Work Ethics By Ian Dodsworth
I died six weeks ago and I’m still stuck in the bloody office. I can’t even get to go home now.
One day I was working late – again – and I felt a pain in my chest and then darkness. Next thing I knew, it was the following day. I was weightless and wandering around the office. Nobody could see or hear me. I figured out I must be dead due to someone else being in my usual corner desk – nobody can see what you’re up to – and the fact that a few people were having quiet conversations about how creepy it was that someone had died in the office and were lying there until the cleaners came in.
Some of them could remember my name, and two or three even looked sad that I was dead. One of them was Chris. He was the only friend I had in there.
Over the time since then, I’ve been trying to work out why I, or at least my spirit, is still here. Is this really it? The after-life is just hanging around where you died forever? Surely not – I can’t have been the only person to die here over the decades and I haven’t seen any other members of the post-life club. This place was boring enough when I had something to do, but now it’s intolerable.
I do remember Quantum Leap though – that must be it. I’m not allowed to go to my everlasting rest until I’ve sorted out some problem. I just needed to work out what it was – and a few days ago I think I may have realised what it was.
It was just gone five and the Levi club – out at 5:01 – had completed its usual stampede to the lifts. Chris was still at his desk and picked up his phone.
“Hi darling. No, I’m going to have to work late again. I’ve promised Harry that I’ll get this report finished… Yes, I know I’ll be missing Josh’s bath-time. I can’t help it – I’ve got to do it. I’ll make it up to you later.”
He put the phone down and stared at it. He took a deep breath and turned back to the laptop. The rattle and hum of the air-con stopped, after a final death-rattle. It was silence in the office.
It’s is not exactly an ideal working environment. Hotdesking is mandatory, so no personal items on any desks. You can’t even use your own mugs – only official corporate drinking appliances allowed. If you feel like being motivated you just need to look at the primary-coloured posters all over the wall. Very useful statements just as ‘Together we will succeed’ and ‘There’s no I in team’. Usually with jolly-looking cartoon characters.
The following day I floated around – I didn’t have much option. Being invisible is quite useful for nosing. Imran and Tom were both reading internet football articles that they had pasted into Word documents.
Chris was called into a meeting in the boardroom. The ‘fun’ room with the ‘whacky’ furniture and the pictures of desert islands. I suppose it made a change from the explosion of beige out in the main office. It was a meeting with a bunch of management consultants. I could only stand a few minutes of ‘simplicity curves’, ‘value chains’, ‘wrapping around’ and ‘synergy’ before I had to get out. Chris couldn’t be so lucky.
I had to get him out of his rut and make him realise the important things. Which didn’t include commuting three hours a day to work for a company that sees you as a ‘resource’.
Later in the afternoon was Chris’ annual appraisal. Harry was bigging him up, saying he appreciated how much work Chris was bringing in and his commitment.
Then came the killer – “Unfortunately we have to put you down as only meeting expectations, as we’ve used up all of the exceeding ratings that we’re allowed. That means no bonus this year, I’m sure you understand. Next year, promotion definite.”
It was the old boy’s club again. Just because Chris didn’t ‘fit in’ he was never going to get anywhere. I was so angry on behalf of Chris that I picked up the stapler on Harry’s desk and threw it against the wall. It was only when I saw their astonishment that I realised I had done it – I had picked up a physical object and thrown it!
Now that I had the ability, I just had to figure out what to do with it.
---
The next day, I put my plan into action.
Chris wasn’t looking his normal self. He was moving the mouse around – just enough to stop the screen-saver kicking in. I could see that his unread emails were going up – now over 200. He kept looking out of the windows (that couldn’t be opened of course). He had even put a framed picture of his family on his desk, in defiance of the clear desk policy.
He picked up the report from yesterday that Harry had dumped on his desk wanting a re-write and started going through it.
I concentrated harder than I’d ever done at work before. I managed to apply pressure to his keyboard. I managed to type out “This is Michael. Don’t be scared.”
He looked up from the report and glanced at the screen. His eyes widened and he pushed back from the desk so quickly he almost crashed into wall behind him.
