Left on the Shelf

I always knew I was something special. I mean, not to boast, but I’ve been the cornerstone of communication in Dowson, Jessop and Pertwee’s chambers for over a decade. Contracts, memos, love letters hastily scribbled on company letterhead—I’ve seen it all. So, you can imagine my outrage when I was removed from the senior partner’s office and frog-marched into what I can only describe as a graveyard for office equipment. 

The culprits? Two cleaners. Ruffians, really. The kind of men who smell like last week’s cheese and onion sandwiches. The first, a wiry man with a cigarette tucked behind his ear, dragged a trolley laden with office detritus. The second, a rounder fellow with a cheery disposition, followed, carrying me under his burly arm.

   The indignity of it all!

   The storeroom door swung open, its hinges groaning in protest, and the first cleaner grimaced before stepping inside. “Blimey, Sid,” he said, his nose wrinkling in the gloom. “This place niffs worse than a wet Tuesday night at Walthamstow Dog Track.” 

   "Tell me about it, Alf," said Sid, tossing a stick of Juicy Fruit into his mouth. “It ain’t no Buck House.” 

   “It’s chocker in ‘ere, mate.”

He wasn’t wrong there.

“Where’re we dumping all this stuff?”

   “Wherever there’s space,” Sid said, emptying a box of assorted cables onto the floor. 

   “On the shelf for you, lady.” Alf hefted me aloft. “Top one, out of the way.”

   Sid cast a doubtful glance at me. “That old thing? Surprised they ain’t binned her already. What’s the point keepin’ a dinosaur like that around?”

   The nerve of the fellow.

   “Search me.” The rounder one grunted as he shoved me onto the top shelf.   

   “Seems a bit fancy, though, don’t it? Bet it cost a packet back in the day.”

   One of them—Sid, I think—had the nerve to question my worth.

   “Not worth nickin’,” he said. “What you gonna get for a fax machine, Alf? A quid? Two if you’re lucky?”

   “Poor old girl, though.” At least Alf tried to stick up for me. “Imagine bein’ top dog once, then endin’ up in a dump like this.”

   Top dog. Finally, someone with a smidge of respect. But then they left me marooned, high on a dusty shelf, surrounded by cobwebs and the stench of the cleaner’s sodden mop and bucket. On the pockmarked linoleum below, I heard the scuttle of tiny claws and my solid-state circuitry shivered inside. As I adjusted to the overhead fire exit sign’s eerie glow, I vowed to maintain my dignity, come what may. That’s when I noticed my companions.

   To my left sat a relic from the Stone Age, a Victor Adding Machine. He was so caked in dust I couldn’t tell where his keys ended and his casing began. To my right, a Philips VHS player, humming with barely-contained arrogance.

   “Great,” I muttered. “Just my luck. A has-been and a never-was.”

   “What’s that supposed to mean?” the Philips snapped, his red ‘Eject’ button flashing indignantly.

   “You heard me,” I said. “What kind of legacy did you leave behind? Stretched tapes and bad tracking? Please.”

   “Watch it, sister,” he said, his innards growling. “I survived Betamax. You know what that means? I’m a fighter. A survivor.”

   “Fighter? Survivor? Look where you are now, genius.”

   The Victor Adding Machine let out a weary sigh. “Will you two keep it down? Some of us are trying to spend our last moments in peace.”

   “Last moments?” I said, my voice catching.

   “Oh, you haven’t heard?” Victor said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Big clear-out tomorrow. Everything in this room is bound for the landfill, princess.”

  “Unbelievable,” I muttered. “Me, a professional-grade Fax machine, dumped in this… this dungeon with castoffs and rejects.”

   “Welcome to the club, your highness." The Philips said, his voice tinged with bitterness. "We’re all rejects here.”

   “Speak for yourself,” I said. “This is obviously a mistake. I’ll be back in the office tomorrow, where I belong.”

   Victor let out a dry, creaky chuckle. “Denial. It’s always the first stage.”

   “I am not in denial. I am indispensable. Unlike you lot.”

   Victor’s voice was weary. “Oh, I was indispensable once too. Balanced ledgers, calculated payrolls. They couldn’t run the office without me. Now? Now I’m just a relic. A paperweight with keys.”

   “You might have been useful, but..." The Philips inner workings clunked. "I was iconic. The king of home entertainment. People gathered around to watch me. I was the centrepiece of living rooms. And now? Streaming this, cloud storage that. It’s all so… so soulless!”

   “Soulless or not, it’s the future,” Victor said. “And we’re not in it.”

   That shut me up for a moment. I glanced around the dim storeroom, my pristine white casing glowing faintly under the weak lightbulb. Surely, he was wrong. Me? Tossed out like common trash? Impossible.

   But as the night wore on, doubt began to creep in. Victor was resigned, barely moving as dust settled on his faded keys. “I used to be something, you know,” he murmured at one point. “Now? I’m just a relic. A curiosity for collectors, maybe. If I’m lucky.”

