The Shift of Numbers (4 page)

“
Okay
, not bad.”

“Hav
e you brought your card?” This wa
s a small
piece of card that a ‘client’ wa
s
supposed to fill in and contained the 3
jobs they applied for in the last 7 days.

“Yes.”

Mary glanced at the card briefly and wrote
something on a blue
piece of paper. Gordon pretended
to have an
itch on his hand so that he could
look
at his watch again. 1 minute had
passed.

“Everything seems
okay. There are 3
. Did you visit Pearson’s Plastics or did you ring them up on the telephone?”

“I phoned them up,
” Gordon replied
sounding
m
ore defensive than he should have
.

“Okay. D
id you do anything else this week to try and find a job?”

“Erm, n
o.”

“Did you look through the local paper at all?”

“We don’t have it at home.”

“Well
,
we have several copies at the job centre, if you can’t afford to purchase one.”

The phone ringing on Mary’s desk broke the next 30 seconds of silence.

“I’ve just been told that my next job seeker is not going to be able to make it. So I’m going to extend our session and get you to fill out a J13a. It will tell us what type of job most suits you.
Okay
?”

Gordon’s heart fell into his stomach as he smiled and nodded.

“You’re also going to have to come in tomorrow as well to learn some interview skills.
Okay
?”

*

6 days later, Gordon woke up to his father shouting his name from the bott
om of the stairs. “GORDON, PHONE. GORDON, GET OUT OF BED.
IT’S
THE JOB CENTRE.
IT’S FOR YOU.”

“
Oh
,
bugger
,” thought Gordon. “T
hey will know I was still in bed and it’s nearly 2.
”

“Hello.”

“Hello. T
his is Mary from the job centre. I didn’t want to disturb you but the results of your J13a have come back.”

“Oh
,
right.”

“It seems that you
are
ideally suited for working in a customer service role or manual labour. It amazes me what technology can tell us.”

“Yes, me too
.”

“I’m phoning because
,
based on your results
,
there are two jobs that the computer t
hinks are 96% perfect for you: n
umber 1, carrot picking for the
Carrot Corporation™
; n
umber 2, a café just down the road from the Carrot Corporation™ is looking for a customer service representative. What do you think?”

*

Michael’s job was going well
and he had gotten his biannual
review out
of
the way and had promised to take the kids camping a
t the weekend. He also now rented a small allotment that produced
some of the ju
iciest, loveliest carrots he had
ever seen or tasted. 

"The working men have no country. We cannot take away from them what they have not got."

Karl Marx

Gordon arrived at his ol
d place of work as a customer. I
t felt quite libera
ting. T
he owner, his old boss
,
wasn’t there and 2 new members of staff were serving breakfast. I
t was just after 8 o’clock and h
e and
27
of the other employees of Carrot Corporation™ were waiting for their breakfasts. This was Gordon
’s
first day at his new job. He had gotten sick of having no money and the ever-increasing pressure Mary was putting him under, so he had an interview with Bill and he got the job. His fellow worker
s
had been very nice to him and they all welcomed him to his new family, as they put it. They explained to him about his working day over a breakfast that was provided free of charge. They all winked at each other and patted each other on the back when the free breakfast was mentioned. The foreman explained to Gordon that they were very proud of their free breakfasts, as they had to strike to get them back when the boss stopped them. 

At about
a
quarter to 9
,
the workers started walking up the long road to the farm. Upon arrival at the farm
,
Bill was waiting at the gate looking at his watch. When the last person had pas
sed
through the gate he stopped looking at his watch and said, “We
’
re in field 3 today. You lot get started. Where’s the new boy?”

The foreman pointed at Gordon
,
then said
:
“Come on lads, you heard the boss.” They all started walking down the lane behind the foreman.

“Right then
,
lad. You ready for a hard day
’s work?” s
aid Bill when the others were a little way down the lane.

“Yep
,” s
aid Gordon
.

