The Town And Times of Leo Jennings PART ONE: The Job

In the town where I live, there are two football teams: Fishermen and Firemen. Don't be fooled, they are professional players, it's just one of those team name things that started before the dawn of time, and has stuck through everything ever since. There's barely a fisherman left in this town, and apparently the Firemen name came from the guys that would stoke the fires on the boats and nothing to do with the emergency services. Anyway, the point is, people were passionate about these teams. They both played in the second highest league and would switch and swap around positions in the table; usually around the 5th and 6th mark. One year Fishermen finished top, but they didn't get bumped up because of something dodgy to do with the manager stealing money and owing it back and nobody really knew and the local paper favours Fishermen so the story was hushed up pretty quickly and all anybody knew was that Fishermen started in the same league the next season.

Supporters of the teams aren't geographically based. It has nothing to do with what side of the railway line you live on, or what church is on your corner. It's more to do with what school you went to and whether you got on with the kids of the managers or players from various teams or sometimes it was just as simple as who your dad supported. The girls got a bit involved I guess, but it was definitely a man thing of the town.

Being a man of this town who was born and bred here, I had my team - Firemen, and I supported them with a generous level of enthusiasm. I would go and watch them play every other weekend, sometimes every weekend if I was feeling particularly flush or wanted to piss off my girlfriend. One of the lads in my year at school was son of the star player for Fishermen and I hated him. Hence my allegiance with the opposition. He went on to also play for Fishermen like his dad and mysteriously it was around this time that my support for the Firemen grew more intense.

Four years ago, I lost my job. I'd been working in the office of a Removals company and when the recession hit, people stopped moving house and one day when I was sat there by the silent phone, twiddling my thumbs, the boss called me into his office for a chat.

At first I tried to keep quite optimistic; I was a hard worker, I'd been with that company for five years which showed loyalty and had gained me a lot of experience in office and people skills. I applied for jobs I wanted and didn't get them so then I started applying for every single job that ever came up, but by this time, that's what everyone was doing and I just kept losing out and being pipped at the post. It was tough. My girlfriend was supporting the both of us but the pressure became too much and after a few months we both had to move back to our respective parents' houses as we couldn't keep up with the rent. The living separation put a strain on our relationship as she discovered that she quite enjoyed living without me and so we broke up. Well, I say we broke up but really she broke my heart and kicked me in the balls and spat in my eye while I was rolling around the alley letting every last shred of dignity leave me. In my imagination, I see me laying in that alley, writhing in pain and clutching my stomach and balls and moaning while just being able to see through the spit in my eye, the blurred shape of her walking off in her high stilettos and getting into the car of a guy I knew was new at her office and then the car pulling away and the rain starting.
But the official line is that we broke up. That's what we tell people.

I hate her.

So, there was I; nursing my wounds and with no job, back at my parents' and unable to find work anywhere, when one day my mother knocked on my bedroom door. My bedroom still had stars on the ceiling and posters of my favourite Firemen players from back when I was at school. There's a desk in my bedroom, which has been there since my 11th birthday when I wanted to be a sports journalist, and it's built for a child. When my mother entered that day after the knock on the door, I was sitting at that desk writing a hate poem for my ex girlfriend while listening to a really bad punk band I was really into at school. When I think of myself in that moment: a grown man in that room, it makes me want to punch myself in the face.

Anyway, my mother came into my room and told me that she'd just been down the doctor's surgery and seen an old neighbour of ours' son, Matthew, who was all grown up now and that he had said that he had just gotten a new job that was starting next week and that his old job would be coming up. She suggested I should get in there before they advertised the job and I agreed.

The company was a security company, that's what Matthew had told my mother and what she told me anyway. It was office stuff; admin mainly. To be honest at that point I didn't care what it was, but it actually seemed really decent in way of what I could be good for. I called the number that was scribbled on the back of a 'So You're Worried About An Autoimmune Disease?' pamphlet and asked to speak to the boss. I explained that I was a close friend (lie) of his old employee and I pushed myself on him so that he agreed to having a meeting with me that very afternoon.

