(Here we are again back in Lee’s Land of the Metaphorical….)
The lone woman had been waiting sometime. Tapping her foot impatiently, as if the contact with the tarmac would help to dissipate her frustration, she sought an outlet to keep her annoyance from showing.
So desperately did she want to stay calm that the knowledge that she was clearly being disrespected was tearing her into pieces. Warnings had been given and wisely noted as it seemed historically prudent. Although she had walked many of the same corridors as those advisers this recent promotion was the first of its kind she hoped to experience, and she needed to remain level headed.
Therefore poor treatment was only to be expected and endured, although she hoped the greater good and success of the department were uppermost in everyone’s mind.
The grey sky seemed oppressive and turned pitiless as a drizzle began to fall
Minutes later she sensed rather than saw the large twin decked vehicle that slid alongside her isolated position, glancing up as it came to a halt. The door hissed open and a smiling face came into view.
“I hope you have not been waiting too long.” It seemed more of a statement than a question as if any response would be irrelevant. Perhaps the ‘not’ should have been omitted.
The woman said nothing and stepped aboard the bus. From outside, apart from the light emitting from the doorway, nothing could be seen of the internal activity or what was situated within.
“Welcome aboard. I’m William. I’ll be conducting you along this little journey of ours.”
“Excellent. Where are we going right now? What’s our first obstacle?”
“Why don’t I just show you your place. Get you orientated.” Again more of a instruction than a question.
“Who’s driving?” The woman asked looking toward the front of the vehicle where she could see a small blacked off capsule. There was no screen to look through and she could not see where the bus was going as it smoothly pulled away.
“Perhaps we could get you settled first”, smiled William.
Despite acquiescing she mentally committed to getting answers for all of her questions. Turning on her heel, so as to face the direction William indicated with his outstretched arm, she examined her future domain.
A walkway extended down the centre of the vehicle leading to a single door in an enclosed area at the rear. There were surprisingly few seats down each side. Each of the dozen seats was a double and both places were occupied, the occupants intently studying their areas of responsibility. The windows were quite small, and impossible to see out of unless one was sat very close. Some were more obscured than others, and the viewers looked through very small patches which they periodically cleared in order to see just enough to meet their requirements, their partner closest to the aisle tapped at a small keyboard clearly linked to an equally small screen.
“And what do these people all do, William?”
“Oh, they just deal with the day to day running of the department,” he replied as he attempted to shepherd her towards the rear.
“Such as? I’d like to see what the department staff do everyday.”
“No need to worry about them. They’ll get on with what’s needed. If they want anything I’ll see to them and let you know as necessary. I wouldn’t want to waste your precious time.”
She turned to the nearest person on her right. A small man dressed in a grey suit in his late thirties. Printed above his head on a sign was his section, an incomprehensible collection of letters and numbers she could not yet decipher. “How is your day going?”
It took him a few moments to realise he was being addressed directly. Slowly turning and looking up at her he had a distinct ‘rabbit caught in the headlights’ expression. Looking at her his mouth moved silently a few times before he looked puzzlingly across at William.
“He’s a little distracted at the moment,” smirked her escort. “Let’s get you started on the important matters. They’ve quite built up you know!”
“What if I need to speak to any of these sections?”
“I’ll take care of that, or one of my deputies. If you do need to speak directly with a member of staff we’ll arrange that one of the individuals in the aisle is made available.”
“And the staff by the windows?”
“Not directly. That would be through his section head. A lot of what they deal with is of a specialist nature,” beamed William patronisingly, “the section head would be able, through me or my deputy, to put it in layman’s terms.”
“So you’re saying I cannot communicate with my staff?”
“Off course you can,” assured William in a slightly whining voice, “but it’s always easier if they’re not distracted too much or put under too much pressure. We don’t want them feeling stressed and making accusations of bullying or harassment now do we?”
“Emanating from asking basic questions or exchanging niceties?” She frowned.
“Well,” he shrugged his shoulders and turned up his palms in an expression of helplessness, “sadly it’s a strange world we live in.” He looked knowingly at her in expectation of some sage agreement, perhaps a downcast look or some sad slow head-shaking to acknowledge the inevitability of the situation. None was forthcoming.
“Well, I find that people who communicate are happier in the workplace.”
“I expect it must be the nature of the job.” Whether it was her, or the staff, he was alluding too wasn’t clear. “Shall we have a look at what you have waiting?”
Reflecting later she realised his words were chosen to indicate a situation of urgency which didn’t exist. All designed to move things along and prevent further questions. For now she followed him through the door at the far end. They went up a set of stairs to the upper deck.
