Dave Talbot, my boss, sees me arrive and gives me a dirty look. I’m later than usual but he won’t say anything. He’ll bring it up at a meeting in front of other people; that’s his style.
I could tell him why I’m late today, that I thought about taking the day off sick. I could ask to speak to him alone and explain that I am waiting for the result from an HIV test because I had regular unprotected sex with an infected partner. But he doesn’t want to hear that. It means relating to me as another human being which is not part of our business here which is repairing faulty PCs.
Or am I jumping to conclusions?
He’s gone by now so I’ve missed my chance. I get to my bench, picking up my snail mail on the way. Two adverts for new disk arrays. Bin. Random company offers me new credit card with much better deal and silvery design on front. Bin. Advert for “unmissable” computer show in Glasgow. Bin. Pay slip. It says I pay the government about a sixth of what I earn and half of that again as National Insurance. With that money they are helping families with young children and some Chancellor is buying five-figure carpets. Bin. I rely on the bank to tell me how much money I have.
There is a old DCS machine first on my list, not booting. I wrap on the antistatic bracelet and open the sucker up.