He could have sworn it was a beautiful sunny day today… at least everywhere else in the world.
He remembered a blue sky and the lightest of wispy clouds floating somewhere above in a distant memory from this morning.
This morning… It could have been last week for all the connection it felt to the cold bleak moist wind that hurtled straight through his clothing and seem to chill any semblance of happiness right out of him.
A giant locking mechanism could be heard from behind the door, clanking and whirring its way open as only the lock on an institutional door could.
It always seemed so delightfully cheesy when they’d play the classic sound of a prison door closing on tv but there was absolutely nothing nice or nostalgic about the real life version.
This sound was the sound of the cold hard reality of someone’s life being turned upside down in a few short seconds. Normal life stopped at this door.
"Morning," bellowed a cheery rich voice from behind the door followed up very quickly by a big smile pushing its way through the widening gap "Did you have any troubles finding your way here?"
The surreal nature of the stark contrast between the cold merciless surroundings and the luminess warmth of the man opening on the gate was almost breathtaking.
With great effort he attempted to restrain the very real need he had to giggle and hug this man like he was a father rescuing him from the scary shadows and howling winds of a darkened childhood room .
"No. Not at all, thank you." he blurted out in what he hoped was a cheery politeness instead "The directions were spot on. There’s no mistaking that old dead oak next to the turn off."
"Good to hear" beamed the man with a smile that practically tanned the soul with its good cheer.
With a solid shove, he pushed the door the final few creaky degrees before it clanged into place and he started to explain "I’m Warden Jones and I’m responsible for everything beyond this door. This institution was originally a maximum security gaol but was transformed into a…"
The warden’s description got lost in the view that presented itself through the door.
Before the two men was a bleak bluey green grassed rolling hill with a very large black sandstone structure sitting upon the top.
It was like a gigantic uglier brother to one of those stone bunkers from the war. Where a normal building might have a clear delineation between where the walls finished at the roof started, this had none. It was just a collection of chiselled surfaces cutting into the surrounding scenery with a very distinct mean certainty.
"Quite a building, eh?" asked the Warden, obviously aware that his guided tour had fallen on deaf ears momentarily.
"Back in the old days, it used to be known as the Schrecklichen Grube or just the Grube… from the German for hole or something… but these days people don’t seem to find the same romance in the building as they used to… and simply call it the Pit. A bit of loss if you ask me but you can’t make people happy all the time and all that I s’pose."
They march up the gravel path towards the dark hole that forms the entrance to building. It wasn’t until almost the very last second that one could spot the thick rusted black bars of the gate in the oppressive shadows.
The warden unclips a single heavy key from his belt, unlocks the gate and continues his upbeat tour "These walls are solid granite. No less than 2 foot thick at any point along the building’s exterior and buried at least 6 foot deep. They were originally built to hold the worst of the worst… and they did. Not one escape in the entire time that this place was a prison."
As if required by some nasty narrative force in the universe, the corridor that stretched out beyond the door was indeed a very dark gloomy little passage of despair. There were no flickering lights… but the dull green buzzing glow emitted by the mouldy and cracked florescent tubes along the wall weren’t straying too far from the scary movie script.
They walked for a surprisingly long time with only their own footsteps echoing against the damp stones and the increasing chilled air to mark their decent into the bowels of the building.
He noted that even the warden seemed to lose some of his earlier cheer as they walked on in silence. Apparently knowing what lurked in the shadows wasn’t much better then letting one’s overly active imagination take a guess.
A large beam of light broke through the gloom and awoke him his contemplation with a startle. They were standing at the entrance of what appeared to be once some sort of general purpose room… except now the room was filled with people… sitting in chairs… cast iron chairs… that were bolted to the floor.
"Oh crud," whispered the Warden out the side of his mouth as his face visibly distorted in attempt to hide some internal turmoil "They’re smiling."
"That’s never a good sign" he sighed.
The warden walked behind a desk that positioned out the front of the assembled crowd and offered a chair to him.
As they sat down, the warden leaned in conspiratorially and whispered "Okay, before we get started, I should probably point out some of the… personalities you’ll be dealing with."
He looked out across the crowd, attempting to study the faces without making any sort of meaningful eye contact.
"The man with the pen and paper trying to attract your attention with a drawing of circle is Mr Barnes. Best not to acknowledge his existence as you’ll only getting him excited and then.. well.. it isn’t pretty."