“Follow me then, I’ll give you the tour.” Bill turned and
climbed over the nearest wooden
fence, struggling with his ample frame. Gordon followed suit and they walked in silence for a while on the paths between identical looking fields. Bill stopped, deciding he had reached his destination. It all looked the same to Gordon.

“You eat carrots
,
my boy?”

“Neve
r really been that fond of them,
” Gordon replied honestly.

“Me neither.
” Bill did a little belly laugh. “But you should
know a thing or 2 about them. O
nly professional after all.”

“I suppose.”

“No
suppose
about it, lad. T
ake a look at these.” He removed 4 carrots from his deep jacket pockets. “What do you make of them
,
then?” Bill looked proudly at his outstretched hands.

“Erm…”

“These,” he paused as if listening to a drum roll in his head. “…
are
carrots.
Daucus carota
, of the variety
sativus
. Belong to the parsley family they do.” He pronounced the Latin as if speaking a posh foreign language reserved for special occasions.

Gordon n
odded.

“We grow several varieties here. My motto is, ‘If people’ll eats
’
em, I’ll grows
’
em
.’
Take a gander at this.” He held up the 2 carrots in his right hand. “T
hese are fresh market carrots. N
otice the
y’
re longer than the others, and thinner. This 1’s the Imperator and this 1’s the Nantes. Both delicious
,
I’m told. Goes straight into the shop as is. This little fella,” he held up a small carrot, about 3 inches long, “is a baby carrot, for them gourmet types. And this 1 goes off to the factory,” holding up another carrot, not as long as the
fresh market, but fatter. “…
get
s
diced, frozen in packets or put in tin ca
ns. Bet you didn’t know that?” a
sked Bill.

“No
,
I
didn’t,” r
eplied Gordon.

Bill put the carrots back in his pocket and turned
towards a field.
“You se
e them rows?” He pointed toward
the straight lines of green foliage covering the field. “The seeds are planted in them,
’
bo
ut half inch deep, foot apart, d
epending on the type of carrot
,
of course. Takes about 100 or so days to yield a crop and in this warm climate we can keep going all year round. I harvest them with my mechanical digger, best thing I e
ver bought…” Bill seemed to lo
se his train of thought and stood in silence for a moment. Gordon coughed.

“Right then,” s
aid Bill suddenly. “Follow me lad.”

*

Richard stood for a moment, hand resting lightly on the door, taking several deep breat
hs.
The calm before the storm.
T
hese were the moments he savoured. Like placing an order at an expensive restaurant, sipping an aperitif, and wondering how good the venison really was. It didn’t even come close to the excitement he felt now. Glancing down towards his expensive shoes
,
he reminded himself how good he wa
s at this. A
nother deep
breath
.
You’re a tiger.

His hands placed on each door, fingertips running gently against the wood, he decisively pushed. A wall of noise filled his ears and washed over him, at least a 100 people shouting, manoeuvring for position. Not to mention the others sat at desks, loudly typing into computer terminals, phones pressed to their ears. He loved it, making a point each day of arriving minutes after the market opened so he could make an entrance. The ‘floor’ as they called it in the trade was contained inside a huge vaulted building with a vast ceiling stretching upwards towards a glass-domed roof. The space underneath was at least the size of a football pitch. In the centre sat a large raised circular platform a few feet high. A ba
ll-
shaped array of television monitors dangled above, suspended by thick iron ropes, beaming out a constant stream of numbers and codes.

This w
as where the action happened, me
n and women dressed in suit jackets of various garish colour schemes – indicating the brokerage house they worked for – vying for attention. There were at least 20 people crammed onto the platform, all shouting out in a seemingly unintelligible foreign language and gesturing a form of sign language. The 40 or so people surrounding the stage seemed q
uieter, more intent. Some gazed at the screens, or waited
for some signal from a colleague sat at a desk. Then movement, a sudden flurry of coloured paper and scribbled numbers - a trade had taken place, a controlled chaos that fascinated those who knew the rules.

