injustice of it all. By the time I emerged I was angrier than when I’d gone in.
That’s the problem with sensory deprivation, I’ve read. It’s meant to promote some meditative behaviour. In small doses I believe this is possible. Anyone exposed to these conditions regularly over a long period of time might suffer different effects. Paranoia, hallucinations, depression and anxiety are natural consequences. By the time I was released I was convinced I was suffering all four.
And of course it happened to me again and again.
And again.
I didn’t know how I’d got that weekend job in Shirley but I do know it didn’t last long. At least it didn’t appear to. After being driven like slaves we were too tired to walk home. Dad had to come and pick us up instead. I hated it but I don’t recall being fired or resigning. In fact, I went to bed one Friday night expecting to turn up at work the following day as normal.
That didn’t happen.
The first thing I noticed was that I wasn’t in the kitchen. Okay, that’s fine. It can’t be far away.
But where was Clare? For those eight or nine hours each day we barely left each other’s side. We worked together, took our breaks together and left together.
She must be in the loo.
I waited for a few minutes, then decided to look for her. The room I was in was dark and filled with coats on hooks. I didn’t remember coming in but there was my jacket. The door was ajar so I went out.
Straight into a shop.
Panicking, I dived back into the room and slammed the door.
Okay, that’s weird. It’s not the kitchen. It’s not even the restaurant. It’s a department store full of people.
When I heard footsteps approaching I thought I’d die. If I’m found in here they’ll think I’m shoplifting. I considered hiding behind the coats but decided against it. If they discovered me there it would look even more suspicious. No, better to front it out. I took a deep breath and felt my heart almost bursting through my top. I wished I was invisible.
The door suddenly flung open and a neatly coiffed woman bowled in.
‘There you are!’ she called cheerily. ‘All ready to get started?’
‘Er, yeah,’ I heard myself say. ‘I’m ready.’
I followed her back out and a girl called Kelly showed me how to fold clothes, tidy shelves and generally make our section of the huge shop look presentable. Of course, you only have to look like you vaguely know what you’re doing and customers are soon queuing up with questions. I did my best but by the tenth one I just felt like screaming, ‘How should I know? I don’t even know which shop I’m in!’
As I said, just another one of my typical scrapes.
CHAPTER FOUR
My pilot light is going out
Judy cringed as she pulled on the skirt. She hated squeezing into these stupid tight clothes. What was the point of PE anyway? It only made her sweat. Sport was for thin girls who looked good in their gear. Not people like her, people with legs as fat as hers, people who just looked so hideous stomping around the ball court. It was embarrassing. It made her want to curl up and die. She wished she had a chocolate bar.
She knew the boys would see her as she made her way out to the court. She knew they’d call her ‘fatty’ like they always did. She knew they’d be making their lists and giving all the girls marks out of ten for this and that. And she knew she’d be getting zero for her figure. A big, fat zero.
For a big fat girl.
It didn’t matter if she scored ten for prettiness or cleverness or funniness. Nothing mattered apart from that zero.
Judy looked around. The last stragglers had gone, dragging themselves out to their weekly humiliation. The changing room was empty. If she didn’t hurry she’d be told off again. But if she did hurry, she’d have to endure the vicious taunts as usual.
Judy picked up her bag and headed to the toilets, went into a cubicle and slid the bolt.
I’m better off here, she thought. No one will find
That’s the problem with sensory deprivation, I’ve read. It’s meant to promote some meditative behaviour. In small doses I believe this is possible. Anyone exposed to these conditions regularly over a long period of time might suffer different effects. Paranoia, hallucinations, depression and anxiety are natural consequences. By the time I was released I was convinced I was suffering all four.
And of course it happened to me again and again.
And again.
I didn’t know how I’d got that weekend job in Shirley but I do know it didn’t last long. At least it didn’t appear to. After being driven like slaves we were too tired to walk home. Dad had to come and pick us up instead. I hated it but I don’t recall being fired or resigning. In fact, I went to bed one Friday night expecting to turn up at work the following day as normal.
That didn’t happen.
The first thing I noticed was that I wasn’t in the kitchen. Okay, that’s fine. It can’t be far away.
But where was Clare? For those eight or nine hours each day we barely left each other’s side. We worked together, took our breaks together and left together.
She must be in the loo.
I waited for a few minutes, then decided to look for her. The room I was in was dark and filled with coats on hooks. I didn’t remember coming in but there was my jacket. The door was ajar so I went out.
Straight into a shop.
Panicking, I dived back into the room and slammed the door.
Okay, that’s weird. It’s not the kitchen. It’s not even the restaurant. It’s a department store full of people.
When I heard footsteps approaching I thought I’d die. If I’m found in here they’ll think I’m shoplifting. I considered hiding behind the coats but decided against it. If they discovered me there it would look even more suspicious. No, better to front it out. I took a deep breath and felt my heart almost bursting through my top. I wished I was invisible.
The door suddenly flung open and a neatly coiffed woman bowled in.
‘There you are!’ she called cheerily. ‘All ready to get started?’
‘Er, yeah,’ I heard myself say. ‘I’m ready.’
I followed her back out and a girl called Kelly showed me how to fold clothes, tidy shelves and generally make our section of the huge shop look presentable. Of course, you only have to look like you vaguely know what you’re doing and customers are soon queuing up with questions. I did my best but by the tenth one I just felt like screaming, ‘How should I know? I don’t even know which shop I’m in!’
As I said, just another one of my typical scrapes.
CHAPTER FOUR
My pilot light is going out
Judy cringed as she pulled on the skirt. She hated squeezing into these stupid tight clothes. What was the point of PE anyway? It only made her sweat. Sport was for thin girls who looked good in their gear. Not people like her, people with legs as fat as hers, people who just looked so hideous stomping around the ball court. It was embarrassing. It made her want to curl up and die. She wished she had a chocolate bar.
She knew the boys would see her as she made her way out to the court. She knew they’d call her ‘fatty’ like they always did. She knew they’d be making their lists and giving all the girls marks out of ten for this and that. And she knew she’d be getting zero for her figure. A big, fat zero.
For a big fat girl.
It didn’t matter if she scored ten for prettiness or cleverness or funniness. Nothing mattered apart from that zero.
Judy looked around. The last stragglers had gone, dragging themselves out to their weekly humiliation. The changing room was empty. If she didn’t hurry she’d be told off again. But if she did hurry, she’d have to endure the vicious taunts as usual.
Judy picked up her bag and headed to the toilets, went into a cubicle and slid the bolt.
I’m better off here, she thought. No one will find
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