Short Story: Interesting Work

Interesting Work

Machine Room Number One was a huge dirty shed, part of a factory that sprawled in an estate on the south coast of England. The shed was full of the clangs of metal on metal, the whirring of machine tools and a black metallic dust which settled on everything like a gritty carpet. At this point in my life, I was sentenced to a two month work placement there as part of my college course.

I was given a tiny, baking hot office on the mezzanine floor. From there I could watch the men tending machines on the factory floor below. They shouted & laughed at each other above the din. They wore blue overalls stained with the oil of ages. In the summer heat they tied the tops of their overalls round their waists working & sweating in their vests.

I had to wear a jacket & tie because I was part of “management”.  When I walked down the aisles of the factory floor I could feel them watching me. The rest of the managers, wore shirts and ties too, but had been there for years or been promoted through the ranks. When they walked across the factory floor they clapped people on the back and asked whether they’d watched Chelsea lose at the weekend.

At lunch I would queue up in the canteen trying not to look out of place and find a space on a table with anyone I vaguely knew. I laughed at filthy jokes and agreed about how the Arsenal manager was a tosser, having no idea who he was or what he’d done.

 I would invariably finish my food before them, because I wasn’t doing any talking and then after a decent interval I would sigh and say “Right, better get back to it” and go back across the factory floor. In my office, I shut the door to keep out the noise and the dust and stare at my computer. I had, after all, work to do. I didn’t have time to chat with people.

One afternoon I went to get a cup of tea in the canteen. For some reason the workforce were sitting in chairs listening to a presentation. I wasn’t to know I had walked into a union meeting. Unaware of the seriousness of my crime I quietly tried to use the tea machine at the back. One of the men turned round and saw me. Tony, a bull of a man with crazy grey hair. He pointed at me with an arm as big as my leg. “Oy!” he said. The entire workforce turned as one to look at me.

“Sorry I was just…” I pointed to the tea machine and did an elaborate mime for 100 people.

“Geddout!”.

I waved an apology and  left without my tea, playing it cool. Laughter followed me out.

Back in my tiny hideaway I was ashamed and angry. Did none of those idiots think to put a sign on the door? “No Entry. Secret meeting.”? The sun beat down on the roof and cooked me in my tiny oven.  I obsessed for some time on what I should have said and what I should have done.

Back in college my tutor asked me how my placement went.

“Fine” I said. “Interesting work.”