Chapter 3

He worked as an insurance broker. He had always wanted to be an insurance broker but of late, he had found it be nothing more than a chore, work by both definition and sentiment.

"Can you make sure that the Reynolds account is signed off today?" came  a voice from over by the door, suddenly interrupting his thoughts.

"Sorry" he replied, slightly bewildered.

"The Reynolds account, you ARE still the go-to-guy on that account aren't you?

"Yeah, yeah, of course, sorry my mind was.."

"Look, I don't pay you for your mind to be anywhere other than here, so snap out of it. We need the account done and dusted before the end of business today or the boss is going to chew your arse. Comprende?"

"Sure."

"Thank you!"

And with that, Steve O'Reilly sauntered back into the corridors from whence he came.

Steve O' Reilly was one rung above him on the corporate food chain. They had both been up for promotion but Steve clinched the position and the board members attributed his victory to his opponents lack of professionalism and a failure to understand the importance of team ethics at Courtauld Insurance.

He looked away form his familiar computer screen and stared blankly at his co-workers, caged in their respective quarters, with their headsets and novelty mouse mats. "Now Mr Smith, have you ever thought about accidental death insurance...an extra £50 a month is a small price to pay to insure the well-being and security of your family...good morning, this is____ from Courtauld." This is all he could hear, panoramic inane, scripted babble from the people he worked with, people who had missed their true calling in their lives, who had deffered dreams of being a vet, an astronaut and the many other vocations that are encouraged in  times of youth but easily abandoned once a person becomes too entrenched in the perils of adulthood, these people had sold out the very promises they made to themselves many moons ago in order to sell "peace of mind" and "what ifs." He placed his headset onto his desk and began the all too familiar wander past the minions. Some twiddled their company pens, some stared at screens, trying to decode the reems of figures that jumped out at them and others surfed the net, in a voyeuristic haze scrambling for a connection with a world outside of their current one, but all of them trapped in their hellish cubicles, adorned with random personal artefacts. He refused to keep anything personal at his desk. He saw photos of partners and children as nothing more than futile prompts for talking points, ways to entice and captivate passing co-workers into uninteresting, awkward and short lived conversations about trips abroad, the joy of parenting and the importance of being a breadwinner, and he wanted no part of that. Truth be told, he secretly believed that these these artefacts, that stowed among monitors, keyboards and an assortment of post-it notes served only as a reminder of things that were once great, of past acomplishments. He was convinced that these people hated their partners and wished they had worn a condom on that magical night of conception. But not him. His memories, his personal decoration was not for public display or consumption, it was kept to himself as a growing collection of ideas and exchanges that he held important and that validated his time spent in the world outside of Courtauld Insurance.

He returned back to his desk with a cup of milky tea and a napkin full of Hob Nobs, enough supplies he thought to see him through til lunch. That's when he would lift his spirits. That's when he would talk to her.

RING! RING RING! RIN..

"Hello?" a surprised woman answered.

"Hi, love, how is your day? he enquired.

Silence.

"Why are you ringing?" she asked.

"To ask how your day was of course. Steve is on my back again." Can you believe it?I swear, that guy is.."

"Your boss, He is your boss, not the ultimate boss, but on some level he is your superior and you his junior, so suck it up already will you." She had had enough of his whining. The silence that followed allowed her the time to summate to herself that a person who moaned was a weak species but a person who moaned and did nothing to better themselves were by far an even weaker species.

"So, how has your morning been?" he asked, trying to obliterate the silence.

"Fine."

"Sure?"

"Yes." 

"Only you sound annoyed,"

"Don't over analyse what I say. I said I am fine."

Silence

"Did you ring for anything in particular or was it just to exchange pleasantries?" she asked, clearly devoid of all patience.

"I.."

"Look, I gotta go, I've got a conference call but I'll see you at the flat later I suppose."

"Great!. What did you want for.." CLICK. The phone went dead and the hum of having being disconnected wailed in his ears.I must remember to have more to say to her, he thought, overdosing on politeness never gets a person anywhere. He was sat on the steps outside of Courtauld Insurance which overlooked the city's busying financial district.

It was a little after 1pm, so lunchtime and the theatre that ensued was well underway. Men and woman paced through the streets, carrying brown paper bags loaded with baguettes and ciabattas, this was the meal of the serfs, those that had jobs but not careers, those that earned a fair salary but it was far from enogh to allow them to partake in the true hedonism that comes with working in such sectors, while the true victors indulged in liquid lunches, their faces and stomachs bloated with delight and satisfaction, for among the employed, segregation reigned, both inside and outside the workplace. As he tolerated his prepackaged sandwiched, his eyes scrolled left to right, absorbing the culture, commerce and corruption of his surroundings. He was neither fascintated nor intrigued by any of it, so much so, that his landscape became nothing more than a blurred vision, lacking definitive shapes or objects, just colours, a smeared canvas of blues and greys, some that were still, some that ran, some that crawled, some that stood tall and some that bled into the backgorund. Greys and blues. These were the colours that occupied his vision.