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  “The manager is on another call Sir.” said Pip down the phone with what may possibly have been a sneer, but a sneer carefully and professionally honed so well that the caller could only ever vaguely suspect that they were being sneered at in the first place. “Give me your number and I will get him to call you back in…” Pip looked at his watch and timed the end of his shift, “The next thirty-five minutes.” There was a slight pause. “Yes sir. Definitely. Just as sure as my name is Tiberius sir. Yes.” Pip disconnected the call and ripping the piece of paper he had written the number on into little shreds, tossed the confetti into the bin.

  The majority of his time today had been spent in meetings arguing with the human Resources Team as to his rights if he became a Scientologist. He had picked this completely at random, but following a conversation he had had with someone in the canteen in his lunch break he was sufficiently convinced that they weird enough to get some sort of skive out of.

  (Pip reasoned that the primary advantage of converting to Scientology was their secrecy. In his mind the conversation with Human Resources went something like this:

  “I’m afraid I can’t talk to people on the phone on a Tuesday.”

  “Why?”

  “Can’t tell you. It's against my religion.”

  “Okay. Well what is this about not being able to operate a computer between the hours of one and four o’clock?”

  “Can’t tell you that either.” And so on it went….)

  Pip had also considered converting to praying to Allah, what with all that praying as the sun going down etc. it was bound to be a good skive, but he couldn’t find a prayer mat on eBay and so he had given up.

  So all in all a good day’s work. Confusion and dissent sewn, and as little time on the phone as was humanly possible. He reached the main road and turned off into traffic. He reached down for the cigarettes in his pocket and driving with one hand pulled one out and stuck it in his mouth. Soon he would be home, and he had already decided on an early night, deciding that it was the best thing really to conserve your energy for skiving the next day. Wouldn’t do to be tired. It dulls the mind, he thought and so slowly drove home wishing silently for some way to get the company he worked for to think like him instead of the company he worked for trying to get him to think like them.

  ***

  A wish! Finally! I must admit that I very nearly missed it as I had wandered out of the car and returned to the call centre and had been trying on one of the rather fetching headsets when Pip made the wish. I was still tuned in to him of course, but I saw no need to be in the car with him too. I know I was completely incorporeal and so therefore placed no weight on the car itself, but I had always found that it was best to be on the safe side, and so I watched him from a distance.

  His wish confused me however, and so I worked it out on one finger and a thumb, playing through what he had thought in my own mind.

  It really was quite illuminating to think like Pip for a while, but I had a decision to make and his wish had made it all the more clearer, and so for the final time of my punishment I clicked my fingers and the Shaitan appeared once again, ledger in hand, looking nervously about itself and then visibly relaxing as it realised it was not in the silver car but in fact in a nice brightly lit office.

  I quickly explained what I was to do, and once again the Shaitan wrote it down.

  “That will satisfy the requirements for the third wish.” he said, “And so your punishment is over. You are free to go, jinnie.”

  “Thank you.” i said and began to fade. I wanted to see just how my work was received, and hopefully appreciated. For one more time I began to fade and picked my destination.

  ***

  Les the ex-hairdresser allowed the makeup girl to cover up a few more little blemishes on his chin and checking himself in the mirror returned to the set where the crew were awaiting him. “Ready now!” he said brightly, and the set settled into silence as Les picked up his crimping scissors. The set was in fact the hairdressers where he worked, where actually he had always worked and the cameras were expressly selected to fit into the cramped space that he was now standing in. Les waited patiently as the crew sorted themselves out and whilst they were doing so he took a few seconds to reflect.

  Finally he had hit the big time! “Hairway to Heaven” was the latest and quite possibly the greatest reality television programme that the British public had ever been subjected to. Since its initial opening programme it grew and grew, its popularity now blowing every other reality program on any network clean out of the water. Detailing the trials and tribulations of Les the hairdresser, the fan base for Les himself was exceptional. He couldn’t move without a camera being pointed at him. His everyday to-ing and fro-ings were now a national obsession, and Les’s face adorned every magazine, newspaper and chat show programme that existed. Already there were rumours of interest from America and Australia, and the general feeling amongst those in the know in the world of media all pretty much agreed that it was only a matter of time before Les went global.

  As Les waited for some technical issue or another to be resolved he reflected on his recent reviews. He had had to employ an assistant to keep up with them all, though he usually spent an hour or so every evening poring over them in a state of perpetual astonishment.

  “Les the Locks crimps the Grateful Head” (The Sun)

  “Les is the hairdresser the nation has waited for.” (The Times)

  “His essential Britishness sways all those before him. Not a dry eye in the house the night his curling tongs gave up the ghost.” (The Independent)

  “A regular tonic to the miasma of badly produced foreign filth the British are forced to endure by the filthy left wingers at the BBC on a daily basis. Les is like a breath of fresh air.” (The Daily Mail)

  It was all very strange. After trying for years to be noticed, his “big break” (as he thought of it) had come about overnight and completely by accident. One minute he was busy cutting the hair of a snappily dressed man with a very posh voice who seemed to be watching his every move just a little bit too closely and then when the haircut was done he revealed he actually worked for the BBC and they were looking for participants in a new reality show, but at that moment in time that was all they had in mind.

