I wish to analyse not so much the circumstances, but the language and attitudes, prevalent in a printing factory which pays the minimum wage.
My job is not that of the playwright, who appropriates everyday language and appends it to situations which are plausible but fictional; in this case I take common language and report it unmodulated.
The use of South Yorkshire slang to an uncomprehending, smiling Sri Lankan man who had loaded his stack of paper into the machine incorrectly: it's wrong rooerd rahnd! tha's gorrit wrong rooerd rahnd!
Removing the Sri Lankan man and myself off one job and onto another: tek these two usless fookers, cuz the can't do owt.
Caught texting 'L' when I was supposed to be working: tha might want ter do that in thi ooern time.
Listening to a woman on the train home during a cold morning: a thowt me feet wa gooin ter drop off.
A man preparing to go for his break: am off fer sum snap nar.
On trying to get a task finished quickly during the above man's break: gerrit dun afooer that dick gets back.
On jamming the machine: tha not geein it no air.
I describe a spare language, devoid of sentiment and spat out in passing, like a drive-by shooting. It is not lifted from the pages of a book, though, but scraped from the tongues of men.
