Del and I

Another Monday morning at the office and I sat down at my desk. Del was already there. I’d had a few problems with Del’s predecessor, and I was hoping that my relationship with Del would be more fruitful.

“Morning, Del,” I said.

“Morning, Justin.”

“We’re processing returns today.”

“Don’t want to.”

“We’re processing returns today.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Look, Del, it’s not a matter of what you want, it’s WORK.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Sheila,” I shouted to my line manager. “Del’s playing up.”

Sheila looked up from her discussion with Myfanwy. “Then report him via the proper channels,” she answered, bored.

I turned back to Del. “You heard what she said. Are you gonna co-operate with me, or not?”

“Don’t want to.”

“If you don’t co-operate, Del, I AM going to report you.”

“Don’t want to.”

I called up Maidstone. Mike answered the phone. “Hello, is that Justin?”

“Yeah, it’s Justin. It’s about Del. He’s not co-operating.”

“Let me talk to him,” Mike said.

English wasn’t Del’s first language. I didn’t know Del’s first language, but Mike did. I sat back and waited while Mike and Del talked in Del’s first language, then Mike got back to me.

“He’s all right, he was just a bit confused,” said Mike. “If you go away for a bit and then come back he’ll be OK.”

I went away for a bit, then I came back. Del was still there.

“Morning, Del.”

“Morning, Justin.”

The next couple of days passed without incident. On Thursday morning I came in and sat down at my desk. Del was already there.

“Morning, Del,” I said.

“I don’t know you.”

“Morning, Del.”

“I don’t know you.”

“But it’s me! Justin.”

“I don’t know you.”

“Look, I always sit here.”

“I don’t know you.”

At this point I admit that I lost it, and slapped him, hard. “Careful,” said Sheila as she passed by. “Don’t lose your temper.”

I got on the blower to Mike. “Del’s playing up again.”

“Let me talk to him,” Mike said.

I sat back and waited while Mike and Del talked in Del’s first language, then Mike got back to me.

“He’s all right, he just thought he was in Chatham,” said Mike.

“Chatham?”

“Yeah, he didn’t know he was in Tunbridge Wells,” Mike explained. “He thought he was in Chatham instead. But I’ve told him where he is now. If you go away for a bit and then come back he’ll be OK.”

I went away for a bit, then I came back. Del was still there.

“Morning, Del.”

“Morning, Justin.”

The rest of Thursday and Friday passed without incident, but on Monday morning when I came in and sat down at my desk. Del was curiously silent. I’d become so used to the little noises he made that I’d forgotten he was making them. And there was a smell, too… the smell of Del’s insides burning up.

“You can’t do anything for him,” said Mike when I rang him. “He can’t regulate his temperature any more. We’d better let him go.”

“But we can’t just… abandon him?” I pleaded.

“Sorry, Justin. Just let him go. He’s going to be a hazard if he’s left there.”

Del had caused me no end of hassle, but I still felt bad after I had shut him off, putting out my hand to see if he had gone cold yet, watching as the men came to take his lifeless body away.

Next week Del’s replacement had arrived. He looked just like Del, and his name was also Del.

“Morning, Del,” I cautiously ventured.

“Morning, Justin,” the new Del replied.

Opposite me John-O was looking pissed off. “What’s up?” I asked John-O.

“It’s Del,” said John-O, pointing to his own Del. “He says he doesn’t know who I am.”

“Mine was doing that last week.”

“We all have our Dels to bear,” said John-O as he reached for the phone.