Surrounding the platform and moving out in increasing circles were the decks, each 1 heavily laden with numerous computer screens and several phones. Each brokerage had a desk; the closer you were to the centre the more money you had. They were like islands, with each inhabitant wearing the national colours, rarely communicating - unless mutually beneficial - to the ‘foreigners’. The native language was the intricate and very secret set of hand signals used to communicate trades to the centre of the room. This was the Central House Stock Exchange
,
CHSE, pronounced
chess
by the locals.

Richard
,
or Cinderella as he w
as known on the trading floor (for his usual late arrival),
took up his seat. Next to him sat Chips, an aptly named larger gent with a passion for pok
er that bordered on obsessive
. The other 2 in his team were relatively new and as such hadn’t earned a nickname.
They were referred to as ‘shinie
s’, an antiquated re
ference to the wide eyes of new
comers.

“Morning
,
Cinders,” said Chips with a flourish of his hand. “Shaz
(
Central House Association of Security Dealers Automated Quotation systems – CHASDAQ, pronounced shaz-daq or simply shaz.)
has
CC at 77. Yo
ur phone stopped ringing yet?” h
e added with a little laugh.

“Funny… put some money down, you might be able to pay off some of your gambling debts.”

“Forget
you’re
the funny one,” Chips smiled “…and I’m already in for 300.”

“Really!” Richard exclaimed. “Your own?”

“Nah, Wilson
’s account. Wish it were though:
25k profit in less than 2 days.”

“Good work…and a nice bonus.”

“Keeps me honest.”

“Just about…” Richard added, then realised that his team were all lounging about doing nothing in the midst of the frenzied morning trading. “You lot got nothing to do?” The
shinie
s shook the
ir
heads in unison.

“The float
’
s frozen again,” added Chips.

“Why?” s
aid Richard, already guessing at the
an
swer.
Unbeknownst to his team,
Richard had also been dabbling in the international commodities markets, buying up options on most of the world
’
s carrot crop for the coming year and most of the next. Massive sums of
money had been exchanged in 100
s of trades. In an effort to hide these from his colleagues - whom he decided were to
o
stupid to comprehend his plan - Richard had been rerouting the money i
n increasingly elaborate ways, a
complicated sl
eight of hand that would
have everyone regarding him as a genius when record-breaking profits land
ed
on the
ir
desks. He smiled.
Roar
,
you tiger, roar.

“No idea,” said Chips. “What you grinning about? Still seeing thing
s
?”

“Nothing,” said Richard quickly, strai
gh
tening his face. “Take the
shinie
s for a coffee
, will you?
I’ll get on to the board and see what’s going on.”

“
Okay,
boss.” As they disappeared into the crowds
,
Richard slumped at his desk, concentrating to block out the noise.
Perhaps I took too much. P
erhaps they noticed
. He pulled out a carrot from his pocket and absently began nibbling on it. As he relaxe
d, his vision began to tunnel, like someone was turning
up the contrast. Before he could blink
,
the walls began to melt around him revealing the offices behind. He clenched his eyes shut for a few seconds and shook his
head and
everything returned to normal. He began typing, selling stock options, transferring the money from hidden accounts back into the main float. Several million later
,
the computer beeped happily and unlocked the CHASDAQ trading options. He estimated that selling them back had just lost the company close to half a million. A dent in the quarter billion he’d invested in the last 2 weeks.

*

“I have a
special
job for you. You won’t be working with the others
,
” Bill said cryptically.

“Okay. W
hat do I have to do?”

“You are going to be fertili
s
ing my carrots. There’s a small hut down
that way,” said Bill pointing
into the distance. “I want you to make your way down there
and speak to my scientist. He’
ll tell you what to do.
Okay
?”

“Sure.”

Before Bill turned to walk away
,
he said
,
“
Be sure to come up here at
11 o’clock so you can be measure
d for your overalls. Speak to the
wife.”

Gordon began walking in th
e direction that Bill pointed
and some time later he found the hut. He didn’t have to knock on the door as a man who looked very much like a scientist was waiting outside.