Idiots' Graveyard (segment 01)

Adam Erskine stopped outside the huge, gothic DSS building. All the others had moved to snappy modern new buildings, thrown up by planners and architects and indistinguishable from modern churches and day centres. This one had its feet firmly rooted in Victoriana and blaming the poor for the symptoms of what was done to them in the name of progress. 

Adam pushed in the front door and it creaked as it opened, bringing with it, a puff of air, dank and smoky. He stepped inside. 

Inside, all around him, the place was in almost-darkness. Shapes moved against dark outlines and somewhere a radio played Russ Abbott's 'Atmosphere'. Adam stopped dead, looked around him, willing the world to reform in the shape it was meant to be. 

A figure approached. Adam did his best not to cower as a limb snaked out from the front of it, towards him. 

"Power's down again," it said in a woman's voice. "Do you have your card there? 

Adam fumbled in his pocket and withdrew the thin plastic wallet, which he handed over. The woman, if woman it was, skulked away into the darkness, trilling out, "Just take a seat," and something that ended with "shortly". 

As his eyes adjusted, Adam could see figures arranged around most of the desks. The shape of the room as it usually was came back to him and he could almost see what he ought to be seeing. A bustling DSS office, claimants and interrogators locked in a life-or-death struggle. 

"Mr Erskine?" He looked around. His eyes caught a movement and he glimpsed a thick figure, sliding towards him with a sea-like motion. A heavyset woman, somewhere in her forties, he supposed, short dark hair cropped close to the gleaming skull. Powerful shoulders moved towards him, then stopped. 

She got into a seat as Adam was scrambling to his feet. He went over. 

Charity Heimlich observed this one as he lumbered over towards her. Twenty-eight, according to his file. Lived at the same address for years, unemployed about as long. 

He sat and squeezed out a half-hearted "morning". She nodded, her eyes still flicking over his file before her. 

Adam watched as the powerfully-built woman ignored him, her tongue flicking out and back in again as she read in silence. Again the feeling of rose up and again he pushed them back down. 

"Mr Erskine." She said, at length. "My name is Miss Heimlich. As you are no doubt aware, your jobsearch has been unsuccessful for two years now. It's time to take the bull by the horns, Mr Erskine." She paused. Adam couldn't think of anything to say. 

"Mr Erskine!" She let her voice carry a little of the rage she felt towards him and his kind. "I really think this department has been patient enough with your refusal to find a job, haven't we?" 

She looked at him, the inexpensive clothing, the air of defeat, the brows down low over the eyes. 

"This is not a charity, Mr Erskine, it's a government department. I'm sure even you must have spotted that by now." She watched him, he was starting to wriggle. "Anyway, we've come up with a way we can help, I think." She watched his face, to see if he was buying it. 

The problem with your jobseekers' record, Mr Erskine, is that you've been claiming benefit for so long, employers don't want to touch you. A vicious circle, Mr Erskine, a vicious circle." She watched him, looking at his feet. She continued. "What if I told you there was a way to wipe away the last however many years of your claim and give you a fresh start?" He looked up at that. Good. 

"There's a new directive come into force just last month, and that gives me the powers to redeploy some of your consonants and, if you wish, a vowel or two. Do you understand?" 

She leaned in, snapped, making him nod and swallow slightly. She licked her wide lips, exposing the wide flat teeth for a moment. 

She placed the form in front of him, already marked where his signature was expected. Adam Erskine leaned in, his back hunching slightly and with the pen she proffered, signed away his life. 

She clapped her hands. "Right Mr Erskine, let's see what we can do for you today, shall we?" She pressed a number of keys on her keyboard and clicked her roving mouse several times. 

There was a soft purring from under her desk again and the screen flashed, lighting up her face briefly like lightning. 

"There we are!" Charity Heimlich rotated slightly, leaned backwards, a wide grin on her face. She held up a slip of paper, bringing it to the desk between them. 

"This way, you get a brand new name, one without this long history of unemployment and laziness, and with the left-over letters, perhaps we can help someone else, Mr Erse. 

He looked at her, his eyes widening. She rotated the paper on the desk so he could read it. "Mr Am Erse." She said, her face breaking into a grin. 

"That's not funny," he said. 

"No, it isn't," Miss Heimlich agreed. "But it is legal. So, Mr Erse, just carry on with your job applications, informing all employers that you've only been unemployed since today's date and bob's your uncle. See you in two weeks, Mr Erse." Her smile was like broken glass in the hands of a violent husband. "And good luck with your jobsearch." She leaned back in her seat, let her eyes fall closed. 

"Miss Heimlich, you can't leave me like this. I want my name back!" He sounded forceful, this Erse. 

"I'm sorry, Mr Erse. But when you volunteered, you had the opportunity to assess the risks of something like this happening. My work here is done. Good bye." 

He got to his feet, looking more scared than angry. He turned and left and Charity Heimlich moved her thighs together, thoroughly enjoying the moment.