A pair of desks sat in the first section belonging to William’s ever hovering pair of deputies who it seemed might implode if they strayed further than a few feet from their Master. The next section was for William and and a secretary who seemed long on curt belligerence, and short on warm personality. Next came the Minister’s office.
It was a lovely office. Clean and bright with a tidy desk occupied by a single telephone and surrounded by comfortable chairs. There were no windows. She could not see out nor could anyone see in.
There were three large screens, one on each side and one directly to the front. There was a door next to this one. She turned to William, pointing with a finger and her mouth began to open.
“The screens can show any matters, or input, you require to fulfil your role. You let me know what you need and it will be provided,” Pre-empted William. “The door leads up to your speaking platform.”
“I can’t see out.” She turned to look at her companion.
“Yes. That’s right.” He smiled back at her. As her own unsmiling gaze did not falter he felt further explanation might be needed. “Security.” That also seemed insufficient to her, but clearly considered ample enough to close her down. “We’ve had problems with the staff in the past leaking information,” and looking around conspiratorially he added, “outside.”
“But they can’t even communicate with me let alone foreign powers or terrorist groups!”
“We have to be strict on this subject, so we’re forced into running a very tight ship. We’d love to be more open but……”. William trailed off. Again he was looking for agreement for his convenient myth.
“I expect that means no leaks to the press or whistleblowing then?” She smiled back at him, a smile that held as little conviction as his own.
“Well, we usually try to rise above all the political wrangling. A ‘bun fight’ is most demeaning,” he added pompously.
“A bun fight! This is politics, an exchange of views,” she exclaimed, “a fundamental part of Democracy.”
“You’ll understand we like to steer clear of politics. We have to be seen as apolitical.”
“I think what you mean is I’m not required, an unnecessary encumbrance, a inconvenient complication.” Her soft measured tone and arched brow indicated displeasure.
“No, Minister”, he assured her smugly, “You are the interface between the public and the Ministry.”
“It sounds more like I work for you as some kind of public relations spokesperson.” She smoothed down her skirt, the activity covering her rising anger. “And here’s me thinking that you were here to implement our parties policy and, by implication, our promises to the electorate.”
“So we are, to the best of our ability and limitations. Often we have our hands tied by previous events and decisions made by your predecessors.” The smarmy smile returned.
“The question is are you going to be proactive and brief me on any pitfalls, or just watch me trip over hidden obstacles?”
“Minister, If you’ll allow me I’d be delighted to guide you along a safe path. I can’t be held responsible for any decisions made if I am unaware of the direction you intend taking.”
“I’m sure you’d love to guide me along a safe path. I’d like to avoid any cliff edges where a momentary lapse on your part might prove damaging,” before he could respond she continued ,”and with that in mind I believe the Rowkin report may be imminent? I’d like a brief on that soonest”.
Rowkin Tenby report – Investigation into funding for a new software system* that didn’t actually work but irredeemable and exorbitant amounts of cash had already been spent, and it had been proposed that ‘teething’ difficulties could be ‘ironed out’ in use. This classic get out of jail free card enabled all undisguisable failure to be minimised to ‘acceptable setbacks’. The cost – also well beyond original financial projections – to the public in lost time, pointless incomprehensible staff training, non existent after sales service, unprocessed documentation, false claims, legal action, credibility, and the eventual inevitable replacement with another ‘pin the tail on the donkey’ type solution was immense. The latter could not take place before an acceptable period of time had passed. This was deemed as the amount of time taken for anyone who could be held responsible to; A. Retire on a fat pension and thereby be financially obligated to ensure anyone still in post was not incriminated, and B. ensure they could reasonably be believed when claiming they ‘couldn’t remember details’ – ‘it was very busy then, things were confused’ – ‘wasn’t sure who had oversight on that particular project’ etc.
*The private software company ‘Fagitasumo’ had held a party in Ayia Napa when they were awarded the contract. Massive bonuses were handed out across the board before work even began (that ‘work’ would consist of modifying a previous software package designed for a completely unrelated business/system/requirement, that also hadn’t worked – but attempting to recoup ‘something’ was seen as sound economics). ‘Let the public money floodgates open!’, a rather tipsy debagged director had allegedly cheered from atop a table as the weekend long party got into full swing.
“I’ll get something put together in the next couple of weeks,” William bowed his head.
“No. I’ll need to address the press on the issue, pronto. Getting information out promptly will prevent other players gaining the advantage. I don’t want to just contradict everything they’ve said. I’d rather the opposition only have a reactive option”.
