Liana's Ship (#ONC 2021)

4. Liana: A Supervisor named Gary

No one wants the retraining programme. It sounded great, but the reality is that you turn up at nine in the morning at a local discount store chain and you stack shelves for nine hours. If you're really unlucky you'll be bossed around by a supervisor fresh out of sixth form college with a superiority complex not justified for an eighteen year old. You turned up and worked just to keep your benefits. If you don't show up, they stopped your meagre pay. No thank you, I wanted a wage and full employee entitlement. It was just a way of keeping the employment figures up for the government. After six weeks, your placement was over and nothing had changed.

"There's really nothing for me?" I said trying not to cry because these battleaxe women loved tears and misery. She smiled as she handed me the forms to hand in on the induction day. It was going to stink, I knew it. First day will be watching training videos with an overenthusiastic actor telling you things you already know: The customer is always right, washing your hands after using the toilet and smiling. Followed by an introduction to spotty Gary, your supervisor for the next six weeks.

"So Ms Goldheart, I will be seeing you in six weeks to see how you progress." She smiled, she knew it was a waste of time, but she didn't care, "you can go now."

She didn't wish me good luck.

"Hope you have a lovely day," I said, with mock cheer, suppressing the urge to call her a soul sucking bitch. I didn't of course, not wanting to be labelled a troublemaker. It pained me to walk away, without a dignity saving but future job prospect destroying retort. Instead, I wondered if I could get another bottle of wine by skipping the bus. It was a forty minute walk home, it was pouring with rain and it would only pay for something not much better than lighter fuel. However, a few hours of delusional drunkenness was what I wanted right then.

"Ms Goldheart, I have a job you might be interested in." The Battleaxe spoke, I jumped out of my skin and turned around, half expecting her to have transformed into a Gorgon. It just came up on my computer," she added, "a little unusual but you just about fit the requirements."

I turned around in disbelief. Actual paid work? This had to be a joke. Mind you, I'd would have taken a farmers' relief position and endured the jokes from friends in the pub, if it meant I had enough money to go out.

"Ms Goldheart" she smiled, almost, it looked like she was about to go for my jugular. "Would you be willing to work far away for a year to train?" She asked.

It was too good to be true but I nodded and sat back down in front of her. Was it too much to hope for somewhere warm and sunny with unlimited cocktails? Probably.

"Very generous salary, full training, full settlement of any arrears you have occurred on earth," she rattled off the words on the screen. I didn't hear the rest. I just thought my problems were over. Perhaps in hindsight I should have taken notice.

"Yes, yes yes! I'll take it," I shouted, "I never want to see this awful place again!" I shouldn't have said that, "well, I mean no one wants to be here," I stumbled over my words dredging my brain for any hint of tactful reply, "on benefits and without work is what I meant." I hold my breath, waiting for a reprimand on behaviour.

"Well that may well come true, Ms Goldheart." Battleaxe smirked, resisting the urge to laugh. Was she mocking me?

Then the penny drops.

"Wait, arrears on earth settled? It's the Xeran ship isn't it?"

"And she realises." The Battleaxe said, as if I was on a game show where I was the last contestant to get the question right. "You are sure you want to accept? You may be unsuitable for the role, although I hear the compensation is worth it."

I stared at her, she seemed to be talking in riddles. "I don't understand."

"Well let me put this simply," she said, as if speaking to a child, "you are at the upper age limit for training. So it may not last. You need to show you are willing."

"I am, please, just give me the forms!" I say urgently.

"Very well," she said, "and may I wish you the very best of luck."

She didn't have to say 'you're going to need it,' but I knew what she meant. At the time I could only think of the money. Perhaps if I had known what the conditions were at the time I may have been willing to put on the puke yellow polo shirt of Poundsave discount store and being bossed around by a supervisor named Gary.

But I didn't and now I'm paying for the consequences of a bad decision. On a giant space vegetable far away from home. No chocolate and no rocket fuel wine to drown my sorrows.