Part 140, Chapter 2426
Chapter Two Thousand Four Hundred Twenty-Six
18th December 1975
London, England
This might have been a cheerful time of the year. Just in the dismal streets of London, Christmas, Peace on Earth, and good will to all men seemed rather far away. The streetlights were a bit spotty in this neighborhood and in the early morning hours it seemed like the city center was spots of light between vast pools of darkness. That was an annoyance because the headlights and flat, split windscreens on the old Johnston Sweeper left a lot to be desired. As Steve had discovered since he had started this job months earlier, people threw away the damnedest things and he preferred to see that sort of thing before he hit it. This wasn’t helped by the drizzling fog further restricting visibility, and it was too bad that it wasn’t quite cold enough to snow. If it were snowing, Steve could use that as an excuse to take the Johnston back to the garage and call it a day early. For reasons of safety, he thought to himself.
This is how it was, Steve thought to himself, getting up around midnight so that he could be driving the Johnston along the planned route of the day. It was fortunate that the weather was bad, otherwise there would probably be people yelling at him for making so much noise. Though if he skipped their block, they would be pissed about all the crud that would pile up. Steve’s supervisor told him that there was no pleasing some people, so not to worry about it.
This job, which he was lucky to have, wasn’t what Steve had in mind when he had left school. He had studied Architecture and had had a job as a Draughtsman, until someone in management had suddenly realized that no one was building anything in London these days. So, it was a mad scramble to get a new job before he found himself sleeping rough. Driving the Johnston Sweeper didn’t seem so bad compared to the alternative.
Taking another attempt to adjust the heater as the Johnston was on a long straight street with no cars parked on it, Steve cursed at the thing. It seemed that it was all or nothing with the heater. If he cracked the window it would let some air in, but he knew from bitter experience that the inside of the cab would be dripping wet in seconds. Then the whole thing smelled of mildew for the rest of the shift. Perhaps it might have been tolerable if he had tunes, but the company forbid having a radio in the Johnston as a matter of policy. There was a hole in the dashboard where the radio had once been, which served to mock him.
Turning onto another deserted street, Steve peered through the darkness. Soggy newspapers, random bits of paper, and presumably food wrappers tended to accumulate in the street. The Johnston vacuumed them up into the hopper in the back, the spinning brushes got anything more stubborn than that up off the pavement. He had learned not to think too much about what he saw in the gutters. Looking up, he caught a glimpse of the soot darkened bricks that made up the buildings on this block in the headlights of the Johnston. Day or night, brick or concrete, the view was largely the same.
Frequently, Steve wondered if this was what it must have felt like in Rome in the final days of the Empire. There were no Visigoths or Vandals waiting to sack the city though. Who needed them when they had that pack of thieves in Westminster who were already performing the same role. Steve remembered the General Election a couple years earlier. The Tories had been elected on the promise of a new dawn for Britain. Unfortunately for everyone involved, it had been one of those dawns where you wake up with a nasty hangover, a black eye, and only the foggiest memory of what you were up to the night before.
As if summoned by Steve’s thoughts, a familiar figure appeared in the headlights of the Johnston. Taking his foot off the accelerator pedal, the slow-moving Sweeper rolled to a halt. Rolling down the window, Steve yelled out, “You trying to catch your death out here?”
Dave just looked up and had that grin of his when he was still a bit more than half drunk. “I was trying to get home” He said, which was simply stating the obvious.
“I’ll give you a ride then” Steve replied.
“I want to get home before New Year’s” Dave said, it being long standing joke about how slow the Johnston was as it worked its way around the city.
Even though Steve knew his boss would have kittens if he knew that Steve had let a friend ride with him, but Dave’s flat was along the route and what he didn’t wouldn’t hurt him. Besides, it would give Steve someone to talk to for a bit.
“I thought you were headed for the job center yesterday?” Steve asked as Dave settled into the passenger seat.
“Fat lot of good that was” Dave replied, “The usual fun there.
Then Dave switched to the snooty voice, presumably the tone used by the councilor at the Job Center. “We got three choices for a young man like you” Dave said, “Army, Navy, and Air Force.”
“For real?” Steve asked.
“He might as well have” Dave replied, “It was as bad as that bloke who was trying to sell us on Australia or New Zealand a few weeks back.”
Steve remembered that conversation at the pub. The man in question was obviously trying to recruit warm bodies for distant parts of the Commonwealth doing work that was probably not much better than what they were already doing. Dave had shut him down by asking if he had any suggestions that didn’t involve places where the pastime was fucking sheep.