"And the guy in the novelty hotdog costume?"
"That’s Mr Godbold. He’s okay as long as he’s not subjected to any sort of loud noise or sugary based drink. He’s convinced that novelty hotdog costumes are next years big fashion item. I’m just happy when he’s not attempting to dance… suggestively."
The warden paused in reflection before continuing "The man who appears to be pretending to sit on an invisible seat beyond the end of the row is Mr Stovell. He has some sort of theory about how ‘architecture should meet the needs of the users’… I have no idea what he’s going on about but once we discovered that he remains quiet for the night if he’s given a three random letters of the alphabet before lockdown, he’s… manageable."
"Is that guy on the floor okay? It looks like he’s liable to break his neck…"
"Oh, Mr Banks? Yeah he’s fine. He’s insistent that how he chooses to sit is his and his ‘teams’ business and not the concern of the facility staff. My suggestion would be to keep a safe distance from him… and try not to mention carrots…. yep… you don’t want to know."
Off to one side were two men strapped into gurneys with Hannibal Lecture style face masks.
"The two more… restrained… guests, if you’re curious, are two of our more troubled souls."
The warden sighs before continuing "Mr Francis came to us after an… incident… concerning a gym, some spandex tights and an ice-cream bar. The details are best forgotten but it’s safe to say that the pigeon population of the South West will never fully recover to its former glory."
"And the other one?"
"Mr Oddie, " nods the Warden "wasn’t recognised by the facility staff for his true talents until it was too late unfortunately. We came in one morning to discover he had managed to successfully convince over half of the patients that a self administered frontal lobotomy with a soup spoon was the truth path to enlightenment."
A shiver passes across the Warden’s body before he continues "As messy as it was, the one’s who actually got closest to succeeding via their nostrils were actually the luckiest. It was the ones who picked… other… points of… entry… who really suffered. Old George over there still can’t walk properly after all these years."
The crowd begins to hush and it’s obvious that it’s time for the proceeding to begin.
He stands up, clears his throat and begins with a sturdy, professional, smile "Hello Readify. Thank you for inviting me here to pass on some thoughts about consulting…"
He remembered a blue sky and the lightest of wispy clouds floating somewhere above in a distant memory from this morning.
This morning… It could have been last week for all the connection it felt to the cold bleak moist wind that hurtled straight through his clothing and seem to chill any semblance of happiness right out of him.
A giant locking mechanism could be heard from behind the door, clanking and whirring its way open as only the lock on an institutional door could.
It always seemed so delightfully cheesy when they’d play the classic sound of a prison door closing on tv but there was absolutely nothing nice or nostalgic about the real life version.
This sound was the sound of the cold hard reality of someone’s life being turned upside down in a few short seconds. Normal life stopped at this door.
"Morning," bellowed a cheery rich voice from behind the door followed up very quickly by a big smile pushing its way through the widening gap "Did you have any troubles finding your way here?"
The surreal nature of the stark contrast between the cold merciless surroundings and the luminess warmth of the man opening on the gate was almost breathtaking.
With great effort he attempted to restrain the very real need he had to giggle and hug this man like he was a father rescuing him from the scary shadows and howling winds of a darkened childhood room .
"No. Not at all, thank you." he blurted out in what he hoped was a cheery politeness instead "The directions were spot on. There’s no mistaking that old dead oak next to the turn off."
"Good to hear" beamed the man with a smile that practically tanned the soul with its good cheer.
With a solid shove, he pushed the door the final few creaky degrees before it clanged into place and he started to explain "I’m Warden Jones and I’m responsible for everything beyond this door. This institution was originally a maximum security gaol but was transformed into a…"
The warden’s description got lost in the view that presented itself through the door.
Before the two men was a bleak bluey green grassed rolling hill with a very large black sandstone structure sitting upon the top.
It was like a gigantic uglier brother to one of those stone bunkers from the war. Where a normal building might have a clear delineation between where the walls finished at the roof started, this had none. It was just a collection of chiselled surfaces cutting into the surrounding scenery with a very distinct mean certainty.
"Quite a building, eh?" asked the Warden, obviously aware that his guided tour had fallen on deaf ears momentarily.
