INTERVIEW
Mary Forester sat in the kitchen, reading through a book of baby names. She was surprised that anyone still called his or her son Tarquin. She was currently thinking James was the best name to go with.
George was heading down the stairs. He shouted through to his wife.
“Is the black tie good for this suit?
Mary
yawned and called back. “It looks fine, but black is for funerals. You should
wear the navy blue one for a job interview.”
George tutted and turned back, just short of the kitchen, to head up the stairs again and get the right tie. A few minutes later he was back by his wife’s side, and she straightened the tie for him.
“Have you got everything?” she asked.
George nodded his head, and picked up his briefcase.
Mary shook her head. “Everything except your ID Card. I found that in the living room this morning. You won’t get far without that, will you?”
George grinned. “I would have noticed. Honestly.”
Mary kissed him. “You wouldn’t notice if your head was missing.”
George shrugged. “I’m sure you’d point it out for me. That’s why I married you.”
Mary slapped his face, playfully. George feigned a howl of anguish.
“So what are you doing today while I’m out?”
Mary smiled. “Linda and I are going looking for baby clothes in the Arndale Centre. She’s got three kids of her own. She’s happy to advise me on what’s best to buy. “
“Great. Just hope you don’t overspend on my credit card.”
“Spending your money’s why I married you.”
George pouted in exaggerated hurt. “Don’t forget your own ID Card, will you?”
Mary laughed. “Mine’s never out of my purse. I never forget it.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Guess there’s no danger of you losing your head. I think I’ll head off now.”
“But your interview isn’t until 2.30. You’ve got hours.”
“I know, but I like to be relaxed about these things. Besides, you know how ID checks can slow down a journey. If I’m early I’ll just browse round and do a few errands on the way. Rushing in for an interview in a state of stress is the last thing anyone should do.”
Mary nodded. It made sense. George was always thinking ahead and making the full use of his time. He hated last minute hurry more than anything else in the World.
With a final farewell hug and a kiss, George took up his briefcase and left the house. He didn’t se Mary’s lip begins to tremble. She was worried for him. She didn’t know why. She just was.
George walked along in the mid-day Sunshine that made such a lie of rain soaked Manchester’s reputation. The Bessies-Of-The-Barn Metrolink tram stoop was only a few streets away from the house. George reached the Metrolink ticket machine, and he was about to insert his money when the ID Card Inspector approached him. The man waved his official Blue badge despite being in uniform.
“May I check your ID, Sir?”
George gritted his teeth as the humourless man starred down at him. He reached for his wallet and pulled out his ID Card. The man took it and stared intently at the picture. George said nothing. He hoped he would get away with a mere glancing inspection. No such luck. The Inspector produced the Card Reading machine and put the card into it. The machine hummed electronically as it digested the card data and recorded the fact that an inspection was occurring. As the process was going on, a Metrolink Tram trundled into the tram station. Several passengers keen to rush off before the Inspector had finished dealing with George, got off. Others got on. George hinted that if the Inspector, he could make it on board to. His concern fell on deaf ears. The tram doors closed and it went away towards Manchester.
The Inspector asked questions that he had undoubtedly asked of dozens of people already that day. “What is the purpose of your journey Sir?”
George was puzzled. He asked what the Inspector was referring to.
The Inspector was rattled, and took the request for clarification as insolence. “Where are you going and why? Is this journey necessary? Is it for business or for pleasure?”
George cottoned on. “Business. I have a job interview. “
The Inspector went into full officious bureaucrat mode. He hadn’t finished with George yet. “I see. I see, and did anyone pack your briefcase hand luggage for you before you set off?”
George was incredulous. “I packed it myself. It just contains some paperwork and a couple of cheese and onion sandwiches. Do you need to search the case?”
