11
a.m., and Skunk’s at the just-boiled kettle in the staffroom, which he holds up
by way of question to his fellow cog.
Skunk:
Did you get
cog:
Yeah yeah. Help yourself.
Sometimes
he thinks about making proper coffee at home and bringing it in to work in a
thermos; he has daily occasion to wonder at instant coffee’s propensity for
refreshment, wrinkling his nose here as the water hits the powder in the bottom
of his mug.
cog:
Is it still raining?
He
nods his head in reply, and then
Skunk:
Oh, I meant to say to you, when I was, my half-day yesterday
cog:
Don’t start me.
Skunk
(laughing): I was on my way down into town, and you know that guy that brings
the post, the stuff in the bags
making
a sweeping gesture across the top of his skull.
cog:
Oh yeah the guy with the shaved head. What about
Skunk:
You know he never ever smiles, never,
and he barely speaks to
cog:
Yeah but that’s just, some of these guys probably
Skunk
(flapping silence with one hand as the other holds the mug to his mouth. Then,
while still swallowing): Mmhm... but this, yesterday, and I’m on my way down
past, you know where all that scaffolding is?
cog:
Skunk
(before he can answer): and I’m heading down there and I hear this damn loud
horn go off and the first thing I’m think-, you know, you immediately think
it’s a, it’s just drivers, and I look round and there’s this guy, the the
postman, and he’s in his van and he’s honking away
batting
the flat of his palm upon air
Skunk:
honking, blasting away on the horn at
me, and waving like a lunatic, you
know
pulling
an excited face and waving.
cog
(laughing): Fuck. What the, the guy with the
placing
his hand high upon his forehead.
Skunk:
The very same. I waved back and everything, mainly because I didn’t know what
the hell else to do, but you know, I
bet when he comes in here today, it’ll be just
his
face pulled long, unhappy.
With
the mug tipped to his face but without actually drinking, just tipping the
fluid to his closed lips, Brother Skunk allows a weak steam to condense upon
his face.
cog:
The other guy’s not much better, not Tony but
Skunk
(into the mug): The guy in the green
van?
cog
(opening a packet of crisps): Uh-huh.
Skunk
(still through the mug as the other eats): The guy that’s always running
everywhere?
cog:
Uh-huh, the one with the tattoos on his... wait a second
laughing.
cog:
Actually I think that was the bus driver from no no, it is him, he’s got um, on his, he’s got a swastika and “Pete” written
on his
with
his finger indicating a spread across his forearm. Skunk places his mug down on
the desk between them.
Skunk:
I’ve never seen that. Are you sure
it’s him?
cog:
I think so, yeah, yeah.
Skunk:
Is that his name, or is
cog
(through more crisps): I guess. Hmm. He was in yesterday as well, and he’d, you
know when he comes in he’s always running, he runs in the ehm, down the... I
think what he actually does is he
parks his van round the back, and
then he makes all the deliveries round here from there but,
Skunk:
And he never lets you fill in the time on the slip because he
cog:
Because he’s, that’s why he’s always running. He gets it all finished in the
morning, takes the rest of the day off.
Laughter.
cog:
It’s true.
Skunk:
You reckon?
cog:
Why would I lie?
Skunk
takes up his mug, winces at the coffee for the last time, sets it down once
more.
Skunk:
And what was he, what was he doing yesterday? Apart from running in his
delivery?
Laughter.
cog:
Well, he came in and ehm, he put the parcels down and he was flicking through
the delivery notes and ehm, he, obviously he’d left ours back in the van, or,
he didn’t know that at the time and I think he thought he’d left it back at the
depot or something, and his face. He
was
his
own face twists puce in imitation rage, beginning to vibrate with the tension
cog:
rrrrr
Skunk:
Jesus he’s normally as quiet as the other bloke, really.
cog:
Yeah but then, when he went through
the slips and it’s still not there he
growls out “Shit shite Christ sorry” all like that.
It
is as if Skunk’s laugher bursts inside him, but does not leave his body.
cog:
“Shit shite Christ sorry.”
Brother
Skunk lets it out, and the door to the staffroom opens in.
cog:
Hiya. What’s
cog:
I was just telling Skunk about the, you know the guy with the moustache
Skunk
(still laughing): The moustaches.
cog:
Oh yesterday. The delivery guy.
cog
(crumpling up the empty packet): Yep.
cog:
What was it, something... “Fuck shite...” something “Jesus”.
cog
(laughing): “Shit shite Christ sorry” I believe is the phrase you’re rather
blindly groping for.
Laughter.
cog
(in affected accent): Ahh indeed, that’s it, yes, thank you. “Shit shite Christ
sorry”
and
then working in the shop’s current catchphrase
cog:
That. Is. Magnificent.
prompting
the other two to laugh and join in a repeat
cogs/Skunk
(together): That. Is. Magnificent.
More
laughter as they rise and make to wash their mugs, the other cog letting the
door close again as she heads back out onto the shopfloor.
Skunk:
“Pete.”
cog:
What’s that?
Skunk:
“Pete”
laughing.
Skunk:
If he comes in today, I’m going to ask him if that’s his boyfriend’s name.
Laughter,
and
cog:
You fucking will not.
Their
mugs side by side on the draining board.
