I was standing on the front steps of the Advanced Engineering Company and my stomach was hurting. A depression had settled over me. I'd been in this condition for at least a week. Finally, I just couldn't go on. I don't think that I even made a decision. I just turned and headed back to the railway station and then for home.
Head down, trudging along, got to get home and tell my wife when I bumped into---
“Watch it, mate.”
I looked up at a big hairy bloke in an apron with a broom. “Sorry,” I mumbled and went to step around him.
He was staring at me. “You alright?”
“Um, probably. I will be, I think.” I could smell beer – stale beer. The bloke's standing under a sign saying Barney's Bar and Grill. “You Barney?”
“Yeah, Mate.”
“You open?”
“Yeah, we're an early opener. Wanna come in for a drink?”
I don't know what I want. Why not? “Yes, please.”
Dim lights, big tele showing the news, low volume. Old bloke on a stool at the end of the bar. I sat on a stool and put my briefcase on the stool beside me.
Barney the barman walked around to his side of the bar. “Name yer poison, Pardner.”
“Coffee?” I asked.
He produced a carafe, a mug, sugar sachets and a plastic jug of milk.
“You right down there, Eric,” he called to his other customer and turned back to me. “Do you fancy a dash of something in your coffee, Mate?”
“No thanks,” I said and looked around. “A bit quiet?”
“I had a bit of a rush when the factory night shift knocked off at six.”
“Factory? The one up the road?” I asked.
“Yeah. Advanced something ---”
“That's my company. Or was.”
“I bet you were sacked. I can tell. You look seriously depressed.”
“No, I just walked away. Never even got inside. Turned and walked away.”
“Are you bloody mad? Do you know how many good jobs are available in this screwed up economy?”
“Not a lot, I expect.”
“You're right! Listen Mate, I'm a highly skilled bartender, it's my duty to stick me nose in and give you sound advice. But first, what plans have you got?”
“None.”
“Great! Married?”
“For twenty years.”
“Does your missus know you've resigned?”
“Not yet.” I said.
“Well Smarty, if you're an executive and you're dressed like one, I'd guess your company's rang your home looking for you and frightened the hell out of your wife. Do you think you should ring her?”
“You're right! I'm just stunned for the moment. She will be worried.” I fetched my phone out of my briefcase and called Sandy.
She answered immediately. “Are you alright? Where are you? Your company's phoned me twice! What are you doing?”
I told her what happened, “and my new personal manager, the bartender at Barney's Bar and Grill is currently advising me.”
“What? Barney's what? Never mind. It's about time, David. You're the smartest person I know. You graduated uni with honours in higher maths and physics. Yet you weren't smart enough to recognise that dreadful place was killing you. I've been at you to leave for a year or more. Well done, David.”
“Sandy, you realise that it's unlikely I'll get a job that pays that well? We've got a mortgage and our daughter's going to university next year.”
“David, the mortgage is nearly paid off. Not a problem. Our daughter can get a HECS loan. Not a problem. We can sell your mid-life crisis, chick-magnet of a sports car ---”
“No.”
“Yes! And you've got twenty years of Super you can claim and something like six months accumulated sick leave. We are not going to lose our house.”
“I know where you can get a job,” Barney interrupted.
“Really doing what and where?” I turned and asked him.
“Here. Didn't you see the sign in the window? 'Staff wanted. Apply within.' My cook ran away with my waitress who incidentally was my wife.” He looked pensive. “He must have been desperate.” He spoke up. "Sandy if you're interested, I could start you as a bartender as soon as you get here. David, can you cook?”
“Not really, but he can barbecue,” Sandy interjected.
“Good enough. He's got the job,” Barney said. “Sandy, you could make a fortune in tips as a bar-tender. David said you're drop dead gorgeous. ”
“No I didn't.” I said.
“What? I'm not drop dead gorgeous? Barney, when can I start?”
“What on earth are you doing, Sandy?” I nearly screamed.
“Soon as you can get here,” Barney told her. “I'll give you a bit of training and unleash you on the lunch hour rush.”
