The First Day Badge on Day Thirty

The canteen on the building site is a long metal box with a steel counter at one end and forty plastic chairs at the other. Neil starts work there at half past six on a Monday, wearing boots that are still too clean. He is the new site clerk, and his first job, according to the manager, is to learn how the place breathes.

"Start with the canteen," the manager says. "If you understand the canteen, you understand the site."

Adel, who runs the counter, hands him a mug of black coffee before he has even asked. She is small and quick, with a pencil behind one ear and a laminated menu she has not changed in years. She watches Neil look around the room, and then she points at the wall.

"Tell me what you see," she says.

Neil sees a notice about hard hats, a calendar from a concrete supplier, and a pinboard full of paper. On the pinboard hangs a small plastic badge on a string. It says FIRST DAY in capital letters, with a blank space where a name should be.

"It's a badge for new workers," he says. "They give them out on the first day, so everyone knows to be patient."

"Correct," Adel says. "Now count how many new workers have started here this month."

He asks the manager's assistant, who checks a spreadsheet. The answer comes back in ten minutes. No one has joined the site since the start of the month, and the last new face arrived seven weeks ago. Neil returns to the counter with a puzzled expression.

"So why does the badge leave its hook every single day?" Adel asks, pleased. "Look at it at lunchtime. Look at it at the end of the day. You will see."

That is the puzzle. Adel has been watching it for a month, and she has failed to solve it. She is always behind the counter when the interesting part happens. Neil, who spends his days between the office and the canteen, is the first person with the freedom to follow it.

At noon the canteen fills with the noise of boots and cutlery. Neil sits at a corner table with a notebook and writes the first clue. The badge is not on its hook. It was taken at some point during the morning, and it has not come back yet.

At twelve fifteen a tall man in a spotless yellow vest walks to the counter. He wears the badge around his neck, and he does not seem to notice that the men at the next table are smiling at him. He takes his tray, receives a bigger portion of stew than anybody else, and sits alone by the window. Neil writes the second clue. Everyone is being gentle with him.

The cook who ladles the stew does it without a word. A plasterer slides a free piece of cake onto the man's tray as he passes. A crane operator nods at him and says, "Good to have you, mate." It is the voice people use for a nervous child at school.

The tall man looks embarrassed, but he says thank you and keeps eating. Neil writes the third clue. The man does not just wear the badge. He accepts every kindness it earns, as though he were afraid of insulting the site by refusing.

At one o'clock the man stands, returns his tray, and hangs the badge on its hook. Then he walks out through the door that leads to the scaffolding. Neil closes his notebook and thinks. The man is not new. The cook ladles his stew the same way each day, which means he is a regular. The men tease him in a friendly way, which means they know him. Yet the badge still says first day.

He walks back to the counter, where Adel is wiping a tray.

"Three clues," he says. "He gets extra food. He gets extra kindness. And he never looks surprised by either. This is not his first day. It might be his thirtieth."

"That is what I thought," Adel says, "but it doesn't explain why he wears it."

"No," Neil agrees. "But I think I know who can explain it."

The next morning Neil waits at the gate at ten to six. The tall man arrives first, as always, carrying a flask and a bag of tools. Neil greets him and shows him his own clerk's badge. Then he asks, as politely as he can, why the man wears a first day badge after a month of work.

The man stops walking. For a moment he looks like someone who has been caught with his hand in a jar. Then he lets out a long breath.

"On my first day, the office gave me a temporary badge," he says. "They told me they would print the proper one on Friday. Friday came, and the printer was broken. Then the printer was fixed, and the woman who prints the badges was ill. Then the new vests arrived, and everyone forgot."

"So you wear the temporary one," Neil says.

"It is the only badge I have. The guard at the gate knows me and checks a list, but the canteen counter serves only people who wear one." The man shrugs, a little sadly. "After the first week I wanted to say something. By then the cook had started giving me extra stew, and the plasterer gave me cake every day. How do you tell people that you have been a fake newcomer for a month?"

Neil tries very hard not to laugh, and he nearly manages. "You have been getting special treatment for thirty days because of a broken printer?"

"The stew is very good," the man says, with dignity.

They walk to the office together. The woman who prints the badges is back at her desk, and she goes pale when Neil explains. She apologises three times and spends ten minutes finding the right file. Then the printer, which has apparently worked for weeks, produces a neat plastic card. It shows the man's photograph and his full name in black letters.

At lunchtime Neil sits in his corner again with a mug of coffee. He watches the tall man enter the canteen wearing his new badge, and he sees the room slowly notice the change. The cook looks twice and, with a straight face, gives him a normal portion of stew. The plasterer keeps the cake for himself. The crane operator says only, "Afternoon," as though the man has always been there.

The man collects his tray and stands for a moment, looking at the room. Then he walks to the table by the window, and for the first time in a month he sits with other people. The plasterer pulls out a chair for him without being asked.

Adel comes out from behind the counter and stands next to Neil. She holds the old FIRST DAY badge in her hand. She turns it over twice, and then she hangs it back on the pinboard, because someone, someday, will need it.

The sun comes through the dirty window and falls across the tables. The stew steams in forty bowls. At the end of the long room, a man in a yellow vest laughs at something, and nobody turns to look.