Helpline

Helpline: Vinegar and brown paper

Jill's not looking in a good state.
"You shouldn't have laughed," says Reverie.
I shrug. "She's not dead, is she?"
"No."
"Well then."
"It's still your fucking fault. She'd have every right to sue you."
"That's what the public liability insurance was for. Anyway, I wasn't directly responsible."
"It's still your fucking fault."
I put my hand on the door handle then look at Reverie. She nods and we go in.
"Alright Jill."
She nods.
"How are you feeling?"
"Not good."
"I don't get what happened."
Jill looks me in the eye. "Really?"
"Sure."
"It was the day after I met that woman. The one with the cat and the balloons."
"Right."
"I thought I saw her down the street and when I called out she started running away so I went after her and... well it's my own fault isn't it?"
"I had a friend who got knocked down I say. Walked out of a pub, drunk and straight into a Land Rover. He didn't even remember about it in the morning, I mean you know... not a scratch."
"You weren't drunk?" says Reverie.
Jill shakes her head.
"There's a reason for alcoholism."
I nod.
"You don't know who she is?"
I shrug. "She's just someone who rang the line."
"Right."
"Look, it's not like I can tell you." I say. "If she didn't say anything then I can't, you know?"
"Yeah, I get it."
"Why don't you just go around to her house?" says Reverie.
I look at her.
"What?"
"Don't go around to her house." I say. "She'd have every right to call the police."
"I don't get it?" says Jill. "She was so damaged. So weird. I really thought she needed my help." she sighs. "We connected, you know?"
Reverie's looking at me.
"It's hard." I say.
"And then she just didn't want anything to do with me."
"Yeah. I mean, it's her choice, at the end of the day."
"I went in and the house was just filled with balloons. I tried to call, actually. You know? - it was really weird. I nearly didn't go in and then this voice calls out from somewhere in the house."
"What did she say?"
I look at Reverie.
"She just asked me if I wanted a cuppa. Nothing weird. It was just that: Do you want a cuppa? I was like..."
"And she's pushes her way through the balloons. Tell me not to mind them, that she's just been bored.
Reverie frowns. "She doesn't sound damaged."
"Well who does that out of boredom? She had this cat and every once in a while a balloon would pop and it would go mental. I threatened to call the RSPCA."
"No wonder she ran off."
"What did she need doing?" I say.
"She had a couple more bags of balloons to blow up. She said she'd run out of puff."
"Right. So you told her where to go?"
"I sat and did a few, well a bag. She sat and talked to me, just about, you know? Her day. She never once mentioned the balloons. I asked if her cat was alright and she said it was fine but it was just freaking out and I didn't know what else to do."
"You did the right thing," I say.
"So did you call them?"
Jill shakes her head.
Reverie looks at me. "I'm gonna go smoke a cigarette."
"You'll be alright won't you?" I say.
Jill smiles and nods.
"Good." I say.
We leave.
"What the fuck are you going to do now?" says Reverie.
I don't answer her.

Helpline

Outline of proposal for Helpline

Helpline:

A helpdesk is set up in an office and run by a team of volunteers (helper). The aim of the helpdesk is to help anybody (helpee) with anything. People ring up and ask for help with, for instance, their decorating. An appointment is booked and somebody goes around to their house to help them with this task.

(Obviously there are exceptions to what we are willing to help with however I want these to be as few as possible and based on the personal choices of the volunteer)

The “payment” for this help is an object that the helpee no longer wants. Upon return from the assignment the helper records a video recounting of what happened on the assignment (which will then be fictionalised by myself into a short story using some elements recounted from the assignment). The helper then has the choice of either cataloguing the object of payment or of replacing it with something of their own that they no longer want. (In either case the catalogue notation is the same – referring to the helpee and the date)



Some of the assignments that the helpers are given will be fictional stories prepared by myself originally and featuring characters performed by actors. Some of these may be genre pieces e.g. thriller, fantasy, adventure. Some may be the actors interpretations of a story produced as part of the fictional feedback process.

This will enable me to observe and control the movement of these pieces from fiction to reality and from reality to fiction.

I would anticipate that the videos and artefacts and stories would be presented as part of an exhibition following the end of this piece.

Helpline

Helpline

Helpline

I sit watching the phone ring. Pick it up. there's a man on the end of the phone. I tell him that the helpline isn't running yet. Not until we've got volunteers to man it. He volunteers so I take his name and tell him to come and see me. Then I hang up. I ring my supervisor, get his answerphone and leave a message telling him that everything isn't lost. The door opens and Reverie's there taking pictures.
"You can't smoke in here," I say.
She shrugs then comes in and sits down. I sit watching her finish her cigarette then I ask her what she wants.
"I came to see you."
I nod.
"You got the call?"
I look at her.
"I set it up for you. I'm helping. When's he coming in?"
"Later."
"Later today?"
I nod.
"See?"
"See what?"
"See that I'm fucking amazing. See that you're research isn't going to shit now."
"I've got one person."
"Better than none."
"You could have helped."
"I'm in the loop fuckwit. How are you supposed to trick me into believing that I'm not in some tenuously contrived situation?"
I shrug.
"Right ok, so let's wait and see what he's like. Once you get the ball rolling..."