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to address every unsubstantiated matter in such a short time. I don’t want you to not have all the correct answers.”
“Do we have any areas that are looking shaky? Anything that’s likely to bite us on the ars… backside? Those are the areas I need to address now. Any stuff that’s just rumour we can close down, and look at later.”
“I believe we are fine on all the matters out in public view. As I say there are unsubstantiated matters floating around, but nothing solid that can trip you up.”
It became the priority topic for the next few days. Getting something out to the media, and gaining the initiative was something her Party were quite poor at and she was determined to gain the upper hand. However, matters were taken out of her hands all too soon.
“Ahh Minister?” breathed William as he peeked around the door at her. “We need to address the media.”
“Yes. Tomorrow morning sounds good to me.”
“I’m afraid it’ll have to be now. The media procession have overtaken us and are now encamped in our pathway. They have become unavoidable. We’ll have to satisfy their hunger before moving forward.”
He moved forward followed by his two acolytes who were busy nodding and smiling, which seemed to be their only major talents. He opened the door leading up to the public platform.
Her eyebrows arched. “So, you can confirm everything is in order? We have nothing that’s going to jump out and bite us?”
“I believe you have everything you will need, Minister,” William bombastically confirmed.
“Okay, let’s get this done,” she stood up and sighed, unhappy that this spectacle was not at her behest. Being railroaded by the press was not desirable, and a small voice inside was asking ‘why now?’ What has prompted this event?
Laying her notes on the lectern, she adjusted the microphone and examined her audience below. A number of vehicles lay strewn across the Bus’s path. Abandoned in haste and signifying the rush to ensure a prime spot amongst the assembled horde that now bayed up at her like a pack of rabid dogs. She couldn’t hear what was being asked and raised her hands for silence. She turned back momentarily to see the three men stood behind her and rolled her eyes. Smiles of empathy were returned. They were right behind her.
“Ladies and Gentlemen of the press I am going to make a short statement on the current situation regarding the Rowkin Tenby report. I will take questions immediately afterwards.”
Five minutes later she finished and, gathering her papers together, prepared to answer the few inconsequential questions that would arise, as most of the main points had been soundly dealt with in her statement.
“Yes, Alison.” She pointed to a woman from one of the more reputable newspapers.
“Minister, can you expand on the comments made in the email leaked from your department concerning the extra money…..”
Extra money? What the fuck was the woman talking about? And why are they all waving pieces of paper at me? Bloody Hell! Do they all have the same leaked email? Who the fuck had leaked information that wasn’t even on her radar?
All these questions went through her head like an express train that wasn’t stopping, and if one were stood to close would suck you up and take you with it.
Her stunned silence prompted another of the horde to shout, “Are you going to deny this misappropriation of public funds?”
Yet another bawled, “Does this mean your resignation, Minister?”
She turned around in puzzled astonishment to be met with… nothing. There was nobody there. The three ‘supporting staff’ had vanished into thin air, as if they’d never existed.
As she turned back she felt her feet shift from under her. The railing in front of her had slid away and she fell forward. Her flight path took her down the front of the vehicle to be deposited in a heap on the road beneath. The bus slid over her smoothly and, apart from a lot of hot air and a gentle caress, she emerged at it’s rear physically unscathed. It was over in seconds.
Sitting up she looked around. It seemed like she’d been dumped into a wilderness. Standing up, she smoothed her clothes, brushing off any lingering debris, and searched for a suitable pathway. The bus had disappeared from sight and there was no clear indication to the way ahead. The media wolf pack, their hunger satisfied, had broken up and were now back in their newsrooms licking her blood off their chops.
Taking out her phone she looked at the screen. Nothing. She messaged a few of her allies and waited. Nothing. Trying the PM’s office, she waited once more. No answer. She sighed and smiled to herself.
The only way forward seemed to be following in the wake of the bus and see what could be salvaged. Perhaps there would be a major car crash and vindication could follow. It might be that she would find an opportunity to ask a question or two that caused the bus to reconsider it’s direction. Or provide a platform for others to do so.
Maybe she’d come upon the next ‘lamb to the slaughter’ waiting patiently at the designated pick up point. They’d be constantly checking the time, and their frustration would be mounting. She grinned once more in recollection, and thought that it might be nice to spend more time in the constituency directly serving her voters rather than some bureaucratic nonsense. Fulfilment takes many forms.
She whistled as she walked…
Images and Article Copyright © 2026 by L.C McCarthy
