Lottery Dreams Ch. 05: Doomsday

Chapter 5: Doomsday

The working day would have gone on with its usual boring routine, but for a strange event. Some men walked onto the shop floor with the foreman. Now, bringing anyone down here was unusual enough in itself, but these people actually wanted to talk to the workers.

"What do you think Eurco wants?" asked someone as they walked up to the guillotines. This was the usual signal to switch off the machines and listen to his words of wisdom. Eurco ruled the floor with a rod of iron, but whereas a tougher man might be respected in his brutal reign; Eurco was just hated. He took pleasure in humiliating the men and knew that they knew it.

"Right listen you lot. This is the Quality Control manager." Eurco pointed at a weaselly little man, named Neville who stood and looked at the floor.

"No eye contact, that's a bad sign," Charlie whispered under his breath, to which Old Dave nodded.

"You lot will do exactly what he wants; when he wants it; where he wants it, and to the satisfaction of how he wants it. From now on, quality is our watchword. Don't you forget it?" Eurco stood back to see how much he had upset the men.

"Bollocks is my watchword!" said Bob throwing down the rag he had been wiping his hands on. Bob, was old gipsy stock and proud of it. Built like a prizefighter, he would not be told what to do.

"If you don't like it, there's the door, fuck off now!" Eurco snapped back. He knew there would be trouble, but had not expected it to come head-on so quickly.

"Don't you worry Mister, I will." Bob walked to the washroom, clearly on his way out. "We had so-called Quality Control in my last place. Closed us down. You lot will be next!" With that, he was gone.

The remaining men looked at each other.

"Any other comedians?" asked Eurco looking at the men with bulging eyes. "Right! Listen to what they have to say."

"Every job will be accompanied by the correct paperwork," said one spiky little man, holding up a piece of paper like a lost Chamberlain.

"Not everything, surely?" said Old Dave, with a smile.

"Everything!" Eurco echoed back. "Everything you do; every operation of the machine, and every piece of metal you cut, will be recorded here. We will check to make sure you are doing it right."

"But we can't fill one of those in every time we make a cut in the steel?" said Charley with disbelief. "It will take ages."

"No it will not," smirked Eurco, "because you will do it all in double-quick time. And for every clown who thinks he can cheat the system and not bother, or take his time; remember this!" Eurco let his words sink into the gloom of the factory floor. "We might be looking at redundancies this year. The weakest going first."

"That's not right!" cried the men.

"I don't care if it's right or wrong," Eurco continued to smile, folding his arms in defiance. "There is not a damn thing you can do about it. If you want to join your friend Bob there," he pointed a thumb at the man walking out of the door, "remember I will be sending a letter to the social so he can't sign-on. Plus I'll inform all the local factories that he is a bad worker."

Eurco left the men open-mouthed as he walked off. There followed a brief talk by the quality control men, which consisted of a plan to make their lives so impossible, that when they left; there was no hope in sight.

"He can't do that," said Old Dave, slumping at the machine.

"He just did it," replied Charley. "Poor old Bob. What will he do?"

"He can't leave the area, there's nothing else." Old Dave thought about a future with no work and no money. The picture was so bleak he quickly gave up on it.

"Eurco, is evil," said Charley, slowly going back to work, as he knew the foreman would be back shortly.

"He's mad," put in Old Dave, following him.

"It's as if he's possessed or something. What are we going to do?" The others just stared at Charley, wondering if he intended to come up with any solutions.

"What do you suggest?" asked Old Dave starting up the machine, as the factory filled with sound once more. "We can't win against Eurco, and we can't go on with this crazy Quality thing?"

"We could all leave?" suggested someone from the floor.

"To go where?" Charley pointed out the most obvious flaw. "Eurco would mark your card, where ever you went."

"He can't know about everywhere," someone added.

"He knows enough." Old Dave was almost spitting with rage now. "He can put the spoke into some nasty places. I've known him to get at people in other factories, even managers."

"Shoot him!" a lone voice, shouted out.

"Are you man enough to bump him off?" Old Dave sneered at the men as they drifted back to their oily machines. "It takes balls to do someone in, and I can't see any heroes around here." With that, they were silent.

