Community Service Ch. 11

As the real extent of my hopeless situation began to sink in, my feelings of incredulous outrage and bitter resentment began to pale, as another, totally overwhelming emotion became king: Despair.

I despaired, as I perused letter, after familiar logoed company notepaper stationary letter, duly reporting to CSOs Karen and Linda, that, in compliance with AFP Standing Instructions Directive, memo: No. AFP 0136 - DS 007-

"Double-oh-seven!" yelled CSO Linda angrily, spitting fury upon entering the office and seeing me sitting at CSO Karen's desk, and reading through the stack of letters - the incriminating correspondence! - I'd found in the top drawer.

"What's up, Lindz? Hasn't Sock Boy finished tidying our office yet?" said CSO Karen, following behind and sounding all contented after her latte and Danish mid-afternoon snack. "What's - ah ..." she said, upon seeing for herself.

"The little whippersnapper's been reading official AFP correspondence, Karen! Can you believe it? He's going to be in big trouble for this!"

Holding out one of the damning, familiar logoed letters, I said, "Why, Miss Karen? I'm not lazy. I'm not idle. I don't want to claim Unemployment Benefits. All I've ever wanted is to find a job and pay my own way in society. So ... why?"

Smiling and shrugging a careless, It-was-fun-while-it-lasted-but-the-Game's-up, gesture, CSO Karen said, "Why? Because we've got used to having you around, Socky. And we'd only have to train up some other shmuck of a community servant, wouldn't we? If you actually did find yourself a job."

Still holding out the incriminating letter, one of dozens, I said, "But that was never going to happen, was it, Miss Karen?"

"Lindz and I were a bit concerned that on the balance of probability, one of your dozens of job applications might somehow slip through our net ... But no: it was probably never going to happen. We had you sewn up pretty tight. It's funny you should find out like this; it'll teach Lindz and me to keep our desk drawers locked in future when we send you in here to tidy up for us ... So, now that you know, you had just better learn to come to terms with it. And look on the bright side: you can stop wasting so much of your time, and save all of that stationary and postage money you've been spending every week."

"Anyway, double-oh-seven, what's the problem?" said CSO Linda, mock mystified. "Anyone would think you don't like us. Anyone would think you don't enjoy working in the Sock Room. Anyone would think, that ..."

"What's up, Lindz?" said CSO Karen, upon seeing the sudden reappearance of the angry red flush on her colleague and friend's cheeks, at noticing something untoward on her desk.

"I don't believe this!" yelled CSO Linda furiously, picking up said spotted untoward item from her desk and waving it at CSO Karen. "Not only has he been reading private, official AFP correspondence, but the little scrote has actually been reading our payslips, as well! Can you believe it, Karen?"

"No, Lindz. I can't. It is above and beyond."

"Double-oh-seven: Out of that chair! How dare you disrespect us, still sitting there? Up - now!" shrieked CSO Linda.

My outraged incredulity, my bitter resentment, and even my overwhelming despair, all of these I now put to one side, as a full and fearful dread of the consequences of my opportunistic actions finally gripped me.

I had seriously underestimated the true extent of the malevolent mindsets of my two young Sock Room supervisors.

Before I could obediently lever myself up, miserable, soul-crushed, defeated, from CSO Karen's swivel chair, the blonde concave-bob hairstyled pair descended on me first and hauled me up by my ears. "I said: Up - now!" shrilled CSO Linda, right in my face. "I'll teach you to go rooting in our desk drawers!"

"When we get you back to the Sock Room, we're going to announce a free-for-all," CSO Karen told me. "We're going to restrain you at the foot of Mrs Newlove's recliner. We'll leave you there for the rest of the afternoon. And any female who wants to will be allowed two strokes of the cane at your bared bottom."

But first," said CSO Linda, "let's go see what Ms Harmman has to say."

*

Handcuffed to each of them, CSOs Karen and Linda escorted me the short distance across town, to the imposing edifice of the Community Service Liaison Centre.

And the closer we got, the more the familiar fear rose in me, at the prospect of being brought before the intimidating presence of the Community Service Liaison Officer, Ms Harriet Harmman.

So much so, that I barely noticed the titters, the chuckles, and the jeers of the shopping, about-town females who stopped and put down their shopping bags to just stand and smilingly and contentedly observe my handcuffed progress.

When three months ago I had first been brought before Ms Harmman, to be issued my community servant's uniform, she had told me that the less I saw of her, the better.

And I wasn't arguing.

*

Ms Harriet Harmman's intelligent, watchful pale-blue eyes never for a moment left mine, as CSO Linda, still barely containing her fury, fully apprised her of my latest wrongdoings.

Yet surely it was I, who had been so egregiously wronged?

When CSO Linda had finally completed her indictment, I said respectfully, "Ms Harmman ... madam ... all I've ever wanted to do, is to find a job, and to pay my own way in society, and-"

Whoo. Whoo ... Crack! Crack!

Searing, agonising burning pain filled my calves, as my two supervisors let me have it with adroitly administered strokes of their wicked-looking AFP issue whippy bamboo canes.

"Who gave you permission to speak, double-oh-seven?" demanded CSO Linda.

"Thank you, CSO Linda," said Ms Harmman.

Ms Harmman then turned to me.

For long moments, silently regarding me with her intelligent, unwavering pale-blue-eyed gaze, Ms Harmman troubled me, intimidated me - stressed me out.

"Community servant David double-oh-seven," intoned the Community Service Liaison Officer finally. "I have here, forwarded to me by Governor Meredith Monroe of Greystone Prison, your Visitor's Pass to visit prisoner Miss Tina Marshall."

A wave of euphoria swept through me. I had a pass to see Tina!

Whatever else happened to me now - even the heinous "free-for-all" back in the Sock Room, when CSOs Karen and Linda would restrain me to the foot of Mrs Newlove's recliner for the rest of the afternoon and invite whomsoever Sock Room attending, sock-changing female who wanted, to administer two strokes of the cane to my bared bottom - I would still have my precious Visitor's Pass.

"Thank you, Ms Harmman. I'm very grateful. I-"

Cutting me short, Ms Harriet Harmman, Community Service Liaison Officer, and Authoritarian Female Party representative for Canford, said: "Consider it rescinded."

Community Service continues in Ch. 12.