18th December 1975
London, England
This might have been a cheerful time of the year. Just in the dismal streets of London, Christmas, Peace on Earth, and good will to all men seemed rather far away. The streetlights were a bit spotty in this neighborhood and in the early morning hours it seemed like the city center was spots of light between vast pools of darkness. That was an annoyance because the headlights and flat, split windscreens on the old Johnston Sweeper left a lot to be desired. As Steve had discovered since he had started this job months earlier, people threw away the damnedest things and he preferred to see that sort of thing before he hit it. This wasn’t helped by the drizzling fog further restricting visibility, and it was too bad that it wasn’t quite cold enough to snow. If it were snowing, Steve could use that as an excuse to take the Johnston back to the garage and call it a day early. For reasons of safety, he thought to himself.
This is how it was, Steve thought to himself, getting up around midnight so that he could be driving the Johnston along the planned route of the day. It was fortunate that the weather was bad, otherwise there would probably be people yelling at him for making so much noise. Though if he skipped their block, they would be pissed about all the crud that would pile up. Steve’s supervisor told him that there was no pleasing some people, so not to worry about it.
This job, which he was lucky to have, wasn’t what Steve had in mind when he had left school. He had studied Architecture and had had a job as a Draughtsman, until someone in management had suddenly realized that no one was building anything in London these days. So, it was a mad scramble to get a new job before he found himself sleeping rough. Driving the Johnston Sweeper didn’t seem so bad compared to the alternative.
Taking another attempt to adjust the heater as the Johnston was on a long straight street with no cars parked on it, Steve cursed at the thing. It seemed that it was all or nothing with the heater. If he cracked the window it would let some air in, but he knew from bitter experience that the inside of the cab would be dripping wet in seconds. Then the whole thing smelled of mildew for the rest of the shift. Perhaps it might have been tolerable if he had tunes, but the company forbid having a radio in the Johnston as a matter of policy. There was a hole in the dashboard where the radio had once been, which served to mock him.
Turning onto another deserted street, Steve peered through the darkness. Soggy newspapers, random bits of paper, and presumably food wrappers tended to accumulate in the street. The Johnston vacuumed them up into the hopper in the back, the spinning brushes got anything more stubborn than that up off the pavement. He had learned not to think too much about what he saw in the gutters. Looking up, he caught a glimpse of the soot darkened bricks that made up the buildings on this block in the headlights of the Johnston. Day or night, brick or concrete, the view was largely the same.
Frequently, Steve wondered if this was what it must have felt like in Rome in the final days of the Empire. There were no Visigoths or Vandals waiting to sack the city though. Who needed them when they had that pack of thieves in Westminster who were already performing the same role. Steve remembered the General Election a couple years earlier. The Tories had been elected on the promise of a new dawn for Britain. Unfortunately for everyone involved, it had been one of those dawns where you wake up with a nasty hangover, a black eye, and only the foggiest memory of what you were up to the night before.
As if summoned by Steve’s thoughts, a familiar figure appeared in the headlights of the Johnston. Taking his foot off the accelerator pedal, the slow-moving Sweeper rolled to a halt. Rolling down the window, Steve yelled out, “You trying to catch your death out here?”
Dave just looked up and had that grin of his when he was still a bit more than half drunk. “I was trying to get home” He said, which was simply stating the obvious.
“I’ll give you a ride then” Steve replied.
“I want to get home before New Year’s” Dave said, it being long standing joke about how slow the Johnston was as it worked its way around the city.
Even though Steve knew his boss would have kittens if he knew that Steve had let a friend ride with him, but Dave’s flat was along the route and what he didn’t wouldn’t hurt him. Besides, it would give Steve someone to talk to for a bit.
“I thought you were headed for the job center yesterday?” Steve asked as Dave settled into the passenger seat.
“Fat lot of good that was” Dave replied, “The usual fun there.
Then Dave switched to the snooty voice, presumably the tone used by the councilor at the Job Center. “We got three choices for a young man like you” Dave said, “Army, Navy, and Air Force.”
“For real?” Steve asked.
“He might as well have” Dave replied, “It was as bad as that bloke who was trying to sell us on Australia or New Zealand a few weeks back.”
Steve remembered that conversation at the pub. The man in question was obviously trying to recruit warm bodies for distant parts of the Commonwealth doing work that was probably not much better than what they were already doing. Dave had shut him down by asking if he had any suggestions that didn’t involve places where the pastime was fucking sheep.
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