Routines

A story of everyday lives and loneliness.

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I’ve got my routine, right? It just works for me, see. It just works. So every night, I lay out my uniform. I like to make sure it’s pressed. Every day is my routine. 2 o’clock. Straight after I finish my pints. I don’t do ironing. I think that’s for birds (But please don’t tell my mum!)

No, I use a hand steamer. I stand there in my keks and use it, on my uniform hung up. Make sure everything is pristine. Make sure everything is right. No one takes the trouble to do things right anymore. That’s the problem with this country mate. That’s the problem. It all started with bloody Blair.

I fold my uniform neatly, into my Columbia backpack. It’s a large backpack. None of your Nancy boy stuff for me, oh no. A proper backpack. A soldier’s backpack mate. It fits perfectly, pal. Perfectly. I dress in my proper sports gear, all Adidas chief. From head to toe. Takes out my Raleigh Activator bike. It’s twenty years old, but they made quality in those days eh? Then I’m on my way by 3.15 dead. Regular as clockwork.

I get to the University at 3:45 every day. It’s a forty-five-minute cycle for a normal person, but I can do it in half an hour. I swear. Got the route down see? I also keep myself in shape as you can see. My shift starts at five. But I’ve got my pre-work routine down too. First I make a proper cup of tea. Teabag in first, boiling water. Proper boiling. None of your lukewarm shit thanks. Then, mash it good for thirty seconds. Steep for 2 minutes. Exactly 2 minutes. I even use a stopwatch. No, I’m not kidding. Then 25ml of milk. Full fat. No semi skimmed rubbish. Voila, you’ve got a perfect cup of tea.

After I’ve got my cup of tea, I have a full body wash with Boots own brand lemon soap in the staff toilets. Then shave again. I’ve got to shave twice a day these days or I’m not neat and tidy, like. I put on my uniform and give myself a look in the three-quarter length mirror. At last, I put on the cap. I like the cap. Professional. Important to have standards. And it covers my bald spot pretty well.

Shift starts at 5pm. Love the start of the shift. Most of the year I can do my rounds and watch the sun go down. Winter is a bit grim, you know? But you get through mate. You get through.

I start off on the first floor of the library and start making my way round the building. It’s a weird shape; you can spiral round the floors from the bottom to the top. I s’pose if you moved fast, you’d get dizzy. But I take my time. I always take my time. Look in on each floor. Check the bathrooms first. Then the shelves. The tables. Every corner. Step by step. It’s important to do a job properly.

It's usually very quiet. Peaceful, you know? Except this one boy. I say boy. He must be about thirty. Brown fella. Not that I’m prejudice, like. But don’t tell my old man. Not that you could. He snuffed it three years ago.

I observes this boy every night. Gives him a nod when I first pass. He always starts off by getting his books from the shelf. He takes a long time over this. Looking up and down, then back again. He always takes them back to his desk one by one. Never more than one. I think this is a funny little habit, don’t you? Anyway, he takes his books back, one by one. Then he always just reads for exactly 20 minutes. Exactly twenty minutes. Never more, never less. He then starts taking notes. He uses a fountain pen, the same one. Who still uses a fountain pen? Then he stops for exactly five minutes, and I swear, this is how it goes. He closes his eyes and just sits. Still as a statue. Then repeats his whole process, reading for twenty minutes before going back to his fountain pen notes. I swear to you, that’s how it goes mate. Night after night.

After I watch the boy for a while, I like to stop on the third floor for a bit. Third floor is classic literature. I like to take one of the books and read for twenty minutes or so. I don’t time this exactly, you know? It’s fair enough I say, as I’m entitled to a half hour break. I really like Selby and that fella Alasdair Gray. They got interesting things to say or at least I think so. But tell any of the lads down the pub I read. Anyway, I make my way back down the spiral. Always even slower than the way up. That boy is still there. You know what time it is from where he is in his routine, you know?

I cycled to work the next day on my usual route past a load of cars. One of them was a Ford Focus. I used to drive one of those. But I don’t drive any more. I’m happy with my bike. I messed up a bit today. Stayed on for one more pint and it threw my routine off. But you know, you’ve got to live a bit, right?

Did the usual with my tea and my wash. Went into the library. Did my rounds. And then started on my reading. I was reading Marabou Stork Nightmares, by that Irvine Welsh. I used the boy to see about my timings. I realised I’d been reading for too long. Probably over an hour. But you know, you’ve got to live a bit, right?

I thought about changing my route, just to mix it up. But you know, you’ve got to live a bit, right? But I didn’t. I went the same way. Saw that Ford Focus. It’s always bloody there. Always reminding me. I sped up, just a bit. Arrived later again though. Probably even later than the day before.

Went on my rounds. The usual fella wasn’t there. First time in over a year. Just not there. I checked the toilets. Not there. Checked every corner of the library. Not there.

Got to the third floor. Someone has checked out Marabou Stork Nightmares. Can’t believe it. What am I gonna do? What will I do? Bloody annoying.

I decided that tonight was the night. I’m finally gonna do it. So I went in my backpack. Under where I keep my uniform. I’ve kept this in my bag for a year or so now. I takes it out, sets it up in front of me. A set of tights to put over my head.  Two solid metal camping clips. And a length of strong, towing wire. No rope. It can snap, see? I’m five foot ten. So, I have exactly 5 foot measured out. Fits in the bag just right. I looked at it all for a minute or two, maybe longer. Then decided to go ahead.

I take the chair. The one I always sit on the third floor. It’s my favourite mate. Almost like a friend after all these years. Put it under the skylight in the third-floor bathroom. Attached the wire to the skylight with the clips. They’re strong. No way this breaks before the right time. No way.

I was on the chair, closed my eyes. Thought about it all. Thought hard. Felt something. Not sure what. Regret, maybe. Anger, maybe. But not sure with who. I was about to go, right on the edge. Then in walks the brown fella.

We just eyeballed each other, for a long time. His eyes told me I looked ridiculous. I suppose he’s never seen a geezer with tights on my head. He asked me if I’m gonna get down. He spoke to me, but I’d never spoken to him like. So I can’t go through with it whilst he’s chatting away. I decided I’d best get down.

We got to talking. His name is Ray. I blurted out that’s a funny name for a brown fella. He laughed and his real name is Ragnathan (I think I’m saying it right) but he’s sick of us lot saying it wrong. He laughed. He’s funny. I laughed. Turns out Ray is doing studies these nights cos he wants to teach English. He is doing his degree. He works in the daytime, as a security guard. He was late tonight cos one of his kids was sick, like.

I told him I like reading and all. He said next time why don’t you come read with me. I just stood there and nodded, like. The words wouldn’t come.

Next day, I cycled in. But I went a different way. Avoided that car. I stood for a long time, looking in my backpack. At the uniform. At the wire, tights and clips.

I zipped up the bag and dropped it in the River Trent.