In my best office attire and clean shaven employ-me-face I rang the top buzzer at 45 Cork Street and, on hearing the click, walked through that heavy door and up the stairs to the very top floor. I was greeted by a young lady I would have ordinarily considered very attractive if she didn't look so much like my sister, at the reception desk.
"Ah, Mr Jennings. Please take a seat. Mr Petersen will see you in just a few minutes."
I thanked her and took a seat in the empty reception area. On the walls I saw frames containing black and white images of what appeared to be local landscape aerial photographs. They was something a bit odd about them, like they were taken with a fish-eye lens but I couldn't be sure. I noticed one was of the Fishermen grounds and draped over it was a Fishermen's blue and yellow striped scarf.
"Mr Jennings" said my frustratingly cleavage-blessed sister. "Mr Petersen will see you now." and she gestured toward a frosted glass door which bore no name or logo.
"Thanks" I said trying my hardest to look at her face.

Upon entering Mr Petersen's office, I was a little taken aback to find that he was smoking at his desk. The smoking ban had been in place for years and it just seemed so peculiar to see someone in a workplace, in an office smoking! It threw me immediately near to the point of losing my manners in distraction.
I remembered myself and shook his hand, beaming. He was tall, skinny, blond hair, not as old as I had imagined him to be from our phone call. He had high cheek bones and wore a very tight fitting drainpipe suit. He was quite something to look at, but whether this was just because he wasn't what I expected I couldn't be sure. Everything about him had thrown me off guard.

"Mr Jennings! Leo Jennings! Please. My friend, take a seat." He smiled and took another deep, long drag off his cigarette. "Smoke?" and offered me a packet of soft top foreign cigarettes. I hadn't smoked in years, since I had started going out with The Bitch in fact, and seeing those foreign cigarettes that felt like lazy summer holidays with friends in Europe; outside bars, sangria, warm nights, girls...
"Thanks" I said and took a long, white filter-tipped cigarette from him. He held up a lighter decorated with the Danish flag and I started to relax and took in the first drag of my first cigarette in three years and seven months. I leaned back a little and he smiled at me and I smiled back.

"So." he said, "You know Matthew?" I nodded. "He's a good man." I was about to nod again when I sensed the tone and took a punt on a sudden hunch I felt and tilted my head and sort of grimaced ever so slightly." Mr Petersen nodded. "I know." he said. "I know." Then he smiled at me even more. His teeth were so perfect and white and straight. He put out his cigarette out and leaned forward.

"I know you know this isn't just an office job. I know you know why Matthew had to leave and I know you know that I know you know. I am impressed by your discretion and opacity. I am impressed that you knew the drill with the cigarettes."
I was completely overwhelmed and had absolutely no idea what he was talking about but all I knew is that I needed a job and he was about to offer me one. I just needed to hold it together for a few more minutes. I put my cigarette out too and smiled at him across the desk.
"Well. You need not worry about me, Mr Petersen. I am VERY discreet." And then I winked.
He started laughing, "ahh Leo" he said in between giggles "I like you. You will do very nicely. But there's one last thing I need to know." and he leaned forward, so I did too. Our heads were but centimetres apart. He looked me straight in the eye and said
"Which team?"
and without blinking, but having a flash of that image of me sitting in my room earlier that morning listening to bad youth punk and writing hate poetry to my ex at a desk for an eleven year old in a room full of stars on the ceiling and my childhood favourite Firemen posters I said
"Why, Fishermen of course."
Mr Petersen leaned right back on his chair laughing loudly and banging his fist on the table.
"I knew it!!" He was still laughing and rocking back and forth on his chair. "I knew it! I'll see you here Monday morning ten thirty am. Oh don't worry, it's not like we don't work you late to make up for it! April will tell you all you need to know outside, but if you'll excuse me for now I have a telephone call to make."
I couldn't believe it. I had a job!
"Thank you, Mr Petersen. You won't regret it, I promise!" I shook his hand enthusiastically and almost waltzed out of the door right into April, my horribly sexy sister.

"Well, well" she smiled. Her lips were stained red like raspberry puree. I love raspberry puree. Inwardly I groaned, cursing my actual sister.
She went through my pay (30% more than my salary at the Removals place!), showed me where I'd be working, what my log in was, where the tea and coffee was and when she showed me where the paper for the printer was kept, bending over to the bottom drawer, I had to look away.

Karmaic By Nature - For Jessie

Karmaic By Nature
he said
in a way that suggested
he didn't know what he was saying.
Karmaic by Nature?
I asked.
He
looked
down
and said that when he was
tall
he used to look down
all the time at people.
and what about now?
I asked
now that you have been shrunk to the size of
a flea
by your time machine that went wrong again?
he sighed
Well, that's just it
he said
I still look down, but now I look down so that people won't see
my hideous
human
face
on the body of
a flea.