  Les had suggested that they move a camera or two into his salon for a few days and that was what they had done, the only proviso being that Les was to act as if they were not there. The producer was amazed to hear of Les’s show business past and after a few initial hiccups Les forgot the cameras were there at all, and the rest as they say was history. He giggled as he thought about his newfound fame. It was so hard to believe! At last! He even had a catchphrase that everyone everywhere he went called out to him. He loved it.

  Finally, the issue with the camera was resolved and the shooting began. Les moved about the salon, the cameras following him everywhere. Slowly he approached the man sitting patiently in the barber’s chair and gave him “the look” before picking up his scissors and addressing the customer. Time for the catchphrase. “Twenty-five years in show business” he said with a flourish, “Who would have thought it?” He paused then as if remembering something that he couldn’t place, but he was too much of a pro to lose his thread and making sure his best side was facing the camera, began to cut.

  ***

  Master Rudge! Master Rudge!” shouted the voice in Rudge’s ear. Rudge turned slowly in his bed and opened his eyes, bright sunlight shining through the shuttered window that was to the right of the bed where he lay. He rolled over as the shaking increased and then informed the chambermaid that he would be down for his breakfast shortly. Left on his own he dressed and made his way down the narrow stairs and out into the field that lay to the side of the coaching Inn that apparently was now his.

  He glanced at the large building, the stables, and the grounds and sighed once again. The fact that all this was now his somehow or another began to make his hands tremble once again, though the deeds stuf
fed in his back pocket (he didn’t dare let them out of his sight) proved that this coaching Inn most definitely belonged to him. It had all begun when he had eventually retired to bed in the early hours, and when he woke he was somewhere else entirely, and the “somewhere else” where he now resided was apparently all his, lock stock and barrel.

  As he stood in awe at the thatched building, the early morning sun spilling across his feet where he stood he saw a young boy leave the stable carrying a wooden bucket, the contents of which he sploshed in the courtyard before turning to re-enter the stalls at the side of the building.

  “You boy!” shouted Rudge and the stable hand more or less spun on the spot as the new master of the Inn called him across.

  “Yes, Master Rudge?” asked the boy. Rudge smiled as the idea came into his head that if the young had been wearing a cap he would definitely be doffing it now.

  “What is the date, young man?” asked Rudge. His staff here seemed innumerable, and as of yet he was still having trouble putting names to faces. The stable hand looked at him as if Rudge was slightly deranged.

  “Why it is the 17th of August Master Rudge.” he said hastily, more or less hopping from foot to foot.

  “Yes, yes.” said Rudge dismissively, waving his hand as if bidding the labourer to continue. “And the year?” The boy’s eyes grew a little wider at this.

  “Why it is seventeen hundred and eighty-nine, Master Rudge.” There was a slight pause. “Same as it was yesterday, master.” Another pause. “And the day before, come to think on it, sir.”

  “On your way, boy.” said Rudge sternly and the boy scampered off back into the stables, wooden bucket in hand, just glancing once over his shoulder at Rudge before he vanished inside.

  “Seventeen Hundred and Eighty-Nine!” He yelled suddenly, grabbing the deeds out of his pocket and dancing around in a circle in the bright sunshine, pollen rising from the field of flowers as he ran amongst them. He headed back to the stables and stood in the shade, watching the stable hands inside the stables shoveling muck, their spades rising and falling almost in unison.

  He really couldn’t understand it. It was like a gift. He leaned back against the trunk of tree and a leaf drifted down slowly, lazily through the sunlight. For some reason he thought it looked like an ace on a pack of cards, and he glanced up at the spades digging in the muck and for some reason he thought there was a connection, but he couldn’t quite get a grip on it and it slipped from his attention as if blown by the breeze, and very quickly it faded from his mind.

  ***

  Pip stared at the certificate of company ownership and the extremely long line of zeroes on the share ownership certificate as he sat at his kitchen table idly smoking a cigarette before he left for work. He had turned the paper over a few times when he got them in the post over the weekend, examining their authenticity. Looked authentic enough. Checked with his bank. Contacted a solicitor. This was an escalation of things really. When at first the company documents arrived the previous Friday morning he thought it was just another piss take by some clever bastard he had pissed off at work. Then he had checked his bank account.

  Things got a lot more serious after that.

  The last time he had seen a line of zeroes that long had been on his last call monitoring scorecard. The cash machine balance slip from the bank had struggled to fit all the zeroes on width ways. The decimal point was in the right place for a change as well. After checking all avenues, he came to the conclusion that for some reason that he just could not understand he was now the owner of a company. Oh, and rich as well.