“No! No, no.” I'm trying to get a word in.
“David, to earn tips, should I wear that frilly little up and under---”
“No! No, no.”
Barney took me out the back to a store room where I removed my suit coat and tie, rolled up my sleeves, donned an apron and prepared to start a new career. As a short order cook.
“I'll help out until you get the knack.” Barney reassured me. We poked around the kitchen, him showing, me learning. “Just think of it as a big family barbie,” he said.
We stopped for a coffee refill at the bar. A few customers wandered in, Barney had me pull their beers. I'm cross-training you,” he explained. “I'll show you how to mop the floor when we close.”
I was finishing my coffee when I heard. “So your true colours are showing. You're a drunk!”
I nearly fell off my bar stool. It was the woman from the Industrial Relations Department. A sharp faced – no hatchet faced bully, about my age, forty with permanently pursed lips and her hair pulled back tightly into a bun. “What are you doing here?" I demanded.
“G and T please barman.” She turned back to me and said. “I'm about to tell you why you will report back to our company first thing in the morning.”
“Not happening! I'm long gone,” I told her. “Anyway, how did you find me?”
“Mind your own business,” she snapped. “Report for work first thing in the morning, and we'll overlook your childish lapse.”
“Listen to me you rude, arrogant woman. Your company was killing me,” I said coldly. “I was going to submit a written resignation, including a doctor's certificate at the end of the week but I wouldn't have survived another day in that slaughterhouse.” I noticed that Barney was assiduously swabbing the bar and probably earwigging.
“Wait a minute! You've been tracking my phone? That's how you found me.”
“Don't be silly, that can't be done,” she said then looked up at Barney who's close by. “A little privacy, please barman.”
“Don't talk rubbish! I helped design the app for tracking phones, remember? Management was hanging over my shoulder trying to hurry me. That's why I've got nervous dyspepsia. That's why our engineers are falling like flies. That's why Ernie committed suicide a few weeks back. It's not going to happen to me!”
“Ernie was weak, David ---”
“Don't call me David! I'm not your friend. I'm Mister Brown, now please leave.”
“Mr Brown, do you realise that a lot of our products are Defence Force orders and not just for Australia? Do you.recall signing a confidentiality agreement every year? Did you read the fine print? We own you! If you don't toe the line you will find yourself in a restricted federal court without a lawyer.”
“Who the hell are you?” I asked.
“Have you heard of ASIS?”
“Yes, Australian Spy something or other,”
“Near enough.” She snapped.
“You're a spook!” I accused her.
“As the Americans would say, yes. Now that you know what you're dealing with, I'm sure that you'll turn up tomorrow morning, on time and be the good little employee that we over-pay you to be,” she smirked at me and strutted out.
I'm standing there absolutely buggered. This mob's likely to have me hidden away in an Antarctic outpost for the rest of my life.
“Oy.” Barney had sidled up to me. “We've got her Dave, dead to rights.”
“Are you mad?” I nearly yelled at him.
He lifted the swab up off the bar where he had left it and there's his phone: recording. He commenced the playback. And it was all there, all her threats and admissions from go to whoa: recorded.
“Dave, give her a little while to get back to the centre of her spider web and phone her,” Barney said. “Just play a little of this and tell her it's a copy and that the original's on its way to a media outlet then hang up.”
People were starting to roll in and ask Barney for drinks. I helped as best I could. When the mini- rush eased, I rang my good old firm and asked for Industrial Relations. My nemesis answered, recognising my phone number, “A humble capitulation, Davey boy?” She sneered,
“Listen to this,” I said and Barney played a few seconds of her earlier diatribe. “It's all there, start to finish. Copies are about to go to the media.”
There was a silence for a short period. A reflective silence? “Let me get back to you shortly. Would you mind holding off on any initiatives until then, please Mister Brown?” Most politely.
“Will do.” I said equally politely and hung up. I've either had a win or they're sending an unmarked van for me.
xxxx
For more great stories, go to Short Stories by Victor Kirwan.