In a particularly grotty suburb of east London, there is a high street and on this high street there is a door. It is two doors down from the Wetherspoons, sandwiched between Nationwide and a hardware store. It has broken blue blinds on the inside, most people would never even notice it, even if they walked past it every day.
It is intentionally low key, for behind the door is an alternate reality.
It’s 10pm. I go through the door. Today 3 members of the security detail are on reception. I don’t recognize any of them, this is never good. I have my identification and I am on the permanent access list. Still the main security guy insists he can’t let me in.
“Some kind of irregularity”, he says.
I ask him to call one of the technical staff.
The technician comes down. The technicians are an entirely different breed. He “oks” me. And says he’ll wait while I get “signed in”. He stares out through the blue blinds, into the real world. I collect my pass. He seems pensive, I’ve taken him away from his terminal.
We walk to his office, passing more security in the various corridors. His office is filled with monitors. He is chatty, perhaps his first conversation for some time.
I go into our area, the doors have steel plates bolted onto them. There is a warning, “if the alarm sounds you have 30 seconds to evacuate this area, after which the doors will be automatically sealed” – it says something else about gas being pumped into the room, I try not to think about this.
I do my work quickly and leave.
I exit the door.
Outside a bunch of hoodies walk past and a girl appears to be puking outside Wetherspoons. I am back in the real world.
It’s 10pm and I have been working straight for 16 hours.
