Multi-Storey

Pete Sortwell

I’ve only been here an hour and already I hate it. My first job in five years and it’s boring me to fuck already. Don't you just hate the way the job advert and the lying bastards that interview you lie about how good it is? I do.

‘Security Operative’ is the title I applied for. Well, as I’m sat near the barriers in this portacabin that’s smaller than my under stairs cupboard, I’m not doing much fucking operating. The guy that interviewed me, David Foster, told me I’d have no time to be bored; that it would be varied work. Well, half hour in and with no lunch left, I can tell you that’s bollocks. 

Most of the car park is shut as they are renovating the complex attached to it. Only the bottom level remains open. Inside, only the cinema is open. The casino closed early this morning for the last time until the whole place reopens and makes the town’s residents’ lives far less dull than mine seems at the moment.

One car I've seen tonight. One! There’s only three more inside and one of them is a van that will no doubt be here for the night. I had hoped I’d get to move about to a different location tonight but there's been no talk of it. Paul, a fat guy that supervises the operatives, dropped me off and just said he'd be round every few hours to check on me.

‘And don’t let them fuckin’ skateboarders in.’ Paul shouted out the van window as he left.