“That won’t be necessary, Sir. Thank you….” He paused, and George realised that the man was about to change his mind. George had unlocked the case even as the man was about to order him to do so. The contents of the case were clearly just as George had described them. The inspector poked and prodded at the sandwiches, as though unsure whether or not the thin sliced bread could contain some kind of contraband or not. George decided that he would be throwing the bread away now. As he handed George back the case to fasten it for himself again, he apologised for doing his job. “I can see you are flustered about this Sir, but I have to ask everyone these questions. I know it can be irritating, but please don’t make it more difficult than it already is. That way we’ll both have a more pleasant day of it, won’t we?”
George was angered and a little afraid. He tried to make light conversation of it. “This is absurd. I’m sure you’ll agree with me on this, but it’s like an airport customs inspection. I’m only going to town, not abroad. Oh God, look. I’ve missed another tram now. I could have been on that.”
The Inspector smiled and shrugged as he started to key some text onto the Card Reader. George wondered what he might be saying. He was tempted to ask, but he didn’t dare.
The Inspector finally decided that he had seen enough. “I’m sorry Sir. You may catch the next one though I have finished here now. Have a pleasant day. “He handed George back his ID Card and went to pounce on an old lady walking with the aid of a Zimmer frame.
“May I see your ID Card, please,” he shouted automatically assuming that she must be deaf as she was so elderly. She paused and struggled to balance on the frame with one hand as she rummaged through her purse for the card.
George missed the rest of the drama as the tram had now arrived. He got on. The doors closed, and he was on his way to Manchester at last. He looked at his watch. He still had plenty of time.
As he got off the tram in Market Street, another inspector was checking passenger ID cards. He already had a large queue of commuters waiting, and he didn’t notice George slip away and hurry clear before he could add him to the group.
George decided to buy himself a daily newspaper. He popped into the nearest open newsagents. There were a few Guardian newspapers left in stock. The shop was mostly a badly laid out clutter of magazines. The TV-Times was mixed in among train-spotting magazines and comics. Only the top shelf porno-mags seemed to be in any sort of order. George was indifferent to those. He just wanted his newspaper.
The newsagent was just finishing off his service of a customer who had bought a lottery ticket and a chocolate bar. He took an ID Card reading of the young customer, and when he saw George behind him, he politely invited George to insert his ID card into the devise too as the other man left.
The Card Reader whirred into action as George paid for his newspaper.
The newsagent smiled. “I hate these things, but my boss insists that we use them. Rules are rules, I’m sure you’ll understand. Bide with me a moment Sir. I’ll soon get the hang of this. Ah, that’s it. It’s a nuisance I know, but the men who brought the machine in insist I check everyone. Its more than my job’s worth not to.”
George understood. He had seen similar sights many times now. He felt some sympathy for the newsagent. Behind George, three more customers queued up with their meagre purchases.
George’s card had done its job. The newsagent handed it back to him and George walked out of the shop, behind him, a girl buying a comic for her daughter had to produce her ID Card for inspection. Just outside the shop, George opened his briefcase and put the newspaper in. He’d read it on the Tram on the way home after his interview.
With an hour and a half to go, George wondered where to go next. He moved towards the offices where his interview was to be held so that he could be sure that any delays encountered would not compromise his arrival time, He was still undecided on his next errand when he heard an altercation in a nearby side street.
George glanced down the street from the corner and saw a young Asian man being jostled by a uniformed ID Card Inspector.
“Show me your card, you Paki bastard.” Yelled the Inspector, aggressively.
The young man looked round, frightened and sweating profusely. “Please, Sir. This is the ninth time I’ve been checked today. You checked me yourself half an hour ago. This is beginning to look like harassment. “
“Show me your card or I will report your lack of co-operation to my superior offic….”
The Pakistani spotted George and tried to make eye contact with him. The ID Inspector realised that the youth was looking past him and turned to see George just trying to slip away. He quickly shouted to George to stop where he was. George froze, half wondering if he should flee or not. The Inspector ordered the Pakistani to stay put and walked over to George.
“Let me see your ID.”
George backed away a little, imploring the man to let him go. “I’m not involved in this. I don’t want any part of it.”
