"A Sentinel" by Sam Paget
“Mr. Lockyear?” called the work coach.
I nodded, and stood up from the seat in the waiting area, and walked over to her desk. I sat down again, this time on a swivel chair that sank downwards under my weight. The work coach smiled at me from behind her computer. She tapped on the keyboard and clicked the mouse, then moved sideways so that we were facing each other across the desk.
“You’ve been searching for work for two months, is that right?” I nodded. “How is it going so far? I can see on the system that you’ve applied for several jobs, mostly factory and office positions.”
“I haven’t had any interviews. I’ve registered without about four agencies, and I’m going to register with another one later today.”
She nodded and made encouraging noises as I spoke. She asked for the names of the agencies I had registered with, and noted them down on the computer.
“Your CV looks alright to me, so it may well just be a case of plugging away at it and continuing to apply for jobs, until it falls into place for you, Mr. Lockyear. Is there anything else that you feel we can help with? Perhaps some training or qualifications? We do offer assistance to jobseekers in ‘up skilling’ in order to get back into work.”
“Would that be something like welding or brick-laying?”
“There’s a number of courses available. I notice that you were in the military, which can be beneficial experience in the security industry. Would that be something you are interested in?”
“I haven’t really thought about it. I’ll try anything.”
My job-search interview lasted another five minutes, all told. I signed my name on an electronic screen, and left the job-center. Outside, I dug into the pockets of my coat, and brought out a packet of tobacco. I had enough for about five more roll-ups, but only two filters. I bought a packet of filters from the corner shop with some change I had in my pockets. I didn’t have money for a bus ticket, so I decided to walk to Birmingham, where I was supposed to register with the next agency. I decided to smoke one roll-up on the way there, and one on the way back. That way I’d have about three roll-ups to smoke while I watched my documentaries that evening.
A woman with only a few teeth pushed a pram up to the automatic doors of the job-center. A few young children ran after her, screaming. I looked in the window behind me, and looked at my reflection. I had lost some weight recently, but not too much. I had been brushing my teeth, and washing and combing my hair, so I didn’t look too bad. I would ask my cousin to cut my hair for me. He could shave the whole lot off. It couldn’t be that hard.
#
I went into a library the next day, to use their computer. The librarians knew me well enough by then to ask how I was doing. I told them I was muddling through as usual. It tuned out there were a lot of vacancies for security guards and door supervisors. The work coach had been on to something!
It took a couple of months to get the badge that I needed. I wore it on my arm, with a photograph of me, inside a yellow reflective armband, over the top of my black waterproof coat. I slipped it on, and looked into the window of a super-market as I walked past. I needed to start going to the gym, or something. My best friend from the army, John, had said he would give me some advice on weight training. He was obsessed with it, and you could tell by looking. He had big arms, and thick shoulders. I’d seen a recent photo of him with veins standing out on his arms. Once it got a bit warmer, I didn’t want people to look at me and see someone skinny, and weak. That wouldn’t do anymore.
I saw the venue I had been sent to. I was about thirty minutes early. I took my old brick of a phone out, and rang my dad.
“Hey son, you okay?”
“Yeah, just about to start my first shift.”
“Oh, it’s today is it? Well, you be careful. Make sure you and the other lads on shift have each other’s back.”
“It’s only me tonight. It’s only a small place.”
“I thought that was illegal. I thought you needed to have at least two security.”
“I don’t know. This venue doesn’t think so now, in any case.”
“Make sure you be careful. Make friends with some tough looking regulars who’ll have your back.”
“I will do. You up to anything tomorrow?”
“Nothing planned. Do you want to come around for a brew?”
“Yes, can do.”
I said goodbye to my dad, and went in to the venue to introduce myself. There was a young woman wiping down the bar and arranging some bottles on the shelves, and a man in a suit walking around looking official. I took a deep breath, and approached him.
#
People trickled out of all the pubs and clubs. I slipped off the band around my arm and put it into my jacket pocket. I walked into a shop next to the place I’d just worked. I got a packet of crisps, and a can of lager.
“You started working at the Burn?” asked the shopkeeper.
“Did my first shift tonight. They’ve asked me back next weekend.”
“That’s good. You like it?”
“I got spat on by some drunk bloke I wouldn’t let in. Besides that it was quiet.”
“The doorman before used to come in here after every shift. He was a nice chap. Retired now.”
I left the shop, and started walking home. I ate the packet of crisps while I walked. I watched women in small dresses and men in polo shirts milling around, getting into taxis and piling into kebab shops. I wiped my face, wondering if there was any trace of the spit still on it. It felt like there was, but there probably wasn’t. I heard a loud, sobbing wail, and turned to see a woman sitting on the pavement in tears. She was trying to talk but her words were all slurred and gargled. Her friend was comforting her, or trying to.
Because I wasn’t looking where I was going, I stepped in something wet and chunky. I tutted, and carried on walking. It was either vomit, or a spilled curry on the floor. I couldn’t tell by the smell, because I had smoked a lot of roll-ups while I was working. Smoking too much seemed to make my nose go dead. I decided to walk home through the park that was near my house. That way the grass might clean my shoe off before I got home.
I reached a quieter road, and cracked open the can of lager. It was nice to be in a quiet place. The larger was cheap, but it was cold, and it tasted crisp. It was a Polish brand that I hadn’t had before, but I would probably have it again.
Sam Paget is a previously unpublished writer from Birmingham, England.