training day ·
13 August 04

Where the fuck was I? No wait, holy shit! I’m back at work. This can’t be right. I looked at the map again, Christ, at this point I could read maps as well as anyone with a vagina, which it was not at all. I sparked my second smoke.

It was left over from what I had the other day. I decided to treat the next few days as vacation days. Days I would be taking off to go abroad, in this case a 10 minute walk from the offices where I work. I forget whether the sun was shining. It might have been, all I remember is that it was humid, and I had no direction of where I was going. I still had 20 minutes remaining to get to the training centre.

Following the route on the map as best I could, I winged it the rest of the way. The damned ashtray in my mouth was building up again, the mouth rejecting any truce with the smoke and nicotine. They had already had one war which lasted several years, and I assued my mouth this was like all other vacations: a temporary measure to faciliate the killing for those moments when I would keep myself to myself. Also good for break times.

I looked at the map twice to make sure the ugly red building, opposite the Church, was the building where I was meant to be. Admittedly I was very disappointed. There was an expectation that training would be carried out in some trendy, glass building. The doors would not be pulled open, but slide open with a “swoosh, swoosh”. I wanted to have an ID which required swiping, I wanted to be searched via brand spanking new metal detector which scanned my retina as further proof of my identity. None of this happened, none of this was even remotely close. Except the swiping bit, but that was only relevant to the training staff to get to the second floor. I considered that a little paranoid, which was ironic as I will explain later.

at night she probably pole danced at a strip bar in front of salivating fat bastard business men with too much money and not enough confidence.

“First floor on the left, follow the corridor and they will be handing out the badges.”

Badges? Holy crap! This was a cheap operation, though respect to the smartly dressed blonde haired dynamite that assisted my poor co-ordination. She was something to watch, if you had the time. And probably the money. Though she was just a secretary of sorts, at the reception, which was almost near the door – perhaps it’s a stepping stone, or a part time thing. At night she probably pole danced at a strip bar in front of salivating fat bastard business men with too much money and not enough confidence. She’d lure them in with a shake of her ass, and the stroking of her breasts. A tongue lick here and there, and she probably earnt a thousand pounds a night. She only worked in the daytime as a cover, and to serve her fetish for tight suits that showed her cleavage as much as possible. I digress badly.

The lift was not so much a lift as a metal closet for storing brooms, perhaps enough room for a small dog, and may be a tall vacuum cleaner. I understood the building wasn’t huge, but I’ve been in smaller, and those lifts were at least big enough to manage a small elephant. Skimp on the lifts, and hire some hot receptionists. It was an easy and forgivable compromise.