We sit there and wait. She smokes cigarettes, I tell her that she can't smoke in the office. The phone rings but it's a wrong number. At about three someone knocks on the door.
Reverie starts to speak but I stop her.
"This is probably someone coming to find out why the whole corridor stinks of smoke."
"Tell them to fuck off." she says then shouts it. "Fuck off!"
The door opens. "Hello?" It's a girl with a man's voice.
"Hi."
"I saw the sign on the door."
I frown.
"Ah, yes," says Reverie. "Sit down."
"Who's this?" I whisper.
"You're here about volunteering for the helpline?"
"Yeah," she says. "Yes, I mean. Well, I want to find out more about it."
"Good," says Reverie. "Mark? Do you want to tell... sorry, what's your name?"
"Jill."
"...something about what we're doing here?"
I nod then lean forwards on the desk. "Ok, so the basic idea is that... basically people ring us up and we go and help them."
Jill nods.
"That's it."
Reverie looks at me. "People need help everywhere," she says. "You know, washing up? Decorating?"
"Sure."
"The idea is that they ring up and we go and help them."
"Ok, so it's like a charity?"
"Yeah, exactly," I say. "It's like, good will. You get to meet people and they get help. It's kind of mutually beneficial."
"Ok." Jill looks at the wall. "Am I allowed to smoke in here?"
"Yeah, sure. Go ahead. It's fine."
I look at Reverie then look at Jill. "Sure."
Jill gets a packet of cigarettes out of her bag and offers one to us. Reverie takes one and they both light up.
"OK," I say.
"It's so nice to be part of something, you know? ... so anti establishment. Fuck the establishment."
"Fuck it."
I look at Reverie who smiles.
"Yeah, you know, we're working outside the boundaries of the accepted norm, you know? It's anti-art; we're creating a contemporary 1940s thing here. Mutual respect, mutual help."
I nod. "We're turning help into art."
"It's so Amelie," says Jill.
"Well..."
"It's where we found our inspiration," says Reverie.
I nod.
"It's so like, I mean all I ever see is people doing... just looking after themselves."
"Yeah," I say. "I mean that's the point. There's something really important about, you know, community spirit."
"It's what lacking from today's society."
"Exactly," says Reverie.
Jill nods. "Cool," she says.
Reverie takes a drag of her cigarette and leans forwards. "So are you in?" she says.
Jill looks at me and then looks at her. "Sure," she says.
"Cool," says Reverie. "Supercool," she sits back and takes another drag. "We need to sort out some paperwork. You know, in case you have an accident."
"Not that you will."
"Yeah, course." Jill smiles. "Do you want me to do that now?"
"Before you change your mind."
I look at Reverie and she looks at me and smiles. The paperwork is in the drawer. I get it out and hand it to Jill.

The Beginning / The End

It's her idea. She sits there smoking her cigarette and looking at me. There's a pigeon pecking around the tables so I look at that.
"Why not?"
I shrug and take a sip of my coffee.
"It's a fucking good idea. Me and you. We'll be like..." She kicks at the pigeon. "like that guy from Chitty chitty Bang Bang?"
I frown.
"The child catcher," she says.
"The epitome of childhood evil?"
"Fuck children. Will take a big net and catch people's stories then you can write them down."
"Like the BFG?"
"Big fucking gimp."
I look at her and she smiles. "Go on" she says. "Me and you."
"What do you get out if this?"
She shrugs then drops her butt into my coffee. "Coffee's fucking shit as normal. What's this these English, fucking, sorry, fucking, excuses for cafes? I don't want some spotty boy creaming himself over my espresso." She finishes her drink.
"So what do we do?"
"What?"
"How do we start?"
She lifts her sunglasses and looks at me.
"How do we get people's stories?"
"We go and fucking find people."
"Yeah, but how?" I fold my arms. ""Hello, can I ask you to tell me a story?" - I mean, that doesn't sound weird."
"You make your own story."
"Sure, but..."
"There's nothing wrong with being a bit mysterious you know?"
"So, like?"
"I don't know, get a card or something. Get people to phone you. You know - like those whores do in phoneboxes?"
"Let me think about it," I say.
"You get five seconds."
I look at her and she smiles. Then I say yes.