Lee Rourke - Vulgar Things

Look at them both sitting at their desks, feigning important business. What do they think theyre doing with their lives? What are they hoping to achieve, acting the way they do, alienating everyone else in the office? Ive asked myself many, many times: What am I doing here? Im pretty much resigned to the fact that Ive more or less chosen the wrong path in life. Not that I have any idea what the correct path might be. I look at what my life, until now, has amounted to: a boring job, a failed marriage, a small flat I can barely afford, and each working day the same agonising prospect of these two loathsome cretins, sitting at their desks, constantly talking to one another. It sickens me. To be honest, I dont think I have the strength for it any more.

lunch hour

Jessica, the younger of the two and my line manager, had taken me to one side in the company kitchen earlier that week. Her words had been rattling around my head ever since, delivered, as they were, in her usual pseudo-flirtatious manner: Whats wrong with you these days? Have you been having trouble at home again?

I beg your pardon?

Have you been having trouble at home, you poor dear? I know things didnt work out for you last year your marriage Im genuinely worried for you. Is that why youve been letting things slip here?

Slip?

Your journals, some havent met cover month, when you said they would. Editors have been complaining, plus those suppliers invoices havent been sent that I asked you to send last week.

Oh, those Ill send them today

Are your journals even on schedule?

Yes, of course they are. I might not have hit cover month on a couple, but everything else I publish is published on schedule, on time and to budget, you know that.

Jon, you know I only ask you this because I actually care Its just that, things are slipping, peoples confidence in you has started to drop Were thinking of taking some journals from your list

What!?

Just a couple Maybe IBD and VVA Nothings concrete yet, just to ease the pressure you must be feeling, you know Itll help ease your schedule and if, you know, if there are problems outside here, this should ease the stress levels, too

Jessica, there are no problems outside here and Im not stressed

Well, you sound stressed

Youve just told me youre taking journals away from me, depleting my list of course Im going to sound concerned

Jon, I know you can pull through all this, its just a phase a bad patch. I know you can get through this.

Jessica theres no

Oh, I didnt say Youre still on for my engagement drinkies this weekend, yes? Blacks of course

My time is up. Publishing is nothing to me. To be honest, I dont even remember how I fell into this profession in the first place. Im a good editor, I think, but the job bores me to tears. It must have been some kind of accident, some heinous sleight of hand something that happened when I was looking the other way.

Ive had a sense something has been wrong for some time. Jane, Jessicas boss and the head of production, has been in a strange mood for a number of days, singing loudly and quite inappropriately to Jessica across the office, annoying the editorial team to her immediate right, who suffer on a daily basis at the hands of this bizarre office friendship, which I and a few others have always thought unprofessional at the best of times and verging on surreal the rest. Today, each time I look up from my proofs Jane is staring at me, and then Ill notice her glance over to Jessica when she thinks Im not looking, who in turn pulls some sort of face back at her, as if to say: I know, I know, Ill sort him out. I try to ignore this behaviour as best I can, but its no good. I bury my head in the proofs Im working on, hoping this phase will pass but it doesnt.

As usual I go for my lunch alone. I sit on a bench in St Jamess Park across the way from the ICA in some sort of stupor. I dont think, or look at much in particular. I can sense people all around me, office workers and tourists going about their business. Everything in front of me people, birds in trees, dogs and squirrels in the park, cars and cyclists on the Mall I cant reach, whatever it is that is happening, because Im stuck in it. I feel helpless. Theres nothing I can do and the way Im feeling, even if there were I probably wouldnt bother to do it. This sense of helplessness stays with me all through my lunch hour, like a bad smell.

I walk back into the office and immediately notice Jessica staring at me. I ignore her and walk over to my desk to check my emails. There are thirty-seven unopened emails in my inbox, all of them from this morning. I sit there looking at them, pretending to be busy. I can feel Jessicas eyes on the side of my face, my cheeks reddening. I try my best to ignore what is happening. Then, just as I let out an exasperated What!? in Jessicas direction, I notice the email from Jane. It had been sent exactly one minute after I had left for lunch, as I was walking out of the building. I dont bother reading all of it. I know immediately what it is.

everything looks as it should

I knock on the door to Meeting Room 4 as requested. Jane is sitting at the table. She doesnt smile. I sit opposite her.

Jon, thereve been some serious complaints made by editors about your productivity and capability The editors of IBD, for example, they didnt see the final set of proofs before issue 5 went to press and

Its okay, I know.

We just dont think its working, Jon.

Really.

Jessica thinks youre unsuitable for this role, shes been keeping me posted for the past few weeks She feels

Jane, Im not interested in how Jessica feels Just give me the letter.

I walk out of the office without clearing my desk. At the door I look back everything looks just as it should: people are at their desks, oblivious, heads down correcting proofs, or up staring at their monitors, working. Only one thing looks out of place: Jessicas empty desk. She hasnt even bothered waiting until Ive left the building before scurrying over to her pal in Meeting Room 4. I exhale and walk out of the door.

into a room

I walk into Soho. I need a drink and something to eat. I take a seat in Spuntinos on Rupert Street and order a bottle of red wine and some truffled egg toast. Two portions for myself. I immediately feel calmer, but it doesnt last all that long. Two men sit down beside me and ruin my thoughts. They are loud. Media types. They work in the film industry and want everyone to know. I cant hear myself think, so I just sip my wine and listen to them instead, staring down at my food.

When are they shooting?

June.

Where?

Dunno. Somewhere near Kingsland Road. Theyve found some old buildings.

Whos shooting?

Stevens.

From United Agents?

Yes. Hes shooting that before he heads out to LA for the location meetings on Robs project.

Really.

Yeah.

Never really liked his stuff

Really?

He holds back. Tries to fuck the lens. In fucking love with the lens. Spends too much time finding the right shot and then when hes found it he spends too much time wanking all over it. He should just fucking shoot Hes not an artist, say, like Dom is; now Doms a true artist, he finds the right shot without thinking, bam, bam, bam

Bish bash bosh

Ha, yeah, right but seriously, he doesnt fuck about. His art just happens; do you know what I mean?

Yeah.

And then theres all the fucking gak