Eran Creevy is not the only director who can pitch a Canary Wharf set thriller:Fade in: We're with Roger Fairbrother, mid-50s, fat. He marches down a corridor, beads of sweat on his face. He carries a box, a man on a mission.
Through corridor windows, we see autumn leaves gather in mulchy pools. Smokers huddle in the Allotted Smoking Area. "Roger!"
The camera rises to capture Barry Wheedle, same age but leaner. Frantic. He follows, waving papers.
Roger stops. He doesn't turn. When Barry speaks he is talking to Roger's back.
"You forgot to fill in Requisition Schedule 43 (a) and (b) and to sign here, here..." He gulps. "...and here."
Roger turns slowly. Like a battleship. Menacing. Growling.
"I'm a busy man Barry."
"You've gotta sign. You know what happened last time."
Roger snaps.
"I know what happened last time!"
"The disciplinary board."
"Damn the board, Barry. And damn you. I gotta get these toner cartridges to accounts otherwise Barbara goes into the sales meeting without her forecasts. She goes in there naked, for Christ's sake."
Flashback 18 years. Cut to: An office. The Sales Manager is berating Barbara. Barbara, 30s, weeps. She runs out the office, crashing into Roger. Betrayal blazes in her eyes.
Cut to present: The corridor. Roger is lost in the memory, guilt captured in a sheen of sweat. "I can't let that happen again. Not on my watch." Calmer now. "I gotta go Barry."
Roger turns. Barry reaches out touches Roger on the shoulder. The touch is like electricity, like the remembrance of lost friendship.
"What happened to you Roger? You've changed."
"Everybody changes, Barry. It's called life and she's a bitch."
Barry laughs.
"Remember the days when we just used to enjoy this stupid, pointless merry-go-round and damn the consequences."
Flashback 35 years. Cut to: Two men, Young Barry and Young Roger party in the Supplies Office. Mess. Everything is covered in Post-It notes including... Young Barbara, happy, laughing. In love.
Smash cut to present: "I gotta write you up," says Barry. Failure to sign a requisition schedule is a reprimand. Mandatory."
"You do what you gotta do."
Roger faces the exit, ready to push through to an unknown fate.
He stops short of the door. Lost. Broken. With a passion that he once used to invest in stationery supplies, Roger suddenly throws the box through the corridor window.
"Roger? What the hell?"
With every last ounce of energy in his corpulent body, Roger lifts himself through the frame and out.
He runs like he used to in the old days. Carefree. He breathes the clean fresh air. He kicks up the leaves. Like he used to with Barbara.
He seizes his chest. Pain erupts. He falls to his knees. Then topples forward into the puddles.
Close up on his mouth.
"Post-Its," he whispers with his last breath. "Post-Its."
Fade out
