Where has everyone gone?

''Gosh, it's eerie in here.''

''Yes. I always have a window open.''

''No. Eerie.''

''Oh. You mean a bit spooky?''

''Yes. This building used to be full of people. Chatting by the lifts. Walking around handing pieces of paper to each other. Making coffee. Organising office sweeps. It used to be really busy. Throbbing.''

''Throbbing? Maybe. But they've all gone.''

''What about Trevor. Used to wash the cars?''

''Trev's gone. Nice bloke, but the cars have gone.''

''So, you're the last man standing?''

''Person is the word. Yes, there's only me here now rattling around in all this office space. But it's all been leased. Nice steady income.''

''But what about the work all those people used to do?''

''Not too sure about 'work', but, yes, they did fill in time. I can't go through the whole list, but traffic is now with Acme Transport Management for 10% of all fines and the library is a stand-alone company. Annual subscription is whatever they need to survive.

''But it's no longer my worry. Same with the museum and art gallery. None of this free entry rubbish. If they crash, they crash.

''For far too long there was this idea that running a city was some kind of charity. Not anymore. 'Business is business' as the man said.''

''What man?''

''Me. Don't you media people ever listen?''

''But there used to be some lovely people in the media section here. Always ready to have a cup of coffee or issue a denial or run off an explanation of some unbelievable foul-up.''

''True. True. They were great, weren't they? And always responded to queries no matter how trivial. In fact, the more trivial the better. 'Smokescreening' they called it.

''A media row about double parking in Hanover St could take the heat out of the millions being lost in unwise 'initiatives'. Actually, the media staff were far too clever for us. They've all found work with central government.''

''I'm wondering about some of the councillors?''

''Yes, so am I. Always have.''

''No. I mean, what happens to them?''

''Oh, they come in and hold meetings. I usually sit in in case they come to blows and need an arbitrator. And the mayor still opens things and speaks at dinners. Nothing's changed, really.''

''But they can't go on like that indefinitely. If the council has nothing to do, you don't need guidance on doing nothing, do you?''

''No. Some have been doing that without my help for years. But I'll just say, in confidence, `Local Bodies Abolition Bill'. John Key's looking after it so it'll be introduced next sitting day.''

''The end of an era. I suppose the redundancy payments were pretty hefty?''

''That they were. That they were. But if you had any knowledge of finance you'd know it's cheaper to give someone $200,000 at the farewell drinks function ($21.50 per head) than pay them $100,000 a year until they decide to slope off and open that little B&B at Clyde they've always dreamed about.

''And, of course, the councillors' salaries can all be put to good use to pay the sewage treatment company we have under contract. Sweet As (Ltd). Shanghai company. They ship it to China for the gardens. My own idea, actually.''

''Mmm. This is all very well. But what do little old ladies do now when there's a pothole in their footpath or the roof of their council flat leaks.''

''Easy. One councillor is setting up his own company. Shoulder to Cry On, it's called. You ring him and he sorts it out with whatever firm can fix the problem.

''He pops 10% on the bill and should do very nicely. Needs a certain sort of person to do that, but he's used to those calls anyway. He's the one with the nervous tic.''

''So, you still have rates coming in with no need to waste it on wages. What on earth are you doing with all that money?''

''Stadium.''

''Of course. Sorry. Shouldn't have mentioned it.''

''That's OK. Not really my worry now.''

''You're going?'''Yes. My work here is done. I'm needed elsewhere now. I'm needed wherever the citizens are badgered by the bureaucrats.

''Wherever innocent women and children cry out against increased dog licence fees. Wherever a man cannot park his car with simple dignity in the spot of his choice. Wherever an oppressed people cry out 'there are too many of them in that Civic Centre'.''

''So where to now?''

''Rome, maybe. You know the Vatican is vastly overstaffed? You probably saw the Papal Microphone Holder in pictures of the election. He's on 62 million lira a year.''