Maja Writes… Life During Wartime

Headphones are my best defence. Best decision ever. I listen to Hawking Teds all day. They sound like home: strange, clever, detached. Julian asked what I’m listening to. I said ‘white noise.’ It’s simpler. Eleanor told me, ‘Don’t let him near your lunchbox.’ Still don’t understand the metaphors in this place.

Julian Writes… Maya and the Drop Shot!

She wears headphones. All day. I’m certain she’s listening to Serbian poetry or perhaps meditative tennis podcasts. I asked what music inspires her but she just shrugged, “It’s white noise.” This may be metaphorical. I think she’s protecting herself from the chaos of the publishing world. Later, she briefly smiled when I offered her a stapler. Progress.

I try later that morning and ask what she’s listening to. ‘Hawking Teds,’ she said, deadpan. I pretended to know.  I think she meant Hawkwind. Fascinating! A woman who misnames her band and owns it. There’s art in that. Like hitting a drop shot when everyone expects a drive. I’m certain she listens to ‘Once in a Lifetime’ and thinks of me.

Maja Writes… The Road To Nowhere?

He asked if I like tennis. I said I don’t play. He looked disappointed. He looked like I’d called his god a liar. He smells like fresh paper. I started humming Psycho Filler. It helps drown him out. I do not tell him that Novak Djokovic is my mother’s cousin’s husband’s brother. It never ends well. That could be a Hawking Teds song title. He smells faintly of stationery. Work is boring involving mostly typing things into spreadsheets that make no sense. But at least I’m indoors.

Julian Writes… First serve to Maja!

Maja works in silence, the kind you only hear before a serve. I tried a conversational volley: ‘Do you play?’ She said, ‘No.’ Flat, clean, devastating. I regrouped, mentioned Wimbledon, rhythm, focus but still nothing. I’m not discouraged. Early games are about reading your opponent’s stance.

(one hour later)

She seems to have remarkable focus. While others chatter about deadlines, she types with unnerving precision. I attempted small talk .  “So, are you a fan of the backhand slice?” was an artful opening serve I thought but she merely retorted, “I prefer not to talk during work hours.” straight back down the line. A professional! A rare breed. I sense a bond forming, though she doesn’t yet realise it. I drafted a note of appreciation to HR, praising her “quiet industriousness and unstudied elegance.” Will send tomorrow after suitable reflection.

Maja Writes… How Did I Get Here?

New Friday, new placement. Not sure why I’m here. They said “publishing company,” but everyone looks tired. One man with expensive hair and a purple notebook keeps following me. He talks about “creative ecosystems” and “brand identity.” I think he is the boss’s nephew. I try not to make eye contact. Uncle Novak used to have that song ‘Once in a LifeTime’ by someone called the Hawking Teds on repeat play where the singer repetitively sings, “Well, how did I get here?” And I now know why. Thanks God it’s the weekend soon.