"I'm just going to leave. Do a runner and get out of the area, there's nothing to stop me." One man threw down his gloves and walked off.

Charley watched him go, filled with envy.

"Why don't you come, Charley? There's nothing to stop you?" The man looked at him over his shoulder as he walked across the concrete floor.

"Yes Charley, what's stopping you?" Old Dave glanced across the steel sheet at him as they began working. "Now you are on your own, there's nothing left here for you?"

Those words stayed with Charley right until the end of the day, when he went home to his cold and empty house. It was true enough. What did he have to stay for? Since his wife had left him, there was no life left.

He had moved back in with his mother, as he could not cope without his wife. No good on his own. His mother loved it and went back to treating him like a child. Encouraging him to live like a teenager, untidy and obsessed in a fantasy world of science fiction comics and rock music. He would never grow up.

Maybe that's why the game brought him back to this point in his life and nothing later?

But what was so special about now?

Somewhere in the early '90s in an English country town?

They had married young to escape their parents, as Elizabeth and he both found home life oppressive. Setting up home was like a game for the first few years, and they were happy. The rot set in when he began working in the factory. Every night he would come home exhausted, and every night Elizabeth would come out with the same quarrel.

"You are turning into a vegetable Charley! Just like my old man. We never go anywhere or see anyone. What's wrong with you? You used to be so cool."

"I'm so tired," he would reply in defence. "Just give me some time to sort myself out."

The years went by, and Charley never found that day when things would be sorted out. Finally, Elizabeth gave up and packed her case. He has suspected the affair with his best friend Brian for some time. So it was no surprise when they announced they were setting up a home together.

The most cutting act to Charley was the argument over the garden tools. He had worked hard to buy those tools and he was damned if he was going to just give them up to Brian. A man who worked in an estate agent's office for God's sake?

Now he sat in his mothers' house, with his garden tools, and little else.

Why did he stay?

Maybe the same reason, he never put up a fight when his wife went? He was just too lazy and cowardly to do anything about it. It was so much easier to let life wash over you than it was to do anything about it. Life in the factory was cruel, but you got used to it.

Well, he had put up with it up until now. But this latest threat was too much. They could not go on working there. If the others were leaving, so would he. Of course, this posed the question of where would he go? What would he do?

Up till now, Charlie's whole life had been one long drift. Drifting into marriage and drifting into work. Sadly it was work he was stuck with. He was not bogged down like his friend Old Dave, or worse still some of the others at the factory. Who would be looking at bankruptcy or prison!

No. It was his own laziness that trapped him here.

So what was he going to do about it?

Charley realised the passage of time would solve the problem for him, as it always did. The Night came round today, and he found himself once again, getting ready for work. Time just happened and the routine slotted his life in place for him. This was the problem.

Charley only had himself to blame as the day dragged on, and the impossible toil of factory life continued.

"What we need is a miracle," said Old Dave as the quality control inspectors walked away from the machines. They had inspected their work and told them it was not up to standard. No one was surprised. It was fairly clear that everything would be rejected, as the inspectors had been put in place to prove that and nothing else.

The large pieces of cut steel sheet, gleamed in the electric light before them on the trolley, as the men lifted them up to be loaded back in the rack. The job would have to be done again, and they knew what was coming.

Sure enough, Eurco, the foreman, stormed onto the shop floor to snarl at the men.

"How much money have you wasted this time? Remember we are looking to cut out some deadwood this year." He was about to walk off the job, but something stopped him. "By the way, your little friend will be back tomorrow. It seems he couldn't find work anywhere else." He was laughing to himself as he walked back to his office to read the newspaper.

No one spoke to Bob the next day, as he took up his usual post on the machine next to Charley, and began feeding steel sheets into the machine. Finally, at the ten o'clock break time, Old Dave broached the subject of the days' events.

"Any ideas as to how we can make our fortunes?" He looked at the faces gathered around the workbench, as they poured out their flasks and opened their Tupperware boxes. "Charley? Any brain waves?"

"Other than running away to sea? No."

