The 'positive' announcement from the M.D. is 71 more people will lose their jobs. This will ‘safeguard the future of the company’.
Which is ‘good’.
The 71 people will not know who they are for a month.
Which is not so good. But I suppose they know already. Either way.
I stare out the window. I have much to think about.
The general mood is not fantastic.
Thug Colleague: I reckon we just organize a massive dance-off to decide who keeps their jobs.
Random Colleague*: I’m totally your wing-man on that one like.
Grant From Work: That’s you fucked then Tired. I’ve seen your moves.
Some more time passes and I think unhappy thoughts. I tune-in again to hear this:
Thug Colleague: …the spacka school her daughter went tae. By, there were some reet ones there, like. Weird thaw. Some a theym looked nawmal. But there were some reet parsnips an all. It had a canny football pitch thaw. Ah mean for a flid school and that. Their team wasn’t that bad either. Had to put a fucking bell on the ball mind.
I gaze out the window some more. The rain is so heavy I cannot see the other side of the street.
* I've worked with him three years. Never bothered to learn his name or indeed make up a pretend one.