David logs into his trading account, the computer screen flickers into life. Straight away he is swamped with information. Too much information. His heart sinks, his mind wants to switch off.
He hates the job but loves the money. He feels he has a secure job; though in a world where the markets have seen profits disappear under a sea of debt, many of his colleagues doubt whether ‘secure’ has any present day meaning. David is assured by his manager that his skills are highly thought of, he should be with the bank for another year.
David assumed none of the other offices performed like his. He felt it was solely his office which brought in most of the profits. They all had a job because of him, his office. So they owe their jobs to his traders, no one else. At least that is what he thought. Of course, if the management were straight with him he would know that is not the truth.
David’s office did not carry the company, he was simply another worker, one of thousands worldwide. If all the computers in the world were hit with a virus he and his colleagues would have nothing to do. None of them had grown up in a paper office. They owe their existence in the company to computers and market sentiment. It is a business which fails to acknowledge the individual.
Seven hours later he was out of the office standing on the street by Bank tube station.
He could either go home or spend an hour in a bar. Some of the staff from David’s office were heading to the local pub which in the past had Shakespeare as a regular drinker. Though only a few of the bank employees would know that.
David flicked open the morning newspaper.
‘A bit late to be reading that,’ said a passing colleague, ‘haven’t seen one of those in years’.
‘Really?’ replied David, ‘It’s a newspaper, remarkable things. They don’t need a battery. You simply turn them one page at a time.’ He and the colleague laughed.
David flicked through several pages and stopped on a page of personal adverts. He quickly glanced down the first column. At first he couldn’t find any site which interested him. He looked again, nothing worth his time. He threw the newspaper into a nearby rubbish bin.
Thirty minutes later, with his feet under a table in a wine bar, he glanced at his phone, scrolled through bookmarks to find a particular dating site. Again he scrolled down past the more ridiculous named sites till he found: ‘Out of the Blue’ which had a strapline, ‘love will happen when you least expect it.’ He doubted that but set up an account and logged in.
To be continued ….
e-mail: firstname.lastname@example.org — to be updated when the story is complete.