enchanted fairy palace. I thought about the others back at work, the ones who had been kept on. Then I flicked off my shoes and jumped in. I bounced. It was good, bouncing away. The salesman was right. Everybody wants to bounce.