I knock on the Turtle’s door. It is 12.07 pm. I am 23 minutes late.
I enter her office. It is dark inside. The light from an overhead projector casts a white square on the wall at the end of the office. There are coloured lines and shapes projected the wall, and something written about a ‘Star model’.
The door closes behind me and the Turtle steps into the light.
You’re late, she says.
Yes, I say. Sorry.
She walks around to the far side of the table and twitches the transparency off the projector, leaving an empty white square on the wall.
Silence fills the room.
I haven’t seen one of those for ages, I say.
What?
The OHP: it’s all projectors and computers these days.
The room feels stuffy. The Turtle looks at me for a long time. The light from the OHP illuminates her chin, the underside of her nose and her eyebrows. She slowly arranges her features into a smile.
Yes, it is rather ‘old fashioned’, isn’t it? She runs her hand along the machine in a languorous fashion. Basically I keep this one for sentimental reasons.
The Turtle runs both hands over the body of the OHP. The room feels even stuffier. She brings her hands to rest on the edge of the projector, her fingertips resting in the light. No light is visible between her fingers, the tips merging into an almost solid line.
What did you want to speak to me about? She asks. The smile remains fixed.
I’ve been thinking that I need some time.
Time? For what?
Time off. I’ve been thinking that I need some time off.
Time off.
Yes, I’ve worked here for four years and I need a holiday.
Holiday.
Holiday in lieu. It’s in the contract, or the regulations, one of the two.
The smile has disappeared.
I enter her office. It is dark inside. The light from an overhead projector casts a white square on the wall at the end of the office. There are coloured lines and shapes projected the wall, and something written about a ‘Star model’.
The door closes behind me and the Turtle steps into the light.
You’re late, she says.
Yes, I say. Sorry.
She walks around to the far side of the table and twitches the transparency off the projector, leaving an empty white square on the wall.
Silence fills the room.
I haven’t seen one of those for ages, I say.
What?
The OHP: it’s all projectors and computers these days.
The room feels stuffy. The Turtle looks at me for a long time. The light from the OHP illuminates her chin, the underside of her nose and her eyebrows. She slowly arranges her features into a smile.
Yes, it is rather ‘old fashioned’, isn’t it? She runs her hand along the machine in a languorous fashion. Basically I keep this one for sentimental reasons.
The Turtle runs both hands over the body of the OHP. The room feels even stuffier. She brings her hands to rest on the edge of the projector, her fingertips resting in the light. No light is visible between her fingers, the tips merging into an almost solid line.
What did you want to speak to me about? She asks. The smile remains fixed.
I’ve been thinking that I need some time.
Time? For what?
Time off. I’ve been thinking that I need some time off.
Time off.
Yes, I’ve worked here for four years and I need a holiday.
Holiday.
Holiday in lieu. It’s in the contract, or the regulations, one of the two.
The smile has disappeared.
Hello, my name is Jack Sparrow. I'm a 50 year old self-employed Pirate from the Caribbean.
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