The Inspector scowled. “You are a material witness to this man’s efforts to avoid being inspected by me. Your own ID card will record your presence here if I need to take him to court. I need your ID Card now. “
George handed over his ID Card. The Inspector checked it quickly, and decided that all was in good order.
“The Sat-Nav system has logged your location at this corner. I’ll get Paki Pete’s presence here recorded as well in a minute. If we need to be in touch regarding court proceedings, we will. Now piss off.”
George felt sorry for the young man, but he knew that he would just get himself in trouble if he dared to intervene or protect him from the racist abuse he was now enduring. George felt confident that no court case would follow. He had heard of such intimidating shakedowns from some of his friends. The Pakistani would be harassed, but not actually taken to court. It was widely believed to be a widespread practice. George turned and quickly distanced himself from the scene of what now sounded like it was becoming a more physical assault.
Shaken and distressed, George knew what he would do with his remaining forty-five minutes before the interview. He went to the pub. He needed a good stiff drink to help calm his nerves.
He had passed the Royal Crown pub, but he had never actually been in it. He chose it now simply because it was within sight of the offices he had to report to shortly. The pub was quiet. As they didn’t serve food here it was not a popular lunchtime venue. George imagined that the bar would be very busy at night, especially over the weekends. For now, he was able to go straight to the bar and attract attention from the landlord.
It didn’t surprise George that he was asked for his ID card even as his half a pint of Guinness was pouring. He even gave a retinal scan; the first he had ever done. The Landlord, like many ID Card Reader users, was apologetic about the whole business.
“I hate these fucking things, but the brewery insists that I vet each and every customer. The eye test is pointless. I can see from your picture that you are you, unless you have a twin brother or something, and I don’t care if you do. I’m just familiarising myself with the apparatus. Hope you don’t mind. “
George was feeling a little tense but he assured the man that he didn’t mind. He could see that the publican was telling the truth. He took his beer, left a generous tip and sat down in a corner at a table on his own. He was there only a moment when he heard a familiar voice calling his name out.
“George, is that you? George. Over here…”
George looked around and felt delighted when his friend Graham bounded over and sat himself down beside him. Graham had been in the pub for a while, and he was clearly not entirely sober now.
“Half a pint, George? Is that all you’re having?”
“Yes. I have a job interview just round the corner shortly. I aren’t turn up there three sheets to the wind.
“Wow. Sounds cool, but you look shaken. Nervous about the interview?”
“Not really. I just saw some poor Pakistani Kid getting beaten up and intimidated by an ID Inspector. The Bastard I’d me too for being there.”
“Shit. That happens a lot round here. You have to be careful. You’re on the cusp of University student digs and the Gay Village, plus you have Chinatown and a mosque round here. The ID Goon Squad have a field day in this district. When you get your job round here you’ll learn to spot them before they spot you. “
Graham was wearing a pink tee shirt with the words “REMEMBER WHEN BIG BROTHER WAS JUST A GAME SHOW?” written on it. George smiled. He knew that the shirt was like a rag to a red bull for ID Inspectors. Graham liked to take up their time and get himself clocked up as many times as possible. He would often say that the more time they spent reading his card the less time they had for checking up on other people.
George asked him what he was doing in the pub.
“I work here now. I do the drays of a morning and a little glass collecting. I DJ on Saturdays too. Right now, I am just here to get pissed. It’s not easy. Bill, the landlord has to take my ID reading every time I go to the bar. You’d think he could just read any customers once, as we come in, but no. He tells me they have to check every time. There could be different barmaids serving me each time, and they can’t always tell who has been in all day from who has just arrived. It’s crap I know. They just want to see how long we spend in here, and calculate how many times we visit the bar. The card registers the exact time of each purchase on the Government computers. It’s not Bill’s fault though. It’s the powers that be. He has to co-operate or he could lose his license. The Bricklayers lost theirs for not checking every ID one very purchase. That was a fucking good pub too. Bastards.