"That would do for me," said Bob as he studied the pages of the Brit laid out before them on the bench. The newspaper: The Brit captured perfectly the attitude of every working man. It was the newspaper for them and echoes their hopes and fears, no matter how distasteful that might be. "Laying down with that bird on a tropical beach, and having someone bring your pint to you. Whoever this Natasha bird is, she'll do for me" He pointed to the picture of tropical paradise printed on the pages below.

Charley noticed something which made him sit up sharply.

There on the page of the newspaper before him was the girl he had met in the pub.

Here she was called Natasha, but she had introduced herself to Charley as Cassy.

So why change her name?

Here, she was topless and smiling at the camera. That same cheeky smile which led men astray. Why did no one else notice this? Maybe it was the game? Nobody noticed she was in the game, as she had stated she was aware that they were both in it, and it was not the real world.

How did she get in the paper?

Charley noticed it was a competition for a holiday. The sort of thing that no one ever thought they would win. "Someone must win them."

"Not us," pointed out Old Dave, chewing on a sandwich.

"But someone must win them, otherwise they would never run the competitions," Charley added. He too had looked at the girl laying on the golden beaches of the tropical paradise. It was a dream place with a dream girl, and as far away from them now, as it would be to ever meet that girl.

"What are the chances of us winning it?" Old Dave continued, a little annoyed by the flippant conversation. He wanted to concentrate on being depressed, so the others shut up.

"Have you heard what's going on next door?" Bob drew the attention of the whole group, as it looked like some genuine news was coming their way.

"No?" replied Charley putting down the paper.

"Asylum seekers!" added Bob. "The old packing warehouse is to be filled with asylum seekers." He let the words hang in the air, waiting for them to see the significance of it all. "Asylum seekers!"

"What about them?" asked Old Dave, annoyed that Bob never got to the point.

"They will have them working there. Don't you see?"

"No, I don't think we do see." Charley did really, but he could not come to terms with what it would mean for them.

"They will take over our jobs," added Bob.

"They're welcome to them," said Kevin, a short stocky man, that was always slow to get the point. On his personnel file, they had just written: "Thick."

"That's the threat." Charley could see it all now. "That's why Eurco threatened us with redundancy. They aren't packing in, but they are trying to get rid of us."

"Who the hell will run the factory?" asked Bob.

"They will!" Old Dave pointed at the black shape of the old packing warehouse.

"They can't do this," Bob pointed at the guillotines. "It's too skilled. Anyway, it will take them years to learn it. Most of them don't even speak English. How are they going to learn the job?"

"They will if some of us are left to teach them," put in Charley. "Those of us who are too scared or too stupid to leave. We will be left behind to teach them how to take over our jobs."

"It's illegal," said Old Dave. "They can't employ them, without a work permit or anything. Or even a passport. It's just not on."

"Remember when we tried to get a lawyer to sort Eurco out?" Charley took them all back to a sorry episode in their life at the factory.

"Yeah," said Bob about to chew on a sandwich. "There he was with the members of the local chamber of trade, and the Union. All going to a Masonic meeting. Let's face it, we can't do anything against them. They have it sewn up so tightly, we just can't get at them."

"There must be something we can do?" said Old Dave as he folded up his paper, ready for the buzzer to hail them back to work. "What they are doing, in this place, is totally illegal. They can't go on bullying the workers like this. Something has to give."

"So far, they are fire-proof," Charley followed him, with the others. No one wanted to feel the wrath of Eurco. "Nothing we can do makes the slightest difference. But that's only because we aren't looking in the right place."

"The Union?" said Bob in disbelief. "Lawyers? Even the Press? Who else can help us? If they can bribe them, there's little point in worrying about MP's and such. They would have been bought off, long ago. No! We just have to get out of here. We need a miracle."

"Miracles take a little longer," Charley laughed to himself, as he switched on the machine, and started the blades. They cut through the steel, as usual. How much longer?

The Quality Control man, Neville, came onto the shop floor. A nasty little man, he had been appointed by Eurco, for a favour he had done for the management. Needless to say, the favour had resulted in the men failing to bring any prosecution against Eurco, as Neville had tipped him off before they had a chance to bring it up in normal Union business. Neville had won the day, and the complaints about the workload had been dismissed as trifling. Shouted down at the canteen meeting, and laughed out of court by Eurco; a past master at such things.

