His eye caught mine. I was sitting down, he was standing. The slightest movement in the corner of his mouth gave away his thoughts and I lowered my gaze in sympathy. Everything about him exuded cleanliness. His collar, in lilac shades at the neck of his powder blue jumper, his fine wool trousers that allowed a glimpse of the palest of yellow socks and rested on burgundy loafers. He sat down on the opposite side of the door from me and intertwined the manicured fingers of his perfectly tanned hands.
We did not look at each other but both of us understood our plight, the indeterminate sentence which faced us. Both of us were free to go but neither of us stirred. Something was holding us back.
I let my gaze wander and I could see others, other men, some sitting and some standing. All of us were waiting, just waiting. Beyond our group the women folk made their ways back and forth, laden with parcels and bags but with purpose, focussed on their mission. We were trapped yet they were free.
Most of them were in pairs. They would stop to chat. They would pick up the merchandise and swap notes as they held it against them. Theirs was a different world, a carefree world where they were free to meander oblivious of our plight.
My mind slipped away. I dreamt of the things I could do once my time was over. There was a movement to my left and I became conscious of a woman standing next to me. The man in the powder blue jumper was standing again, smiling expectantly. I realised that all of our eyes were upon him, praying that this would be his opportunity to escape and transferring our own hopes that soon we would be free again.
‘I’m going to get this in another size’ she said and wandered off. The smile slipped from his face. It was not to be. It was like a punch in the stomach and he slumped back into his chair, his hopes dashed.
We looked fleetingly into each other’s eyes and there was a moment of shared sympathy but in an instant we were back to where we had been, isolated yet held in a common bond, corralled outside the changing rooms in Marks and Spencer.
I put my hands into my pockets searching for something to relieve the boredom and waited patiently for my own sentence to end.
Thoughts from a Guerrilla Worker 