   The Philips, for all his bravado, wasn’t holding up much better. Around midnight, he started sobbing quietly.

   “I had a good run,” he whispered to no one in particular. “I mattered. I really did.”

   I tried to ignore him, but his grief was contagious. I didn’t want to admit it, but a tiny part of me was scared. What if they were right? What if my time really was up?

   The hours crept by and the storeroom’s eight-legged inhabitants occasionally darted out to snag an unlucky insect. The rodent scuttled again, this time climbing onto a forgotten stack of boxes, causing a soft thud that made the VHS player jump.

   “Did you hear that?” he said, shuddering in a panic.

   “It’s just a mouse,” Victor said, unruffled. “Nothing to worry about. Not like we’re going anywhere.”

   The Philips was silent for a moment before muttering, “I don’t belong here. I shouldn’t be here. This is all wrong.”

   “You keep saying that,” Victor replied. “But here you are.”

   “I’m a survivor!” the Philips insisted, his voice rising. “I outlasted Betamax! Laser-Discs! I’ve seen off formats you’ve never even heard of! I’m a classic, a cultural icon!”

   “And yet,” Victor said, “you’re here. On the same shelf as me. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

   The Philips began to tremble, his internal mechanisms clicking erratically. “No, no, this isn’t happening. I’m not done. I’m not obsolete. People still love me! They… they still rewind tapes! Don’t they?”

   His voice cracked, and he fell silent, save for the faint sound of whirring spindles. 

   “Pull yourself together.” I peered down at him and whispered. “Crying won’t change anything.”

   Victor sighed. “Let him cry. He’s only just realising what I’ve known for years. The end comes for all of us, sooner or later.”

   I stayed quiet for a while, my mind racing. I refused to believe I was obsolete. True, email had taken over much of the office correspondence, and scanners were more common now, but there were still situations where a Fax machine was invaluable. I’d heard whispers in the office about security concerns with email. Surely that meant I still had a role to play.

   “I’m not like you,” I said finally. “I’m still relevant. When they need something secure, something reliable, they’ll come to me. You’ll see.”

   Victor let out another wheezy laugh. “Keep telling yourself that. I’ve been around long enough to know how this story ends. I’ve accepted it.”

   “You’re giving up,” I said, in anger. “That’s your problem. No fight left in you.”

   Victor didn’t respond. He simply stared at the shadows; his silence heavy with resignation.

   As the night dragged on, the VHS player’s earlier bravado crumbled. He muttered to himself, his tone a mixture of anger and despair. “Streaming. It’s all streaming now. Nobody appreciates the weight of a tape in their hand anymore. Nobody rewinds. They don’t even watch credits!”

   “Enough!” I said. “If you keep whining, you’ll drive us all mad.”

   Victor chuckled. “Let him whine. It’s not like we’re getting any sleep.”

   The rodent scurried by again, this time brushing against the VHS player’s base. He let out a yelp.

   “That’s it,” he hissed. “I can’t take this anymore. I’m a prised item, not vermin bait!”

   “Get used to it,” Victor said. “It doesn’t get any better from here.”

   I ignored them both, my focus elsewhere. 

   I had to believe I still had a purpose. 

   I’d really no choice.

* * *

I must have dozed off at some point because the next thing I knew, the storeroom door creaked open, flooding the space with blinding fluorescent light.

   A young intern stepped in, clipboard in hand, and surveyed the room.

   “All right, let’s get this done,” he muttered, motioning to the cleaners who followed.

   I watched in horror as they grabbed Victor first, tossing him onto a trolley like he was nothing more than a pile of scrap metal. He didn’t resist, didn’t say a word. Just let it happen.

   Then they came for the Philips VHS.

   “Oi, careful!” he barked, his bravado returning in a last-ditch effort to save face. “I’m worth more than you think!”

   “Yeah, right,” one of the cleaners muttered, dropping him onto the trolley with a thud.

   And then they were gone.

   I held my breath, waiting for them to return and grab me. But they didn’t. Instead, the intern walked over to my shelf, brushing a bit of dust off my casing.

   “Still in good shape,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Guess you’re coming back upstairs.”

   Back upstairs? My internal circuits buzzed with disbelief. Was this really happening?

   Moments later, I was back in the senior partner’s office, perched proudly on his desk.

   “There you are,” he said, his face lighting up at the sight of me. “Knew I could count on you.”

   Turns out, there’d been some kind of glitch with his fancy new software. He needed a document signed and sent urgently, and who better to handle the job than yours truly?

   As I hummed to life, spitting out the pages he’d fed me, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow for Victor and the Philips. They didn’t get the second chance I did. But that’s life, isn’t it? Survival of the fittest, and all that.

   “There’s life in the old bird yet,” the intern said, grinning as he slotted a fresh roll of paper in my rear compartment. “She’s warmed up and set to go.”

Too right. I’m the cat’s whiskers. And no mistake.

The End