Friday, 10 August 2007

83: yanking

I go back down to the shop floor.

I am envious of the now-fired replenishment assistants.

I wish I could somehow fire myself.

The rest of the staff are still standing around the door to the store room.

Oh god.




I want to bury myself in all the produce in the store room. I want to feel cold florets of broccoli against my face. I want to drown myself in grapes and runner beans.

Come on, says someone from the Domestic Goods department. Get a move on, mate. Some of us have jobs to do.

I am yanking at the door to the store room.

I am yanking as hard as I can at the door to the store room but it won’t open.

Thirty or forty other members of staff just stand there, watching me pull at the door.

I spend two and a half hours pulling at the door, the other members of staff standing there watching me.

Occasionally The Turtle appears out of nowhere and whips me.

Then I go on my lunch break.

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