"Back in the old days, it used to be known as the Schrecklichen Grube or just the Grube… from the German for hole or something… but these days people don’t seem to find the same romance in the building as they used to… and simply call it the Pit. A bit of loss if you ask me but you can’t make people happy all the time and all that I s’pose."
They march up the gravel path towards the dark hole that forms the entrance to building. It wasn’t until almost the very last second that one could spot the thick rusted black bars of the gate in the oppressive shadows.
The warden unclips a single heavy key from his belt, unlocks the gate and continues his upbeat tour "These walls are solid granite. No less than 2 foot thick at any point along the building’s exterior and buried at least 6 foot deep. They were originally built to hold the worst of the worst… and they did. Not one escape in the entire time that this place was a prison."
As if required by some nasty narrative force in the universe, the corridor that stretched out beyond the door was indeed a very dark gloomy little passage of despair. There were no flickering lights… but the dull green buzzing glow emitted by the mouldy and cracked florescent tubes along the wall weren’t straying too far from the scary movie script.
They walked for a surprisingly long time with only their own footsteps echoing against the damp stones and the increasing chilled air to mark their decent into the bowels of the building.
He noted that even the warden seemed to lose some of his earlier cheer as they walked on in silence. Apparently knowing what lurked in the shadows wasn’t much better then letting one’s overly active imagination take a guess.
A large beam of light broke through the gloom and awoke him his contemplation with a startle. They were standing at the entrance of what appeared to be once some sort of general purpose room… except now the room was filled with people… sitting in chairs… cast iron chairs… that were bolted to the floor.
"Oh crud," whispered the Warden out the side of his mouth as his face visibly distorted in attempt to hide some internal turmoil "They’re smiling."
"That’s never a good sign" he sighed.
The warden walked behind a desk that positioned out the front of the assembled crowd and offered a chair to him.
As they sat down, the warden leaned in conspiratorially and whispered "Okay, before we get started, I should probably point out some of the… personalities you’ll be dealing with."
He looked out across the crowd, attempting to study the faces without making any sort of meaningful eye contact.
"The man with the pen and paper trying to attract your attention with a drawing of circle is Mr Barnes. Best not to acknowledge his existence as you’ll only getting him excited and then.. well.. it isn’t pretty."
"And the guy in the novelty hotdog costume?"
"That’s Mr Godbold. He’s okay as long as he’s not subjected to any sort of loud noise or sugary based drink. He’s convinced that novelty hotdog costumes are next years big fashion item. I’m just happy when he’s not attempting to dance… suggestively."
The warden paused in reflection before continuing "The man who appears to be pretending to sit on an invisible seat beyond the end of the row is Mr Stovell. He has some sort of theory about how ‘architecture should meet the needs of the users’… I have no idea what he’s going on about but once we discovered that he remains quiet for the night if he’s given a three random letters of the alphabet before lockdown, he’s… manageable."
"Is that guy on the floor okay? It looks like he’s liable to break his neck…"
"Oh, Mr Banks? Yeah he’s fine. He’s insistent that how he chooses to sit is his and his ‘teams’ business and not the concern of the facility staff. My suggestion would be to keep a safe distance from him… and try not to mention carrots…. yep… you don’t want to know."
Off to one side were two men strapped into gurneys with Hannibal Lecture style face masks.
"The two more… restrained… guests, if you’re curious, are two of our more troubled souls."
The warden sighs before continuing "Mr Francis came to us after an… incident… concerning a gym, some spandex tights and an ice-cream bar. The details are best forgotten but it’s safe to say that the pigeon population of the South West will never fully recover to its former glory."
"And the other one?"
"Mr Oddie, " nods the Warden "wasn’t recognised by the facility staff for his true talents until it was too late unfortunately. We came in one morning to discover he had managed to successfully convince over half of the patients that a self administered frontal lobotomy with a soup spoon was the truth path to enlightenment."
A shiver passes across the Warden’s body before he continues "As messy as it was, the one’s who actually got closest to succeeding via their nostrils were actually the luckiest. It was the ones who picked… other… points of… entry… who really suffered. Old George over there still can’t walk properly after all these years."
The crowd begins to hush and it’s obvious that it’s time for the proceeding to begin.
He stands up, clears his throat and begins with a sturdy, professional, smile "Hello Readify. Thank you for inviting me here to pass on some thoughts about consulting…"
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