Rainy Day

         It's raining hard and I'm huddled under a coffee shop awning amid a crowd of people all vying for a place in the shelter, too small for all of us. An Associate walks toward us and a gap appears under the cover, displacing an old man into the rain. He grumbles and begins to shuffle off to his destination. He's going to get there wet now and may as well start moving. We don't often get Associates round here. I make a note to be on my best behaviour lest he suspect anything.          
         I stand there for a few minutes and the rain shows no sign of stopping, which leaves me with a dilemma. I'm expected by a senior checking officer at an appointment over a mile away in Section D of London's West District. It's nothing serious, just a routine check up to see how I am, what I've been doing, etc. The same as anybody else has to do once every couple of months. - My problem is that it's in half an hour and if I'm going to make it on time I need to leave now, but I can't leave so soon after the Associate joined our caddy, I especially can't be the first to leave. How suspicious would that look? As I think about it more, the gravity of the situation hits me. Whatever you fucking do in London, don't get flagged! The old man was alright, it was obvious why he was leaving. If he hadn't grumbled as he walked away the Associate would have looked on him with an approving eye. But if I left it would just look like I was trying to get away from the Associate. If I don't turn up for my check up though, they'll flag me all the same.
         
         STAY CALM. You're a good citizen, I think to myself. You have nothing to worry about, you haven't done anything wrong. Stay Calm! If you start getting anxious and sweating next to the associate they'll flag you for sure and you haven't done anything wrong. Repeating it to myself makes me feel slightly better but my dilemma still stands. Then, just as my hands start going clammy a brilliant idea comes to me. If I can find a way to casually strike up a conversation with somebody in the crowd, I can mention in passing that I don't want to be late for my check up, obviously, because I don't want to inconvenience the officer. Then with any luck, the Associate will overhear this and not be suspicious when I leave. It'll have to be casual though; I may end up late anyway but I can apologise profusely and it shouldn't lead to anything.
         I look around for a promising candidate to begin my dialogue with. Hopefully this isn't too weird in itself. I pick the man in front of me, he looks about my age – 24, and jostle around a bit in the crowd pretending to try to make myself more comfortable. I tread on his toe and begin my plan with the perfect English ice breaker – an apology.
         “Sorry mate” I say. “It's quite crowded under here, ay?”
         “Yeah” he grunts. 
Shit, he's not talkative. Try again. “Better than the rain though”.
         “mmm” ...Fuck! He doesn't even dignify the conversation with real words. I have to make him talk.
         “Actually, saying that, I've got places to be, you know?” I add in a half jovial half pleading voice.
         “Oh yeah? Where's that?”

         Every millimetre of my body wants to scream with relief at his sarcastic question/insult. He has no idea how much his sardonic jibe has helped me and it takes everything I have not to tell him. Within a fraction of a second I've regained control of myself and am preparing the statement that I hope will later afford my absolution.
         “It's nothing serious but I've got a check up with a senior checking officer at three and I don't want to be late.” ...I pause, and then add in a mock inquisitive and slightly worried voice. “In fact, do you know what the time is?”  Begrudgingly and with a half audible sigh, he looks at his watch.
         

         “Twenty-five to”. You glorious bastard! You fucking useful wanker! You couldn't give a fuck about me or my life but you played along just enough and now I shall seize my freedom and run like a freak through the streets to get to my check up on time!
         “Shit,” I say in the most nonchalant, relaxed tone I can possibly muster. “I should probably get moving”.
         I mutter “excuse me” into the crowd and begin to barge my way out, albeit into the pissing rain. I make it to the edge of the crowd. Into the rain. I'm walking. Keep calm. Don't look back. I'm only a couple of metres away and the rain is deafening and I'm fucking soaked. That type of rain that it doesn't matter what you wear, it's going to get you and make your journey shit. But this journey is sweet. This journey is relief with every footstep. A smile starts to break on my face and then, just as I start to feel fucking free, I hear his gravelly bark behind me. The cunt couldn't let me be. Maybe I was walking too fast for his liking. Maybe he didn't believe my story. Maybe he didn't hear it through the rain. Whatever the reason, the Associate is shouting at me through the rain and when an associate speaks to you you smile politely and you speak back until he or she is done.
         “Hey! ...Hey you!” He's really screaming at me and as I turn round and see the anger in his face I realise he's probably been trying to get my attention ever since I started moving off but I didn't hear him over the rain, shit! I wipe my sodden face but within seconds water is dripping from my nose and chin again. This isn't good. I'm slightly petrified and, stupidly, I just stand there where I am, about two metres away instead of moving back toward him.
         “COME HERE!” He's incensed that I expected him to shout over the rain. I remember basic motor skills and shuffle in his direction. The crowd watch me moving like a lamb and empathetically have horrified faces barely visible through their masks of indifference. Once I'm close enough for him to scream in my face, he begins.
         “IS THERE SOME REASON WHY YOU'D PREFER TO BE OUT IN THAT FUCKING GALE INSTEAD OF UNDER SHELTER WITH ALL OF US?!? MAYBE THE SAME REASON THAT YOU DIDN'T RESPOND TO ME UNTIL I STARTED SCREAMING MYSELF HOARSE?  DO ASSOCIATES MAKE YOU FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE?”
         In retrospect I enjoy the irony of someone with absolutely no intention of listening to a word you say asking so enthusiastically so many questions. At the time, however, it somewhat passed me by.
         “No, sir. I just -”
         “Shut up!” He cuts me off. “What's your name?” out comes his notebook. And with that, I knew it was over. Like my mother nine months before I stole her life and forcibly traded it for my deficit, I'm fucked.
         A few days later my name was randomly drawn in the conscription lottery and I was drafted into the defence force. To use an apt simile, that lottery is about as random as sniper fire.