T comes running past and sticks his head in the office, so I know something’s up. Then I hear the administrator down the hall shouting ‘BREATHE, BREATHE!!’ at someone who’s either having, or just had, a seizure on the hallway floor. I gather that it’s V, a Hungarian guy who I don’t know too well.

F goes to see and comes back. We exchange a few remarks and it seems like the ambos are taking care of V. There’s nothing we can do. Still, she sits there looking at her hands and needs to talk about it some more. I prod her a little bit while skim-reading a paper on my desk, but there really isn’t much to say. He has a wife in the US, but no one knows her number to call and tell her, etc. Nothing we can do. Restless, P hurries off down the hall again.

Soon a congregation forms out outside, of staff and PGs talking about what’s going on with V. They’re all concerned and wringing their hands and stuff. Thing is, they have nothing to talk about. The guy had a seizure and went to hospital - end of story. Now they’re wondering what will happen to him and asking each other twice if anyone knew he had epilepsy. So I go and do some photocopying. I mean, you can be concerned and still do photocopying, can’t you?

And as I photocopied, people would walk past and raise their eyebrows at me - the all-purpose gesture for use while walking past offices that can mean anything from ‘Hey there!’ to ‘Fuck this fire drill, man.’ This time, I wonder if they mean ‘What are you photocopying for? A man might be dying out there.’ Perhaps I was being callous just working on. I don’t know. All of this sympathy and consternation is weird.

Why can’t a man photocopy without being troubled by matters of conscience?