Life in Red... • RED DWARF • Arnold Rimmer x OC story

2. Z-Shift

"—Hammond! I'm surprised you decided to show up." He called my name.

Rimmer checked his watch, waiting in the hallway with the trolly of technician supplies.

"Well, Rimmer. I just couldn't wait to see you." I muttered through gritted teeth.

"Hm, marvellous." He said with a slight sneer.
"If you're not hungover again, I suggest we get a move on." He marched down the hallway, leaving the cart of equipment for me to push after him.

"I appreciate your concern, Mr Arnold sir." I looked him up and down, my own sort of condescension brewing.
His beige uniform was clean and ironed like always, making him a beacon of the ideal worker. It's a shame that Rimmer didn't focus that precision and care on his personality instead.

"If you manage to keep up good behaviour, I may just redact those three demerits from yesterday's shifts." Rimmer stated, checking his little notepad once again.

"Oh, gee! Thanks sir." I scoffed. "I'm sure that'll be a great subtraction from the other few hundred you've given me."

"I'm only trying to make you better, you know. I'm just trying not to soil company time with your lateness and aloof attitude. How do you expect to ever succeed in your piddly ventures if the only notable accomplishment on your resume is the ability to spell your name? I'm sure almost from memory too." He said snidely with his nostrils flared and brows furrowed.

I was almost offended by his graceless commentary.

"I'm sure the company thanks you for your valiant effort in the repair of the chicken soup machines, but I, for one, don't want to be tied down by a nine to five like everyone else here."

"That's rich! Really, to have a 'nine to five' you should perhaps arrive at nine." He replied, his tone growing more nasally by the second. "...Still, I'm putting this in your file." He added, finally.

Rimmer strided a few paces ahead of me with long, doe-like grace and tucked that pathetic little white notepad into his breast pocket.
He turned on a heel and pointed to the conjoining hall to our right.
"There it is! Model 3–B490 with a clogged nozzle-head."
His nostrils were only partially flared this time.

I reluctantly followed with our equipment trolly as Rimmer bent to his knees with a small grin in front of the bulky, square machine.

He was surprisingly chirpy this morning, to the point that even his irritated comments had a sort of playfulness to them.

I leaned against the side of the vending machine and glanced down at Rimmer as he rolled up his sleeves and began to unscrew one of the metal grates that kept the wiring in place.

Was it a surprise to anyone that 'Vending machine repair' was the lowest position on RedDwarf?
Truly, it'd be a job for the Skutters, except their claws couldn't get around the small bolts on the machine to open any of the hatches.
Sadly, that was a job entrusted to the diligence of the human hand.

"...Need help?" I finally asked Rimmer.

"Oh? Finally decided to do your job?" He mocked.

I rolled my eyes and pulled a few small cleaning brushes out from the trolly, passing them to Rimmer in a gruff manner.
He eyed me dubiously before blowing an imaginary strand of curly hair from his forehead.

I couldn't handle it. If only there was something to take me from this benign job, from this benign life.
I had lied on my resume just to get aboard the ship, well I had to.

The Company would've never had hired me otherwise. Even for work as pathetic as a lowly technician with minimum wage pay.
Somehow working in Z-shift was worse than any other fate that I could imagine, even compared to the very possible, very likely alternative...