Hello, My Name is David

by Peter Gifford

Hello, my name is David.

You can see me every day at the bus stop at 3.45 in the afternoon. I’m always there. I’ve got a cap on my head with the brim turned towards the back and I like wearing red ski gloves and a blue puffy jacket, even when the weather’s hot. Especially when the weather’s hot. Some of the people I work with are there with me but I’m the loudest of the whole bunch. I like to shout at the passing cars, poking my buddies in the shoulder one minute and whisper conspiratorially into an ear the next. It keeps them on their toes. Everyone wonders why I’m the one who does all the shouting. They think it’s because I’m always wearing headphones, and that I must forget whether they're on my head or not.

Right now I’m listening to a tape called ‘Third Tier Management Strategies in Corporate Finance’. Yesterday it was ‘The Atonal Complexities of Tchaikovsky’s Prague Years’. All good stuff. Once or twice the factory supervisor has tried to pull my headphones off while I’ve been at the production line, but I always stop her in time. I suppose she thinks I’m listening to Britney Spears or something, so I jiggle around a bit and hum to myself now and then.

So I got off the bus at 8.45 in the morning and walked the thirty metres around the corner to the factory. Everyone gets there around the same time; we’re known for being punctual. Larry came up to me and started showing me what he had for lunch, trying to interest me in swapping a tuna sandwich on white bread for the little packet of chips I always have with me. I just poked him in the shoulder a few times and he quickly shuffled off.

The factory is a big, empty warehouse, empty that is for a big packing machine, a conveyor belt and a three big metal tables. Packed boxes are sometimes stacked in neat piles by the entrance, encased like mummies in shrink wrap. (Last week I had a tape called ‘the Dynastic Successions of Akhenaton and Nefertiti 1380-1340BC’ that was especially good.) Everyone has their place to stand and their job to do. I pull the labels off a big roll and stick them on the boxes after they’ve been taped shut. Johnny and Mrs Atwood do the taping. Johnny’s tape is always peeling off and I have to stick it back down properly, but Mrs Atwood always makes sure things are neat on her boxes.

I was standing there, peeling off labels and sticking them down, when a huge shaft of sunlight came swooping down from one of the warehouse skylights and hit me, full in the face. It was lucky I had my headphones off because I could hear the commanding voice that echoed around the walls, louder than the packing machine, more commanding than Mrs Flinders, our factory supervisor. It seemed to be talking directly to me. I know that because it used my name. It said “David, listen to me very carefully. This is your Lord God. Put your headphones on.”

Feeling like I didn’t really have much choice, I did. The shaft of light switched off like a light bulb, leaving me blinking. It’s best not to argue with God. He can get really pissed off sometimes.