Читать книгу Bivouac - Kwame Dawes - Страница 11

Unpublished notes of George Ferron Morgan

I have been taking taxis to work every day. I need a car. I think I will get a white Toyota Corolla. That is what all the political thugs are driving. They must be quite reliable. It is a long way from the Rover three-liter. But we are a long way from those days. I am spending a small fortune on taxis. The strange thing is that I don’t feel the urge to drive myself anymore. I want to be looked after. I used to love driving. That summer we drove across Europe to Moscow and then across Russia, that feeling of command of the road, that adventure, it seemed like second nature. But we are a long way from all of that now. A white Toyota Corolla.

The difficulty here is that I have never worked in a firm or company before. It has nothing to do with whether one is making money for the company. That is fun. It has to do with the structure and relations in the office. I find it incredible that this office is set up as a large room, with some sixty or seventy chairs and about forty desks. The first problem is noise. The perpetual clicking of typewriters (I have to type at great pace, writing nonsense, to avoid going mad) and the jabbering of people on the telephone or the interviewing of and by working-class voices inhibits any kind of creative work. What we have is noise as in a garment factory and the quality of the output is similar.