Morning: The Daily Grind Begins

The foyer was large and shiny and made of granite. Sound echoed and light bounced off the floor in shards which played on the corners and other surfaces. A man wearing a raincoat approached, tapping his umbrella every second step, which caused a clip clip noise to precede him as he made his way along the atrium. His tie was red and suit was grey and his coat was a darker shade of grey which blended with the surrounds of the lift doors. He worse his hair slicked and he pressed the up button, which had already been pressed, a few times, and he pulled out a mobile phone from his inside suit jacket pocket and spoke into it in a harsh, clipped manner:

“Lucy. I’m in the building. I need that report on my desk in forty-five seconds.”

A man was already waiting for the lift. He had pressed the button to go up. He had pressed it once and was waiting when the man with the umbrella appeared. The first man was wearing shorts and a polo shirt with courier company logos on it.

Noises could be heard from within the lift shaft. Noises which promise that the arrival of the lift is expected if not quite imminent – industrial noises, but clean, the mechanics of oiled components moving in concert, and then the sound of a powerful wind gust moving earthwards through the internal void.

More people arrived. More men with slicked hair and grey suits. Women in grey suits with black high heels. All carrying slight variations on the same soft brown leather briefcase, secured by buckles in two places. All checked their mobile phones and wiped away rain drops from their raincoat sleeves, all tapped their umbrellas, and aggressively nodded at each other, all struggled to stand still as they awaited the lift.

On a digital display the floor numbers counted backwards rapidly as the cage descended.

The door opened with a surprisingly loud ding and there was pushing and squeezing. And the box was soon full of vertical commuters anxious to complete their journey before it had even begun. Doors closed. The conveyance rose.

When the doors opened on the top floor the man in the courier shirt left the empty lift. He stepped into the deep carpet of a foyer with leather armchairs and magnificent views of the city skyline from windows at either end. He signed himself in at the front desk, shared a quick joke with the young man who sat there, and who was wearing the same polo shirt, and made his way towards his office.

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Published in: on February 21, 2012 at 7:25 pm  Leave a Comment  

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