A few heads turned his way but quickly turned back again, not wanting to be seen to make a fuss.
Chris rolled back to his desk, looked at the screen and looked around. There was nobody nearby. He locked his computer and walked over to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water. He gripped the edge of the worktop and closed his eyes.
He’s not buying it. I feel weighted down, even though there’s nothing substantial to me.
I tried to amuse myself for a while by listening in on private conversations and looking at private texts and emails but it’s a bit boring when you can’t tell anyone what you’ve found out. This would have been Chris. But it did give me another idea. If I could move things by concentrating then what else could I do? I went into one of the unused meeting rooms and tried out my abilities.
When Chris headed to the bathroom I made my move and followed him. I made sure he was finished – we didn’t want any accidents – and that no-one else was in there. No-one with a body, anyway.
I concentrated on my physical appearance. While Chris was looking in the mirror washing him hands I could make out a very fuzzy approximation of my face. “Chris,” I said in a wispy voice, “It is me. It’s Michael.”
Chris stopped and stared into the mirror with a face that could only be described as aghast. “Jesus Christ.”
“Afraid not, it’s only me.”
Chris turned around to face me, but I could tell that he couldn’t see me anymore.
“I’m cracking up. What the hell is wrong with me?”
I focused on keeping my voice. “Chris, this place – it isn’t worth it. You’ve got a lovely family at home, why are you slogging your guts out for a bunch of people that don’t even appreciate you? Listen to me, life’s too short, I know. You’ve got to do what’s right for you. What happened to the dream job that you used to talk about?” I could feel my voice fading away. I just hoped it was enough.
Chris turned back to the basin and splashed his face. “That didn’t just happen. I’ve just been a bit stressed recently, and Michael dying has just added to that. It’s perfectly understandable. I just have to ignore it and carry on.”
He went back to his desk and started on the redraft of the report with more gusto than I had seen in the last few days. My attempts had made things worse – he was more into the job than ever. He put the photograph back into his bag and continued typing up the changes. It was pointless.
---
It was getting close to 5pm. Chris picked up his phone and sighed while dialling. “Hi darling, it’s me. Afraid I’m going to be late again, this report needs more work and I promised it would be done by tomorrow.”
I decided to give it one last go. The framed picture of his family rose from his bag and onto his desk. I managed to get it in front of the monitor before he looked at the desk. He stopped talking and stared at the picture.
“Actually, I’ve been thinking about Michael today. I really don’t want to end up like that – working too hard, not having a homelife and even dying in the office. You know what – this report can wait. I’m leaving the office now. I’ll do Josh’s bath and we can have a talk about our careers over a glass of red. See you soon. Love you.”
Good to his word, he stood up – not bothering to even turn his computer off – and headed out of the building with a smile on his face.
I felt a little light-headed. Was right, that was why I was still here. The office started to fade away and I was about to get my eternal reward.
I can confirm what they say – nobody dies wishing they had spent more time in the office.
Judges Comments
Work Ethics, Ian Dodsworth's ghost story that richly satirises corportate culture, is the well-deserved runner-up in Writing Magazine's competition for spirit-themed short stories.
Michael, who literally died on the job, is trapped not in hell, or in limbo, but in the contemporary version: the office. It's cleverly done by Ian. Michael, who in life was a faceless and anonymous worker (noting the way management views human beings as a 'resource' is one of the many highlights of this story), develops more presence and agency as a ghost. He uses his new-found powers for good, redressing a balance in the life of the one person in the office who had seen him as a person - a co-worker and a friend - rather than a component of the office machinery. Ian shows the human cost of corporate culture as Michael's colleague Chris faces slights, humiliations and a workload that makes him miss out on family life.
It's a funny and pointed story, highlightling and mocking office jargon, the culture of presenteeism, managerial bullying and workplace conformism. There's also a very pleasing arc for the character of Michael, who as a spirit becomes more defined, decisive and defiant than he was when he was alive. As a contemporary ghost story it has a timely relevance as office culture is being questioned and reinvented, and as a tale of a friend helping another from beyond the grave, it's timeless.