There Goes The Year

Since it's the last day of the year, I thought it would be nice to find out the highlights of the year for certain colleagues. I asked the same question to a number a people, What was your highlight of the year? This is what I got in return...


Steve
'Highlight? Well a number of things, dude. Mary, of course. That's a no brainer. Completing my Maiden back catalogue. I finally got my hands on the imported live double album from 86', that was a good day. Being a Two Time Head Porter. Re-decorating my room. Waxing my back. Just one? It would have to be the Maiden album. Don't tell Mary, though. She hasn't got that one yet. Happy new year and all that, dudes. Keep on rockin' in the free world. Vote labour.'

Mary
'Being with Steve. My wrestling career is going well, on course to be the Tag Team Champ with Sick Vicky. Oo, I've just ordered the 86' imported live double album by Maiden, pretty excited about that. What did Steve say?'

Alex
'Getting engaged to Fran, of course. I'm glad she said yes. I lost the receipt for the ring. Argos wouldn't have let me return it.'

Darren
'Becoming a manager. This office. Shouldn't you be working, Dylan?'

Sharon
'Get back to work, Dylan.'

Fran
'My charity work. Do visit my site www.workingwomeninwheelchairs.org.uk You can donate on there. The Facebook site is under way too. Highlight? I suppose Alex's proposal would be up there, even though the ring wasn't the best. He shouldn't have left the receipt in the box.'


And as for me, I guess my highlight is this, the chance to talk about the people I work with and the things that happen. Sometimes I try to kid myself that it will change, that people will chagce. But this isn't a film, it's not an advert on ITV, it's real life. It's a car park. It won't change. Even after another year. Steve's still a sweaty rocker mummy's boy, Alex is still a bit stupid and I'm still working with them. You wouldn't have it any other way, would you?



Happy New Year everyone!

Happy Christmas (Door Is Over)

Snow is all well and good until it outstays it's welcome. It's like a friend you only see every few months. They come round to your house, eat all your food and stay for a few days, unwilling to make an exit until you have to boot them out with a lie, bounding out of the house claiming your mum's ill. The snow had started around midday yesterday, and showed no signs of stopping. That, agreeably made the whole country sing 'I'm Dreaming Of a White Christmas' and 'Let It Snow' in unison. For the first time, our supermarket had advertised that we'd actually open on Boxing Day, amongst the sneers and groans of the colleagues, until they realised they'd be paid double time. It's not a very difficult decision when they were given that information. Work or eat food all day until you're ill, and talk to boring family members.

It's funny you never see the other side of snowfall in films. The ones that show the modern American family buying gifts and singing under log fires until late, sipping mulled wine until they fall asleep. But if they were true to real life, they wouldn't be able to get to the superstores because they couldn't manage to get their car out of the drive way. They wouldn't be able to log fire on as their delivery of kinder-ling got stuck on the motorway somewhere. And they'd be no singing or drinking, as your brother and uncle would have a massive argument and caused the whole family to fall out with each other.

But maybe I'm being cynical. Maybe I'm a bit of a Scrooge. And quite possibly, I'm pissed off because I had to come in and work today. Glen the greeter wasn't in. We had no security. So it was up to me and Alex to open the store at 10am and let people in. And like you, I didn't think the good people of this town would want to come to a supermarket on Boxing day, but believe me, they do. I assumed people would be...well...let me think....

• Asleep
• Still drunk
• Too tired
• No money

...and in general, uninterested in general retail at that time in their lives. But there were people outside, waiting for the store to open. I'm talking everyone. Old men in big overcoats, middle aged woman with cigarettes in their hands, whole family's waiting to get in a spend what money they had left. Even the local homeless fellow joined in the cue, admittedly to get warm and steal the cheap mince pies.

