Hater

    'Well,' I explain, trying hard not to sound like I'm patronising her, 'if you remember I was twenty minutes early yesterday and I started working as soon as I got here. If I'm going to make up your fifteen minutes for today, can I claim back my twenty minutes for yesterday? Or shall we just call it quits and I'll let you off the five minutes?'

    'Don't be stupid. You know it doesn't work like that.'

    'Maybe it should.'

    Bloody hell, now she's really annoyed. Her face is flushed red and I can see the veins on her neck bulging. It was a stupid and pointless comment to make but I'm right, aren't I? Why should the council have it all their own way? Tina's staring at me now and her silence is making me feel really uncomfortable. I should have just kept my mouth closed. I let her win the face-off and I turn back round to sign-on to my computer again.

    'Either take it off your lunch hour or work over,' she says over her shoulder as she walks away. 'I don't care what you do, just make sure you make up the time you owe.'

    And she's off. Conversation's over and I don't get any chance to respond or to try and get the last word. Bitch.

    Tina makes my skin crawl but I find myself staring at her rather than my computer screen. She's back at her desk now and Barry Penny, the office manager, has suddenly appeared. Her body language has completely changed now that she's speaking to someone who's higher up the council pecking order than she is. She's smiling and laughing at his pathetic jokes and generally trying to see how far she can crawl up his backside.

    I can't help thinking about what I've just seen happen outside. Christ, I wish I had that bloke's umbrella. I know exactly where I'd shove it.

    Sometimes having such a dull and monotonous job is an advantage. This stuff is way beneath me and I don't really have to think about what I'm doing. I can do my work on autopilot and the time passes quickly. It's been like that so far this morning. Job satisfaction is non-existent but at least the day isn't dragging.

    I've been working here for almost eight months now (it feels longer) and I've worked for the council for the last three and a half years. In that time I've worked my way through more departments than most long-serving council staff manage in their entire careers. I keep getting transferred. I served time in the pest control, refuse collection and street lamp maintenance departments before I ended up here in the Parking Fine Processing office or PFP as the council likes to call it. They have an irritating habit of trying to reduce as many department names and job titles down to sets of initials as they can. Before I was transferred here I'd been told that the PFP was a dumping ground for underperformers and, as soon as I arrived, I realised it was true. In most of the places I've worked I've either liked the job but not the people or the other way around. Here I have problems with both. This place is a breeding ground for trouble. This is where those motorists who've been unlucky (or stupid) enough to get wheel-clamped, caught on camera or given a ticket by a parking warden come to shout and scream and dispute their fines. I used to have sympathy with them and I believed their stories. Eight months here has changed me. Now I don't believe anything that anyone tells me.

    'Did you see that bloke this morning?' a voice asks from behind the computer on my left. It's Kieran Smyth. I like Kieran. Like most of us he's wasted here. He's got brains and he could make something of himself if he tried. He was studying law at university but took a holiday job here last summer and never went back to class. Told me he got used to having the money and couldn't cope without it. He buys an incredible amount of stuff. Every day he seems to come back from lunch with bags of clothes, books, DVDs and CDs. I'm just jealous because I struggle to scrape together enough money to buy food, never mind anything else. Kieran spends most of his day talking to his mate Daryl Evans who sits on my right. They talk through me and over me but very rarely to me. It doesn't bother me though. Their conversations are as boring as hell and the only thing I have in common with them is that the three of us all work within the same small section of the same small office. What does annoy me, if I'm honest, is the fact that they both seem to be able to get away with not doing very much for large chunks of the working day. Maybe it's because they're friendly with Tina outside work and they go out drinking together. Christ, I only have to cough and she's up out of her seat wanting to know what I'm doing and why I've stopped working.

    'What bloke?' Daryl shouts back.

    'Out on the street on the way to work.'

    'Which street?'

    'The high street, just outside Cartwrights.'

    'Didn't see anything.'

    'You must have.'

    'I didn't. I didn't walk past Cartwrights. I came the other way this morning.'

    'There was this bloke,' Kieran explains regardless, 'you should have seen him. He went absolutely fucking mental.'

    'What are you on about?'

    'Honest mate, he was wild. You ask Bob Rawlings up in Archives. He saw it. He reckons he practically killed her.'

    'Killed who?'

    'I don't know, just some old woman. No word of a lie, he just started laying into her for no reason. Stabbed her with a bloody umbrella I heard!'

    'Now you're taking the piss…'

    'I'm serious.'

    'No way!'

    'You go and ask Bob…'

    I usually ignore these quick-fire conversations (most of the time I don't have a clue what they're talking about) but today I can actually add something because I was there. It's pathetic, I know, but the fact that I seem to know more about what happened than either Kieran or Daryl makes me feel smug and superior.

    'He's right,' I say, looking up from my screen.

    'Did you see it then?' Kieran asks. I lean back on my seat in self-satisfaction.

    'Happened right in front of me. He might even have gone for me if I'd been a few seconds earlier.'

    'So what was it all about?' Daryl asks. 'Is what he's saying right?'

    I quickly look over at Tina. She's got her head buried in a pile of papers. It's safe to keep talking.

    'I saw the old girl first,' I tell them. 'I nearly tripped over her. She came flying past me and smashed up against the window by the side door of Cartwrights. I thought it must be a group of kids trying to get her bag off her or something like that. Couldn't believe it when I saw him. He just looked like a normal bloke. Suit, tie, glasses...'

    'So why did he do it? What had she done to him?'

    'No idea. Bloody hell, mood he was in I wasn't about to ask him.'

    'And he just went for her?' Daryl mumbles, sounding like he doesn't believe a word I'm saying. I nod and glance from side to side at both of them.

    'Never seen anything like it,' I continue. 'He ran at her and stabbed her with an umbrella. It was gross. It went right into her belly. There was blood all over her coat and…'

    Tina's looking up now. I look down and start typing, trying to remember what it was I was doing.

    'Then what?' Kieran hisses.

    'Idiot turned on the rest of the crowd. Started hitting out at the people around him. Then the police turned up,' I explain, still looking at my screen but not actually doing anything. 'They dragged him away and shoved him in the back of a van.'

    The conversation stops again. Murray's on the move. For a moment the only sound I can hear is the clicking of three computer keyboards as we pretend to work. After looking around the room and staring at me in particular she leaves the office and Kieran and Daryl immediately stop inputting.