I don’t know what the rest of you do about lunch but it’s all collectivised here. Most places are like that. When I was doing a temporary gig for Hyundai down south, I happened to see through into the “kitchen” – and of course you know it’s all done on a big scale, but I was still a bit surprised to see ’em mixing some vat of food with a shovel.

The current place of employment is slightly smaller scale, but only slightly. That’s not what this is about. This is about this custom they have that when you get up from the table when you’re done eating. You have to move really gradually, slide the chair out gently – no sudden movements – and stand up slowly while picking up the tray.

But all this effort is mostly in vain. Nine times out of ten, one of the people who is sitting next to you will start patting you on the back just as you make to leave. Once that starts you know what’s coming no matter how you behave. The last pat turns into a full whack. It doesn’t really hurt that much — it’s just fucking weird and, open-minded as I am, I have never been able to figure out while they do it.

There’s this really short guy who works for the adjoining establishment. I occasionally see him at lunch but that’s it. At first I was dead fascinated with him. Just like a regular person except short arms, short legs etc. He wears a woolen vest and gold-rimmed glasses just like any other doofus except for the whole bordering on midget status he’s got.

I think for me midgets and clowns fall into the same category – that is I fear them. I have these very low level feelings of wanting to do violence to them and maybe kill.

Who knows really? Maybe I would’ve been friends with the midget if he was friendly. But he’s not. Here’s another thing I find difficult to reconcile about this place: it’s not law of the jungle, it’s oldest first. Once or twice there’s been these times where the midget has brushed past the back of my chair just a little too carelessly, or not got out of the way when he should have. And this is offensive to my sense of what’s right, because I could beat him to a pulp if necessary.

Anyway, the other day the midget started choking on a chunk of gristle or something, and it wasn’t dislodging. I was across the other side of the table and a few down, so I didn’t do anything but for some reason, neither was anyone else. He dead-set choked and passed out. The canteen staff dragged him out by his ankles.