AUT Master of Creative Writing Thesis Exegesis - Scholarly ...

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AUT Master of Creative Writing 2008 Shorty © Michael Botur 2009 She waited for Jyoti to nod, looking down on her. ‘The most important thing you’ll learn here,’ she said, flicking her fingers at the cleaner and looking around for the right words, ‘is that a tidy desk… begets the best. A-ti dy-desk be-gets the-best.’ Her smile came back. ‘I started out a cleaner dear, I don’t know if Danal told you that.’ She looked down at Danal’s desk. There were swamps of coffee. The Whitewash folder had been ravaged. She picked it up and tapped it on the countertop until there was order. A frown avalanched onto her brow. ‘Have they not cleaned here?’ ‘Mrs Manager please I am telling Danny I clean last night he put the feet on the desk.’ Danal was shaking his head. He revolved his chair to face away from Jyoti. The Manager was looking into Danal’s brown eyes. He blinked for her satisfaction. ‘Are we under control?’ ‘Think so. Yellow Pages online's where you wanna go if you wanna get us some other cleaners. Or Ferret.' ‘You get the price down?’ ‘I will do, D-defo. Got the list of flaws to give them, too.’ He nodded at her to affirm his remark. The Manager poked the dead snacks in the World Vision box. Before lumbering away, she said with her hand cupped around her mouth, 'The budget dinner – you people alright with butter chicken?' Danal calmly released his response. ‘Defo.' She went back to her office, fingering the Institute’s walls as she walked and inspecting her fingertips. She stopped halfway down the corridor and stared at her hands. She disappeared into the ladies toilets and there was the sound of water running. Danny’s feet went back on the desk. He unbuttoned his business shirt in a hurry, as if he were about to fuck Jyoti, and unleashed Ché. ‘What hours d’yous do last night? Not that you guys are in trouble or nothing.’ 42
AUT Master of Creative Writing 2008 Shorty © Michael Botur 2009 ‘We work the usual time seven thirty o’clock p.m until the nine thirty, for which contract you are paying, Prayag he read it in contract.’ ‘All g, D, all g. What yous’ve been fucking up with the rubbish though is, the gate to the skip’s locked at seven p.m. sharp. You’ve got to get the bags in there before they lock up.’ ‘The time seven p.m., this is half an hour before we arriving for commence of shift.’ ‘It’s only taking the rubbish out, dog. Don’t be afraida getting your hands dirty. Plus it looks good if you show up early.’ Danny searched the cleaning folder, but found no order requiring that the rubbish be taken specifically to the skip. He tapped the Whitewash documentation on his desk for the same reason that he tapped his cigarettes. The fingers of his which had touched the folder, he wiped under his arms. ‘It’s courtesy anyway,’ he argued, ‘either way, needs to be done.’ He took a roll of toilet paper from his drawers and rolled it towards Jyoti. It fell on the floor. ‘This is in case the Manager made you cry, which I hope she didn’t.’ He yawned and peered into his coffee mug. ‘I’m dog-tired, man, oughta be kippin’ in your Laser oi. There room for two blokes?’ A coke can rattled as it rolled across pieces of rubble outside. A chip packet cartwheeled after. ‘Look I’ll level with you, man to man – do the rubbish right and knock off your franchise fee and, like I said, yous’ll be under our wing.’ Danny reached up, grabbed the edge of the snack box and tipped it until the Cookie Time and other snacks fell out. The sick Indians on the box stayed in place. The flies on their head were going nowhere. Danny tore the Cookie plastic open with his teeth and shook the fragments down his throat. Stray chocolate fell and melted on his thighs. ‘Levis man,’ he complained, swiping the stickiness off him and rubbing his hands carefully. He took a sheet of paper from the Whitewash folder, sighing, and gave it to the cleaner. He wiped the last motes of cookie dust off his Levis with dainty fingers. He offered Jyoti a free snack before linking his hands behind his head and closing his eyes 43
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