George wanted to talk more, but he didn’t have much time left. He finished his Guinness, shook his friend’s hand and headed off. Graham wished him all the best and asked for a call as soon as George knew whether he had the job or not.
George walked towards the offices. He was still five minutes early. He spotted an ID inspector, a woman this time, heading towards him, with a reading machine at the ready. She was almost certainly going to check the next living soul she encountered. Knowing that a check at this time would certainly make him late, George slid into a side street and waited until she had gone and then walked quickly into the offices of Peprani Logistics. He smiled. He had arrived on time. The receptionist took his ID reading. That would stamp a receipt of his prompt arrival for him. George felt relaxed again.
George was ushered into a lift and sent to the fifth floor to wait outside Room 517. A security official there checked his ID, and gave George his second retinal scan that day.
Now George sat alone in a waiting room, but not for long. A secretary called to him. “Mr. Metcalfe will see you now, Sir. Just pop through the red door to the left.”.
George thanked her and walked to the door in question. He knocked lightly. A gruff voice called to him. “Enter.”
George stepped into the room. A burly, smiling man sat at a large desk. He quickly invited George to sit down. George lowered himself into the swivel based computer chair that was left out especially for him.
“I take it
you have had your ID checked since you entered my lair?” Said Mr. Metcalfe,
grinning as if he had told a very rude joke.
George nodded. “Yes. Twice. “ He was worried that Mr. Metcalfe might produce an ID Reader of his own, but he didn’t.
“Splendid. Splendid.” The man spluttered. “Well, down to business as they say. I’ve read your application form and your Curriculum Vitae of course. You seem very experienced in this line of marketing work and more than qualified to work here. Perhaps you could tell me in your own words why you feel we would be right for you.”
George was ready for the question. He had rehearsed his answer many times in the days since he had been notified of the interview. “Well, frankly Sir, you pay a great deal more money than your competitors. I also believe that you have a greater range of opportunities for overtime, at high bonus rates, and more scope for promotion than many other firms. I work hard as my references will show you. I’m actually a bit of a workaholic. I don’t think my previous employer could actually give me enough work to do. I have strong reason to believe that you will find much more for me to do. “
Mr. Metcalfe repeated what was clearly his personal catch phrase. “Splendid. Splendid. Well. I won’t beat about the bush, George. I like you. I think you’ll be just right for us. Of course, I do have other candidates applying for the post too, but I’m personally very confident about you. Please expect to hear from me by the end of the week. Goodbye.”
Mr. Metcalfe leaned across the desk and gave George a hearty, almost masonic handshake. George took up his coat and briefcase and left the office. He banged into the lady ID Card reader he had spotted on his way in. She now asked him to see his ID. George was free from time pressure. He grinned and happily handed it to her. She looked at him apprehensively. She was not used to someone who didn’t flinch from her steely gaze.
***************************************************************
George had
barely left when Mr. Metcalfe called his HR Rep, Sandra Maitland; on the
Intranet e-mail system he used and invited her to his office.
‘Sandra,’, he wrote; ‘could you bring the Forester ID Card print outs in for me please. Just bring me the information gathered today. His full file will be longer than War And Peace. ‘
Sandra told him that she would get onto it right away. A few minutes later, she entered the office with a lengthy print out.
“Today’s Forester file,” Sir, she said, preparing to hand the papers Metcalfe stared at her. “Read them to me.”
Sandra scowled. She had a lot of work to do. She had hoped that he would read the files through for himself so that she could get on with other duties. No such luck. She opened the file and read a digested version of the key events as it presented them.
Forester 7421095549809808 came in by Metrolink this afternoon. An ID Inspector reports that he found him a little surly and uncooperative. George then went to newsagents. We don’t know what exactly he purchased, but a cross-reference on the newsagent in question shows that the shop has a reputation for selling pornographic literature.
