Bureau d'Bureau: Act I

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In the form of a three-act play combining the visual and verbal, Bureau d’Bureau examines the presence and purpose of design in the commonplace.

It probes the narratives of everyday design aesthetics, such as the charmingly uncouth vernacular pieces found on notice boards and in marketplaces, and situates them in juxtaposition to the overly commercial, obliviously ridiculous designs created by bureaucratic baboons.

ACT I CHARACTERS D K P SCENE

The office break room. Cheapside, the centre of market town, Barnsley, South Yorkshire.

The time is 1.32pm, it’s mid-July.

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Centre right of the stage is a window with the blinds closed, almost fully.

Through the crack peers a blazing spectrum of colours blinding any eyes at that level. Despite being the summer, you can hear aggressive raindrops against the corrugated steel roof.

It’s their 14th triple rainbow this week.

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Upstage right an old battered microwave is placed on a sawed off cupboard section of a kitchen countertop.

The whole stretch of the upstage wall features different sawn off sections of various second-hand worktops, discarded and rehomed to make a hotchpotch of cheap beechwood, plastic marble and water-stained chrome for the reheating of leftover dinners.

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Upstage centre features two quietly murmuring fridges covered in the dents and scratches that come with years of use. Above the counter is an A2 message from the district’s council, Bureau d’Bureau, specifically The Department of Sustenance & Surroundings .

It reads THINK TWICE BEFORE YOU SLICE in thickset menacing letters and features the quivering shadow of a hand at the mercy of a vintage Parmigiano. The iridescent light escaping from the edges and bottom of the window blind bounces off the glossy finish of the poster making it a celestial focal point to the room.

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Counteracting the divinely-framed message, upstage left’s counter features a dishwasher displaying the dirty porcelain of earlier lunchers and more dishes in the sink above due to the lack of room below. On the back wall is a pinboard plastered in scraps of paper – a mixture of vernacular materials like adverts for local businesses or tatty shopping lists, and domineering notices from the Bureau.

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The central notice is reminiscent of a wanted poster, featuring an e-fit illustration of a sinister man’s face, wearing a thick milky moustache. In an equally menacing typeface, it reads BEWARE THE MILK ‘TACHE BANDITS

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On the left wall, is a wedged-open fire door, and window which looks out onto a corridor containing further doors to the toilets. Upon the rise of the curtain, a late30s gentleman named P is seen rushing to the mens’ toilets. He is of medium height, with anxious, mousy eyes hidden behind thick lensed spectacles, and a blonde receding hairline – the latter likely to be a symptom of his nervous disposition rather than age.

Centre stage sees a rickety table covered with a plastic cloth and surrounded by more chairs than it can fit. Sat on the right side is D, a similar age to P, sans the anxiety. Her temperament is irritable and impatient, often getting angry when things aren’t being carried out in the “correct” way. Because of this selfrighteous demeanor, D often misses things that happen right under her nose, perhaps out of her inability to accept more than the rules of absolute truth, set by the Bureau. She is the human embodiment of a “tut”. To her left, on a chair edged towards the corner of the table, is K. She is a quiet person who only chirps up in conversation to agree with D, who she follows both physically and in spirit, as her devotee.

She was the “sigh” to D’s “tut”.

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When the curtain rises, the pair sit absent-minded, smartphone in one hand and fork in other, absorbed in scrolling and only pausing to chomp their plastic packaged salads.

Scroll, chomp, sigh.

Scroll, chomp, sigh.

Scroll, chomp, sigh.

This monotonous rhythm is the only activity for the first minute.

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Without looking up from her phone, D lets out a noise of disbelief. K’s hunched head darts up to look at D for a few seconds and returns to her phone again when she realises she’s not going to get an explanation.

D (tutting at her phone) Incorrect!

K repeats the head motion.

D Complete ignorance to the grid.

The cheek!

K (curiousity taking over) What’s up?

D (ignoring K) Heh – wrong, again!

Cheek on it.

K (slightly louder) What’ve you seen?