It was about ten to ten when people started knocking on the glass, asking what time the doors opened. That let to embarrassing mouthing gestures from myself, making my lips say 'ten' and holding out all of my fingers. Alex rolled up all of the shutters whilst I took the motorised trolleys off charge. Soon came more banging on the glass, the customers outside mumbling to each other in a soft whine.  After a few more mimes and finger holding, I took to just pointing at the sign on the window, which stated the complete opening times of the holiday season. Should have done that from the beginning. 10am came around and I slowly made my way to the door. I put the key in the door but I stopped halfway in.

'Hurry up, mate!' A voice said.

'Hang on, the locks frozen.'

This led to more mumblings and groans from the crowd. It suddenly felt like dawn Of The Dead. The only human left trying to keep out the blood thirsty zombies. The only difference being that I couldn't let them in, the lock was jammed and the key wouldn't budge.

'I thought you were open at ten?' I heard a voice.

'I am. We are.'

Alex scampered over to me.

'What's up?'

'The key won't move.'

A few people started banging on the glass from the outside, shouting words of panic and frustration.

'I'll go and get some di-icer of the shop floor.'

'Hurry up, Alex.'

The crowd eased off, moving back a few paces, waiting for the doors to open up. Alex had been a few minutes getting the di-icer, enough time for the odd person to wander up to store and mouth the same question to me.

'What time are you open?'

'Ten.' I said bluntly.

'...It's five past.'

'I know.'

'If you know, why aren't you open?'

'Because.'

'Because?'

'Because I can't open.'

'You're open at ten.'

'I KNOW!'

Alex was over seconds later, spraying the lock until it covered it and the key. I twiddled the key a bit until they latch clicked out of position. It wasn't that loud, but the the crowd behind the glass made an audible sigh of relief and joy, as if Christmas had come yet again. I twisted the key a bit more, and pushed both doors away from each other, but the slammed to a halt an inch apart, making the crowd make a collective 'Oooo' sound. It was like I had my own chorus in a play. 

'What's up now?' Alex asked.

'It's the ice. It's frozen the doors at the bottom.'

I clanged the doors back and forwards a few times but it wouldn't move any further out. The crowd started moving closer, a few of them got hold of the doors and started pushing it, sometimes a bit too much.

'Hang on, mate. You'll damage the door.' I said to a rather middle class looking gentleman in a green overcoat.

'It's better than it being shut. We need to get in.'

Yeah, because goodness knows you can't go without a jar of cranberry sauce for the day. Another face appeared in-between the crack in the door.

'What time do you open?'

'Ten.'

'It's nearly ten past.'

'I know.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes.'

'But it's meant to be...'

'THE DOOR IS STUCK!'

I was breathing quite heavily, and I guess all the questions repeating themselves over and over got me a little heated. 

'There's another store down the road.' The middle class man said calmly.

That made the crowd groan in unison and walk away, led by the man in the green overcoat. At ten to eleven we finally got the doors open. It was such a pity we got absolutely no customers all day.

Merry Christmas From The Trolley Pushers!

No Time Like The Present

Thanks to the voting, Darren had made us all the Head Porter. Alex, myself, Mary and a rather pissed off Steve we're all in charge, making decisions together and uniting our department. It had been several days since Darren made the decision, and all we had decided was when to take our breaks. It being Christmas Eve, the cold freezing fog had set in over the store and to accompany it, the sheer mass of customers, bounding through the aisles, grabbing things off the shelves in preparation for the day ahead.

It was due to be Steve and Mary's first Christmas together, but with the new regime in place, there had been an awful lot of tension and competitiveness amongst them.


'Dylan, Dylan. Get over here!' Steve ushered me over. 'What is the best intro? Sweet Child O' Mine or Money For Nothing?'
'I don't know.'
'Which one is the best, though?' Mary glared at me.

Most couples argue about their mortgage or forgetting to book a babysitter. But with Steve and Mary, it was the trivial nature of a musical introduction. In situations like these, it's really a matter of opinion and taste, with no real right or wrong answer. Steve and Mary weren't having any of that, though, and wanted an 'If you had to ...' kind of answer. As if a man would charge into my house whilst I ate my tea, put a gun to my head and made me choose. In that case, I'd have a lot more to worry about than music intros.

