If a cluttered desk is the sign of a cluttered mind, what is the empty desk a sign of? wondered Einstein. Had he been at my local unemployment office the other day, what would he have thought of the hand sanitiser that was sitting on MY side of the desk? I was trying to look interested in what the welfare ‘officer’ was saying behind her bullet proof glass (no joke – and very inconvenient, all I could hear was Justin Timberlake on the radio behind me, meaning I had to lean forward a lot and develop lip-reading skills), but I couldn’t because all the time I was wondering why my side had been provided with a cleaning object. Am I dirty? Am I finally, irrefutably, now officially, part of ‘the great unwashed’? And why did the dispensing part have a great big brown knob of dirt on it?
I also noticed the stubs of three airplane tickets to my left, and a long hair spreading over the part of the desk I was trying not to lean on.
The airplane tickets were to Berlin, the current owners of Ireland.
Justin continued to croon, I leaned away from the brown bit on the sanitiser and began to nod my head vigorously to imply understanding.
I came out with a headache, and did NOT buy a scone.