The alarm goes at seven-thirty. I switch on Radio Two, fold back the duvet and slide out of bed. The welcome routine of another day begins. I don’t yet know that today will be like no other.
I do my morning business and check the mirror. A familiar man with cropped hair, lined face and sagging jowls greets me. Then I catch the 82 bus.
I’m in Accounts at a department store. I’ve been here man and boy since 1974; I know it’s a cliché but I really did start as a tea-boy and made my way up to administrator with special responsibility for chasing unpaid bills.
Today, my routine is disturbed. I am to see Human Resources. Rumours are of changes and I expect to be pleasantly surprised. I’m ushered into HR and there’s a boy behind the desk. There are no pleasantries; he grimaces at me to sit.
He glances at his computer screen. He speaks without looking up and calls me Mr. Rodney which isn’t quite my name. I can scarcely comprehend his words: ‘Changes … have to let you go … good redundancy package.’
It takes time for it to sink in. I’m being sacked. I hear myself choking, ‘Why me?’
The Boy reads from the screen. Mr Taylor, the chairman, wants to put his nephew in Accounts so he can learn the business from the bottom up. He is to have my job.
‘Good day, Mr. Rodney,’ the Boy yawns and returns to his screen.
Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 