Metcalfe coughed. “Oh, dear. That doesn’t sound good at all. Do continue.“
Sandra read on. “George then witnessed an altercation between an ID Inspector and a youth who was obstructing his duties. George was inspected to record his presence at the event. He is reported as being somewhat credulous and critical of the proceedings. He was not comfortable with the idea of potentially becoming a witness if more official proceedings need to be pursued. “
Sandra’s boss tutted in disgust. “Mr. Forester’s little halo does seem to be slipping somewhat.”
Sandra read on. “Forester then went to the pub, leaving it immediately before he came here.”
Metcalfe starred at her open mouthed. “Drinking in the daytime is not something I encourage among my employees. We lose too many hours of production to staff taking long liquid lunches. “
Sandra hit him with another bombshell. “It gets worse, Sir. The pub is a gay bar. It’s The Royal Crown.
Metcalfe was dumbfounded. “Good grief. Hold on. Isn’t Forester married?”
Sandra checked her data. “Yes, Sir. He’s been married for three years. “
Metcalfe was lost in thought for a moment. He then seemed to snap back into decisiveness again just as quickly. “You know, Sandra. We could be doing him an injustice with this data. I’ve been known to take umbrage with constant ID checks myself. As to the newsagents, for all I know, he bought cigarettes or a comic. That the place sells porn as well is almost by the by. As for the pub, well it’s just round the corner from here. Maybe he was just thirsty. He didn’t look drunk to me when I interviewed him. He might not even know it was a gay bar.
Sandra agreed, but she still had her reservations. “With respect, Sir, such details are on record. If we give him the job despite them and he proves to be unreliable or unsuitable for us, we might be questioned later as to why we ignored the warning signs. I think we should reject his application to work for us.
Metcalfe was not so sure. “Sandra, we have found ID Card fault with virtually everyone who has been in. I’ve turned down twelve candidates, and at least three of them know the job better than I do. We have to draw the line somewhere. We’re losing business waiting for Mr. Right like this. We can’t afford to be too fussy. Do we have anything else on George Forester? If not, the job is his. “
Sandra drew out another printed page. “You won’t like this, Sir. It’s about his wife, Mary. I cross-referenced her card to the National Register. She’s been out shopping in Mothercare all day. I think she must be pregnant.
Metcalfe thumped the desk angrily. “Bah! That tears it. George never mentioned that. It explains why he’s so keen for more work and more money. No doubt he’ll be requesting paternity leave before long. I can’t afford to let him have time off so soon after he starts working for us. Take a letter, Sandra. I’ve got some bad news for Georgy Porgy…..”
Sandra
took up a pen and a shorthand notepad.
Mr Metcalfe started to dictate his letter of rejection.
A week later, Mary Forester picked up the post that had just arrived at their house. She shouted up the stairs to her husband. “letter for you, George. Could be the one you’ve been waiting for.”
George took the stairs two at a time in his rush for the correspondence. Mary handed it to him and crossed her fingers as he opened it and started to read it.
“It’s from Mr. Metcalfe,” George said, almost in reverence.
Mary could barely contain her excitement. “Did you get the job?”.
George read the letter out loud. “Dear Mr. Forester, thank you for applying to join us at … … “ George skipped the preamble and read the closing paragraph. “With regret, we have decided to give the position to a more qualified candidate. May I take this opportunity to wish you every success in future employment…. Yours Sincerely, Mr. Metca…. “
George angrily crumpled the letter and threw it onto the floor. He collapsed in tears. Mary threw her arms around him and tried to comfort him, but he was too overcome with grief to notice her there at all.
“So Sorry. I really thought you had it in the bag this
time…” She said.
George got up and put his coat on. “So did I. Guess I’ll just have to go out looking for another job now.”
“Wrap up warm and make sure you take your ID Card with you.”
George smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry. I never go anywhere without it. “
As the door closed and her husband made his way out to visit the employment agencies, Mary sat, weeping and patting her stomach lovingly. She whispered to her child. “You’ll get your own ID card when you grow up… yes you will… just like mummy and daddy…”
© Copyright. Arthur Chappell
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