So April’s Friday the 13th had finally arrived and with it my conflicting appointments: signing-on at my local Job Centre and an MRI scan booked at my local hospital. It was only as I got washed and mopped, ready for the inevitable stresses the day was about to unleash, that I realised the ominous date these two clashes had fallen upon, so it came as no surprise as I left my flat to see the heavens open in a downpour to greet my two mile walk.
I eventually made the Job Centre, now drenched by the continual bombardment of such a fine drizzle that my water-resistant jacket proved it wasn’t anywhere near being fully waterproof. Once I’d pulled my hood down - and splashed the receptionist sat before me at the front desk in droplets much like a Dog shaking itself - I rolled out the explanation regarding my early arrival.
‘So that’s that, I’ve been told to come here first and wait to sign-on before my appointed time,’ I said in a confused tone to the more confused-looking receptionist, who scrunched her eyebrows together slightly before speaking.
‘Er, just take a seat over there and someone will call you, okay?’ she said and pointed across to a couple of Day-Glo couches surrounded by computerised Job Points and out-of-work cretins such as myself.
I flopped down onto the garish fabric between a couple of nameless goons and waited with bated breath for my name to float across the stifling heat of the Job Centre.
So I waited...
And I waited...
By the time it got to around fifty five minutes, I stood up and approached a Lady sat across from me and quickly explained again why I was there.
She just glanced up towards me and then said ‘They will call your name when they’re ready,’ before looking back down. ‘It’s not like you’ve got a job to rush off to, is it now?’
‘But I’ve got an appointment,’ came out of my mouth.
‘When’s the appointment?’ she asked.
I looked at my watch. ‘In an hour,’ I said ‘and I’ve got to walk it from here!’
Again without looking in my direction, the Lady picked up her phone and just pointed back across to the settee. ‘Just take a seat back there and I will see when they’re ready for you, alright?’
I stepped backwards to the couch and once again took my seat between the nameless goons.
I’d achieved a couple of things during this near-one hour of lethargy: one, I was absolutely livid and wracked with building stress at this extended hanging around to place my moniker; and two, at least during this enforced tenure my clothes had begun to dry off a bit in the building’s atomic fallout heating system.
Suddenly through my self-absorption, I heard someone calling out a name. With a louder repeat, I was of my feet and heading towards the Bloke who’d just summoned me; in the space of just a couple of minutes, I had scribbled an indecipherable line of Biro and was through the double doors of the Job Centre like a man possessed.
Now with my MRI scan destination two miles distant, the still-falling rain and insurmountable levels of adrenal-induced stress beginning to build, there was just one thought bouncing around in my mind: will I be in the right frame of mind once I arrive at the hospital to be inserted phallus-like into a metallic MRI vaginal passage after all this?!