The man behind me is talking about fasting.
He’s got one of those unignorable voices — and not in a good way. His companion asked him if he wanted something to eat (big mistake, huge) and now he hasn’t drawn breath for ten minutes. And he’s loud, very loud. Apparently he hasn’t eaten anything for 25 hours and he’s aiming for 36; it’s amazing for his body, it’s cured his aches and niggles, it’s cleansing his liver. I want to turn around and hurl my coffee in his face. I can’t focus as it is and now I’ve got his froggy drone grating my brain.
The other man’s barely said a word, he hasn’t had a chance. When he eventually speaks, his voice is quiet, deep, assonant. It’s a river, a curved, undulating line. Fasting guy asks him (sotto voce, so he is capable of it) if the team knows that he’s leaving — does Steve know? No, he replies, but Scott knows. Fuck my life. Why can’t I switch off from this? Oh good, says fasting guy, Scott’s brilliant. Yeah, and Richard knows. Oh, and Laura. What about Will and David? Jesus. Are they just reading a primary school register from 1985? I wonder what they do. Leaving guy says he’ll pass his project over to Johnny — of course he’s called Johnny — and he can share it with Phil. Great, that’s Phil’s pièce de résistance, says fasting guy. I don’t want this. I don’t want the words ‘Phil’ and ‘pièce de résistance’ in the same sentence. The Nottingham team is probably their best team, says leaving guy. Fasting guy agrees emphatically; they’re hungry, he says. Yeah, it’s a bit of a surprise really, adds leaving guy — not that I’m saying I expect one of the teams in the south to be the best or anything. They both laugh. That’s exactly what he’s saying.
The music suddenly seems louder. It’s hard to hear what leaving guy is saying — if only he had a more scratchy timbre like his soon to be ex-colleague. It’s something about not being on the same page as someone — yes, he’s brash, fasting guy interjects at full boom; he’s caused maximum damage, maximum mess. Maximum damage and mess? Wow. I’m imagining Godzilla level destruction. Surely maximum damage means crashing the company and setting the office on fire? He has caused a level of disruption, says leaving guy. Quite a different account of the situation; fasting guy is clearly a drama queen. Just as I’m getting into it, he starts saying something about cost consultants and external staff — I hate all of these words. What happened to maximum mess guy? I want to hear more about him. He’s definitely my favourite so far. But instead he says: there’s hope for everyone. And then: what about the MEP logistics? I can’t keep up. From cost consultant to hope to logistics. I have to try and disengage from this. Although I’m kind of hooked now. I came here to write but now my head is clattering with words like ‘hard-hitting’, ‘retrofit’, ‘strategic’. These two men (James and Mike, I’m guessing) have invaded my time, my brain. It’s like a really dull, yet somehow soothing, radio play that I can’t turn off. Rob! There’s a Rob as well! He’s solid, apparently. Yeah, Rob’s a safe pair of hands, confirms fasting guy. Yeah, he’s reliable, leaving guy says, determined to have the last synonym. Laura’s fairly mercenary, says leaving guy — I do get on with her, though. Oh what a surprise — the only woman they’ve mentioned in their Gen X incel party has been labelled ‘mercenary’. What about Nick? Asks fasting guy. Nick would be a great candidate, yeah, he’s a grafter.
I want to ask them what they do. And is Mercenary Laura the only woman? And what exactly did Maximum Damage guy do? But that would be the wrong side of weird. And I need to go and pick up the children. So I guess that’s it — this is where the story ends. It’s not what I came for, but it’s content – so thanks guys, it’s been emotional.