  He vaguely remembered something about a circle of light a weeks ago which seemed to float away from him whenever he tried to bring it to mind, and he had a reoccurring dream where he was glued to the floor and couldn’t escape, but even that had faded now as well. The television was switched on but Pip wasn’t watching it. The newsreader was going through the business news and if Pip had bothered to look he would have seen that the cameras were not too far away at all. In fact, a reporter was standing in the Regulus Telecom car park right at that very second.

  “And the news from the technology sector indicates that shares have dropped in the Regulus Telecom Group after the eccentric owner of the company, Richard Regulus mysteriously transferred all his shares and ownership of the company to an as yet unnamed individual. The new owner will be revealed at a press conference at Regulus Telecom in Cheshire today where….”

  Switching off the television and finishing his coffee and picking up his car keys he left the house and headed off to work, the silver mini chugging and coughing its way up the main street as Pip more or less willed it to get him there. Eventually he drew into the main drive and along to the car park at the front of the building. This time however he didn’t park up, but pulled alongside the front of the building where the managers of the company were lined up in their Sunday best to greet the new owner.

  There was a general air of consternation as Pip’s mini coughed to a halt, backfired and rolled to a standstill in front of them, Pip climbing out and waving exhaust fumes away as he stood in front of the assembled management who seemed more than a little unimpressed that Pip seemed to be as it were almost literally pissing on their parade.

  “Rufus McMahon, the manager of customer relations (2:2 drinkers’ degree in being a twat) led a small delegation across to Pip, approaching where the now dead hand-painted mini sat silently emitting blue plumes of exhaust smoke.

  “Get that ruddy car out of here, you cretin!” he said, his face right up to Pip’s, his general manner attempting to be threatening but failing on almost every level. “We are expecting the new owner of Regulus Telecom at any second!”

  “Really?” said Pip, lighting a fag and looking as uninterested as he could manage.

  “Yes!” spluttered McMahon, turning an even deeper shade of red.

  “You’re looking at him.” Said Pip, giving probably the widest and most disturbing grin he ever could.

  “Don’t be ridiculous! Snorted the customer relations manager, the gaggle of arse lickers around him chuckling. Pip gave a small nod of his head to the security guards nearby and they came and grabbed the managers began to drag them away.

  “This is all mine.” He whispered into McMahon’s ear as the penny slowly began to drop.

  “And you know what?” he said, Pip’s grin growing impossibly wide now.

  “What?” gurgled the slowly being dragged away managers almost all at once.

  “I don’t want it.” He said, and as far as Pip was concerned they didn’t exist anymore.

  Pip gave another signal and the security guards standing pushed the managers back into a line. Pip produced a loud hailer from the mini and put it to his lips.

  “Testing testing!” he said, his voice echoing around the car park. Several managers looked behind them as the fire alarms went off in the building and the staff began to emerge, heading thankfully for a break from the phones to the assembly point far on the other side of the car park. The vast majority of the managers however were watching that oh so familiar grin appear on Pip’s face as he raised the loud hailer to his mouth once again.

  “Good morning!” he said, and there was the grin again. “Right. Let’s get this done, shall we? All those managers who work for Regulus Telecom please take a step forward.” There was a general look of confusion on the faces of the twenty or so people lined up in front of Pip, but every single one of them eventually took a determined step forward, almost like a line of infantrymen standing to attention. Pip looked at them in derision.

  “Where the fuck do you lot think you are going?” He laughed as the security men moved in to move the managers off the grounds. Pip had specifically given them the instructions that they were “not to refrain from being too rough if required”, and the guards were taking him very much at his word as the managers were dragged away and shown off the grounds rather it must be said, roughly. Pip had of course had a few days to prepare and was particula
rly looking forward to the next bit. One of the security guards gave him the thumbs up that the building was now empty and dragged a small box towards him and placing a pair of ear defenders in his ears gave Pip the button.

  Pip stood smiling, savouring the moment. He had dreamt of this for what seemed like forever, and now it was real. It was almost as if his luck had changed overnight!

  It had taken a whole weekend for the demolition company he had hired to wire up the building, and at considerable cost too. Who would have thought TNT would be so expensive? As the assembled staff of Regulus Telecom looked on, Pip gave his smile one more time and ensuring he was within the designated safety area, pressed the button.

  The resulting explosion was apparently heard quite clearly ten miles away.

  ***

  I leaned back in the chair and placed the headset back on the desk. Everything seemed to have gone very well, all considered. I was not at Regulus call centre any more of course, because that was nothing but rubble. Yet it did not take much searching to find one of a similar ilk, for there seemed to be quite a few call centres about all in all.

  Which pleases me greatly I do have to say. I have a certain affinity with the job and have been a somewhat invisible call centre support team member for Maximus Telecom for a few weeks now. Nobody knows I am there of course, but I have seen the team manager gazing oddly at his team statistics reports in great detail and no doubt even greater confusion, wondering how his team have been answering so many calls all of a sudden. I must admit I rather enjoy it.

  It did not take long to learn the technology, and the customers are always so pleased when you fix their internet. It really is quite satisfying.

  “The connection light on my modem is flashing red.” a customer may for example say to me, in, what must be said, a somewhat testy fashion.