D (looks up, realising her own noises) Eh? (looking back to her phone) Oh nowt just someone doing a bad job of communicating.

The duo resume their rhythmic lunch.

After another minute, P is seen exiting the toilet. D’s nose starts to twinge, her eyes follow P down the corridor in disgust. K follows D’s gaze and curls her lip in recognition. Once he’s out of earshot, they both turn to each other.

D (tutting) Well he’s been on’t dairy again. It was only t’other day we found that blue top in’t fridge.

K (with concern) What I was thinking! Maybe we should talD He’s only got himself to blame.

He shunt be meddling in that stuff, and we have to pay the price! How am I supposed to eat - WORK in this stench? I should tell boss about ‘im - not that he’d do owt.

K (changing her tone to match) Oh yeah, he wunt do owt.

D Maybe I should say something to him. “Eh, P, it dunt smell like roses, stop it wi’ dairy” or “I could report you t’Bureau if 14

I find out you’ve been sniffing that French shit” - because I could you know! I think he forgets who’s watching, no, smelling.

K Oh yeah, you could as well! Get ‘im told, smelly lactose-meddling idiot.

D In fact, no! Why should I say something? It’s not up to me. It’s up t’ones above, ones in charge. They need better policing of it in’t workplace. It’s not my responsibility - not my bloody pay grade either! Cheek on it. He walks around like he’s the only one who can’t have it anymore.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a bit of full fat, but it’s bad for you! So I stick to my coffee black, like any respectful person. Mind you, that dunt smell like your typical watered down produce you can get from t‘ASDA, I can tell he’s been on’t hard stuff, cheese.

French maybe, or could be Dutch.

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K Italian?

D (dismissive) No. No way.

He won’t get his hands on’t Italian shit, Bureau’s cracked down on’t Parmesan sellers. No. It’ll probably be some of that Gouda they raided in’t market last week.

Easier to hide, milder aroma. (signalling to the poster on the noticeboard) Bleach ‘tached wankers. Preying on’t vulnerable like that.

Get ‘em all banged up. But, serves folk like P right for being so weak. Should bang them up as well, that’ll keep ‘em off it. Instead they sell it to ‘em. Sell ‘em it then we have to smell it! Cheek on it.

K Cheek on it.

D looks up to the pinboard again and takes note of all the notices. In a disgusted huff she rises from her seat and storms over to the board.

D (ripping the notices off the board) What have I said about putting any old crap on here, I mean look at THIS? (she

holds up a poster indicating that the break room is a “Lactose Free Zone”, scoffing)

I can see what they’re trying to do here but the composition is just all off – since when has it been OK to stretch type! (K gasps) We ought to be careful, could get done for brand fraud by the bu-

D’s rant is cut short by the sight of P returning and entering the break room. The 3 women stare at P awkwardly and the air pongs of tension.

P (scratching his head) Hi. D (sternly) Afternoon.

P Late lunch?

D Not that late.

They resume their scrolling and ripping and P starts to make a cup of tea.

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D (to P, whilst ripping) You finished your bits for the day?

P Nearly there, got a couple of jobs left. Then some other odds and ends to finish up.

K (looking to D for approval) I finished my bits and bobs at 10ish…just got a few knick-knacks to do this afternoon.

The easy stuff.

D (ignoring both P and K) Honestly, what were they thinking when they made this? (D is laughing while holding up a flyer

for a “Flatulence Restraint Programme” held at the village hall) Look at the state of the

pixelation…I’d better get rid of this before someone sees.

D goes to rip the flyer in half when P puts up his hand for her to stop.

P NO! (adjusting his tone of voice) Sorry, I’ll get rid of those for you…I’ve got a good shredder…one that’ll really destroy it (looking at the other papers on the side)… them?

D passes the papers over to P whilst staring at him, appalled by his volume. P takes them eagerly, then looks from D to K. P Err…thanks!

P leaves in an awkward hurry whilst D and K both turn to each other with a knowing eyebrow raise.

Curtains close.

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