The men hated him and Neville knew it. Eurco knew it too, so Neville was despatched to enforce true quality to the production line. Against all their protests, Neville had been placed on one of the machines. His job was supposed to be that of helping to load the sheets on and off the bed before the steel was cut. But the truth of the matter was, that he stopped production at every turn. Making the men angry with his limp suggestions as to how they should do the job.

"If you don't like the way we do things, you bloody well do it yourself!" was heard more than once. But of course, Eurco would always back Neville up. Even when he knew it resulted in slow and shoddy production. Safe in the knowledge that worker relationships have slipped even more.

"No! Don't swing the sheets over like that," shouted Neville in his whining nasal tone. "I've told you before. It will ruin the sheet. Who's in charge here?"

The men stood and stared at him in silence.

Finally, Charley asked him what he really wanted.

"So just how do you want us to get them on the bed? Once we have the sheets out the rack, we have to swing them straight across, else we might have an accident." Charley wondered if Neville realised this.

"I don't care what you think," Neville snapped back.

"We've been doing it like that for years," pointed out Old Dave.

"Yes, and getting it wrong for Years." Neville could see they were going to defy him. "I've been put in charge of modernising this place. So do it my way, or else"

"Else what?" came Bob, lifting up a sheet.

"That!"

All Neville did, was to point to the black shape of the Packing warehouse. Trucks had been shipping in boxes for days now, and the first of the workforces was beginning to turn up.

Charley could see it was all about to result in a firefight.

"Maybe we could give it a go lads? See if Neville has something?"

The first sheet was slung onto the bed, narrowly missing the throats of several men. Old Dave jumped back in shock, his face white and his eyes staring in fear.

"That's better," smiled Neville, blind to the danger.

"You'll kill us!" said Bob.

"Not if you do it right."

The men just looked at one another.

The day went slowly. Slower than usual. Each time a sheet was loaded on the bed, everyone froze. The next time might be the last.

Some light relief came in the form of a box. Now Eurco loved to check everything that came into the factory. Ripping open the parcels to stuff his hand inside and tear the object out to fix it with his bloodshot eyes. Several times he had been so violent, that the object he had been retrieving had crumbled in his hand. To the point where a very important chip for the new computer-operated punching machine, had been sent for; only to end up in two pieces in Eurco's hand.

With this in mind, some of the men decided to get their own back, in a very schoolboy way. The box arrived in the office as usual, with Eurco watching morning television on the set in the corner of the room, as his minions ran around him. Occasionally he would bark an order, or throw a crisp at an office worker, just to make his presence felt. He was in a good mood as he had just won another battle with the damn lawyers, over allegations of bullying. With the lawyers sent away with a flea in their ear muttering some nonsense about human rights, Eurco opened the box.

It had just come in and had been placed on the table near his teas-maid making machine. A Piece of equipment which was never off. Eurco snatched at the parcel and shook it. Innocent enough.

"What's this?" he demanded to know from the frightened secretary across the room from him.

"Don't know Sir, it could be the new CNC parts, that were ordered?" She quickly went back to her work, not daring to look up.

"Not by me," said Eurco, and proceeded to rip the parcel into a million pieces. He still suspected nothing, even as he pulled back the cardboard and thrust his hand into the blackness of the box. At first, he found it a pleasant sensation, if a little cold. It was only as he withdrew his hand, that the smell hit him.

"Dog Shit!"

"What?" cried the secretary.

"Some bastard's sent me dog shit!"

Eurco held up his hand to prove he had identified the offending substance. He held it before him like a golden chalice, displaying it before the frightened secretary, as if he had received a prize.

The first anyone on the shop floor knew about the gift, was the roar which erupted from the office. All heads turned as the door flew open to reveal Eurco, still displaying his gift, and a party of worried followers, spilling out onto the shop floor.

"If I catch the bastard that sent me this, I will cut his balls off!" Eurco held the hand up for all to see. They watched as the offending material dripped onto the floor. "I'll find out! Mark my words. I'll get you!"