Office Workers and Compulsive Disorders

I practiced my smile in the bathroom mirror. It was harder than I thought. Something seemed off. My face looked ok, and my suit looked fine, but they went together like caviar and ketchup. I noticed that I had been biting my nails for some time, and the thin layer of skin on the tip of my fingers had turned quite red. The collar of my shirt began to itch my neck, and I wiped the gathering sweat from my brow with my spotted tie.

After leaving the bathroom, I returned to my table in the cafe. My tea must’ve gone cold a while ago. My meeting at work must’ve started a while ago. Something inside me that day told me that this was more than just procrastination. I was really holding back.

“Bernard? Is that you?” said a bearded little man approaching me. He must’ve recognised me from outside, and popped in to say hello - but I couldn’t quite remember who he was. “It’s Josh. Remember? From Christ’s College?”

“Josh. Yes. How are you?” I said nervously, hiding my red-bitten hands in my pockets. I remembered him. But I couldn’t quite remember whether I used to like him or not.

“I’m doing great! It’s been decades. How are you?”

“Ah – you know.”

“I see you wear a suit now. You must be doing well for yourself.”

And that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. “A suit?” I suddenly snapped defensively, “These pinstripes make me look like a barcode. I came to Rowers Cafe to get away from suits! Look. Look out the window. Just look at the other miserable people in suits waiting for the bus. Look at their colourful patterned ties. There is nothing more tragic than a man in a colourful tie wearing a frown on his face. Don’t they look a little like deflated balloons and streamers long after the party has ended? Besides, successful people wear something more casual. The suit is for the dispirited or corrupt: office monkeys, supermarket managers, politicians, estate agents and bankers.”

“I never thought of it like that,” said Josh cautiously, not expecting such an emotional response. I was always one to rant and moan, but that day, it was like I was ready to explode. I was projectile-vomiting my words. My teeth couldn’t stop biting those irresistible gnarly bits in the corner of my fingernails. My hair was begging to be tugged and twisted. I tried to contain myself in company, but I couldn’t wait for a moment to just pull a little at my hair - just a little so that I could feel that spine-tingling sensation. It usually hurts, but it also tickles all throughout my body, and once I pull hard enough - just before the threshold of scream-out-loud pain - I feel an elevating kind of euphoria. Nevertheless, as I said, I tried to contain myself. So I continued to rant and moan:

“I have one of those jobs in the city which has a title nobody can understand, and responsibilities that nobody knows why” I shamelessly continued, completely disregardful of how this old school friend felt. “There used to be a time when people had real job titles, such as Teacher, Baker, Seismologist, Pianist, Waiter or Doctor. Now we are called things like Head of Technical Competence, Organisational Change Specialist, and Customer Service Representative. The more disappointing jobs become, the more elaborate their titles. In my company, a Dishwasher is called Crockery Cleansing Operative – I’m not joking – and Cleaners are called Waste Removal Engineers. Can you believe it? You can’t polish a turd, but you can certainly give it a glossy name.”

Gwilym Rees. Copyright ©.

Extracts edited from the novella 'I Went For A Walk And Never Came Back'

Read the novella synopsis here.