What's Slang For Paranoia?

Skippy is in early.

“You had a phone call”

Very helpful. Maybe I had won the lottery.

“Some bloke from ess see dee seven five. Said he’d call back at 2”

Silly me. How would Camelot know my work number? They’d ring the mobile. I checked, no missed calls. Benidorm again this summer then. Sigh.

“Dunno”

This considered reply was in response to my, obviously unexpected, query into what ‘some bloke’ from SCD 7(5) wanted. Skippy isn’t very good at brackets. Taking messages was clearly a development need too.

“Dunno”

I have no idea why I thought someone with a D minus in brackets and an F in message taking would know who SCD 7(5) were. Maybe I was distracted thinking about sombreros and UV rays. Still Skippy is good with small animals and children of all ages.

“What was the name of that new complaints unit?”

Delivered so matter of factly I thought it was a plea for help with a particularly difficult Pravda crossword clue. Only when I noticed that this morning’s required reading was a red top did it dawn on me that we were still discussing my mystery caller.

My turn to Dunno. Only I kept it to myself. The ‘C’ word had been used. Outwardly I had to remain calm. I couldn’t show any sign of weakness. Skippy would be quizzed. I felt sure the thumb-screws wouldn’t be resisted. Traitor.

“What have you done now?”

A-ha. Skippy had been seduced by the dark side. I was on my own. Any moment now and Bad Cop would burst in wearing a long leather coat and clutching a length of garden hose. I couldn’t run. As sure a sign of guilt as a ‘No Comment’ interview. With one eye on the door I surreptitiously scanned the room for surveillance equipment. Was that a new kettle?

Nonchalantly, I checked it out.

“Oh lovely. Two sugars please”

Good. My counter-surveillance tactic had gone un-noticed.

Tea was taken. I made sure I was sipping from least offensive of our mug collection. Skippy got the one with the rude picture on it. If Bad Cop chose this moment to appear then I wasn’t going down alone.

Thankfully, the interrogation seemed to be being played by British rules and I was left in peace to ponder.

Sun Tzu is a comfort at a time like this. I needed to know who I was dealing with.

This presented a problem. I couldn’t very well ask a colleague if they knew who SCD 7(5) were. Even if they could out-smart Skippy in a brackets quiz it would only make matters worse. Then THEY would know too. Soon everyone would know that one of the ‘C’units was after me. Conversations would stop when I entered rooms. Old friends would point me out to new joiners and whisper. I’d be shunned at the next relief karaoke.

I couldn’t look it up on the computer either. They’ll know I checked up on them. An ancient warlord’s advice can only get you so far when you remember that it was written pre-Microsoft.

It was Plan ‘B’ then. I needed a newsagent.

Not quite as sophisticated as Plan ‘A’.

It wasn’t even a rollover.

(…to be continued….I hope)