Two: The Memo (continued)

He abandoned schooling altogether at fourteen, and found work in a boatyard, lying about his age to an employer who didn't care how old he was. And it was here, amongst drums of pitch and wood shavings that Napier began to think hard about labour, about how we exchange time and effort for a wage which is calculated to be only just enough to keep us coming back to make the same exchange, day after day, week after week, month after month. These early reflections formed the heart of The Memo.

Napier thinks of himself as an autodidact in the mould of Sartre but the comparison is somewhat inexact, as Napier has never bothered to teach himself anything. Nevertheless he is terribly opinionated, and more than compensates for his fundamental ignorance with good instincts and a persuasive manner. The Memo is intended as a kind of indisputable flowering of these factors. The passage we're honing at the moment has to do with the absurdity of our current employment. Let's listen in as Napier explains his concerns to Natasha - she likes to be called Tash, Napier therefore refuses to use anything other than her full name when speaking to her - our Head Of Department.

"Natasha, may I have a word?" He's smiling, something he almost never does.
"Call me Tash, er, Napier, is it?" His smile disappears.
"Natasha, I'm worried that everyone here is trying to get rid of me."
"I'm sure that's not the case. " She doesn't seem sure.