So we're a small group of chaps who usually only see each other for an hour here, a half-hour there during a shift cross-over. This hermetically sealed hermit-lifestyle appeals to some of us - affording us plenty alone time and a safe, mostly soundproof environment in which to climb the walls of our own minds - but not to all of us.
One of us is leaving.
When a member of a three-man projection-team goes AWOL (probably using that term erroneously, there. It's not as if he shot his way out of the building, stole a van and crashed it through a perimeter fence or owt. He just handed his month's notice in.) the remaining two members have a pretty big problem. We can try and get our Ghost bumped up to full time, we can find someone to replace our missing man within the next month, or we are gonna have to start putting in some serious overtime (probably using that term erroneously, n'all, it's not like they actually give us overtime pay or owt). When you're as lazy as I am, the idea of an impending expanded-workload is like the rumble of distant thunder.
But it's not just all about the extra pressure we will have on us in the coming month, the fact of the matter is that I will be saying goodbye to a friend. Someone I have worked with in both an employment and artistic sense. When my friend leaves town, I will have some short films that we made together to remember him by, but the thought that we may never make another is a source of great sorrow to me.
In leaving a dead-end job for a new life and new career, the man is doing what can only be described as the right thing. I suppose you could say I am a little jealous, trapped as I am by the knowledge that my years in projection have only fuelled my anti-social tendencies to the point where I will be pretty much unemployable in any other industry.
I wish him God-Speed (using that term erroneously, because it's not as if I actually believe in God or owt) and leave you with one of the aforementioned short films, a little piece about a particularly unusual friendship.