SOMETIME IN NOVEMBER In November, C begrudgingly attended a meeting at a machinery manufacturer in Thuringia. C told me that he normally worked from home, in the corner of his living room, and that he avoided face-to-face contact with clients whenever possible. Despite his efforts to conduct all business over email, the firm apparently insisted on meeting him in person to discuss a website they had hired him to make. About an hour and a half away, the firm’s offices were reachable by rail from his local station. While waiting for his train, C sent me a photo of the sound wall between the platform and the adjacent houses. He wanted to show me how its mustard-yellow perforated steel panels matched the autumnal foliage almost seamlessly. He wrote that he intended to photograph the barrier before the leaves fall. When he arrived at the firm’s building, the outlying location and the prefabricated steel architecture seemed to evoke childhood memories for C. He told me it reminded him of where his father had worked as a window salesman and exterior doors. He later recounted an uninspiring tour of the factory floor and described to me how he had faked interest. The only thing he recalled in detail were the dust-free “cleanrooms” the firm constructed for packing products. These needed to be so free of particulates that he was only permitted to view them from behind a glass wall. C reported a profound discomfort throughout the meeting, particularly when interacting with two marketing executives. He told me he had difficulty with light conversation, which centred on cars and children, and that he remained silent unless he was asked a question. He was pleased when his input was no longer required and he could simply watch the clock, counting the hours he was being paid until he was driven back to the station. 110
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