'They're both good.' I shrugged.
'One is better than the other.' Steve said.

Maybe in some people's minds. In others, no. There is no right or wrong answer when it comes to this stuff. But in this case they were both wrong. The best intro is Voodoo Child by Jimi Hendrix. Of course I couldn't tell them that, chances are I would have made at least one of them cry.


'Are you deciding which one to buy? Because I bet you can get them both of a compilation CD or something.'

Yeah, and I bet Voodoo Child is track one.


'Speaking of buying.' Mary smiled. 'We've got you a little something. A Christmas prezzie from both of us.'
'What? I haven't got you guys anything.' I said.
'Don't worry.'
'Yeah, it's only vouchers.' Steve shrugged.

Vouchers are an odd gift. It's like giving someone and tenner and saying 'you can only spend it in one place!' Quite cruel really. But I'd gotten them nothing, so remained grateful. I took my break at half twelve like we arranged and sat down with a sandwich. Alex was soon over, slamming his dinner down on the table with a Santa Claus hat popped comicly on his head.


'What are you doing?' I asked. 'I thought we arranged for you to go on your dinner at one?'

Alex just shrugged. I'm glad our new regime was working.


'I've got you something.' Alex said through a mouthful of chips.
'What?'
'For Christmas.'
'Oh, I guessed that. But you didn't have to get me anything.'
'I know. Here.'

More vouchers.


'Thanks, mate. Steve and Mary got me a gift too. We didn't arrange anything, did we?'
'No. Just thought it would be nice.'

It is nice. I just wish the haunting feeling of shame and guilt wasn't surrounding me and my sandwich at that point. It's like when my mum writes our all her Christmas cards and sends them out. She always receives one from a family she hadn't thought of, and it worries her. For the whole year, in some cases. If we pre-arranged the gift sharing we could cut out all of the bad feelings.


'Darren wants to see you.'

Darren's office was an array of cheap tinsel and shiny paper reindeer's hanging off the ceiling. I doubt Darren decorated it himself, that's normally left to the Event's Manager, seemingly the only thing they do around Christmas time.


'Do sit, Dylan. Merry Christmas for tomorrow.'
'You too.' I cleared my throat.
'I'm giving everyone a little something. So, here you go...'

Darren handed my a white envelope. Inside was a plastic card. Vouchers for the music shop around the corner. I didn't know what to say, so I sighed a few times.


'We haven't arranged to exchanged gifts, have we?' I asked painfully.
'No.'
'It's just...I've been given gifts from a few people.'
'It's just a nice thing to do, isn't it?'
'Yes, but I wasn't told about it.'

So far I'd been given thirty five quid's worth of vouchers and felt terrible. I doubt that had ever happened to anyone. I thanked him again before leaving his office.


'Dylan?'

My name rattled out from behind me. I turned to see Sharon approaching me. Her hair was still scraped back and flame red, with a little hint of Christmas cheer in the tinsel-based hair band that shone at the back of her head.


'There you go, a little present.'
'Oh, for fucks sake!'
'Excuse me?'

Sharon doesn't like anyone! Why is she giving me presents!


'Sorry. It's just...we haven't arranged anything, have we?' I checked again.
'What do you mean?'
'Exchanging presents?'
'No, it's just a nice thing to do, isn't it?'

Sharon has never done a nice thing in her life. Why had she waited until Christmas Eve! This is the worst day of my life and I'm up fifty quid in vouchers. Merry bloody Christmas.

Don't Rock The Vote (Part Two)

I know there was only five of us, but it was a tight squeeze getting us all into Darren's office. I imagine getting your own office to be an amazing thrill. All that hard work and concentration, channelled towards your chosen field, and the joy of the reward in knowing that you're work and productivity warrants the safety of four walls, a shiny desk and one of those black, tippy chairs you get from Argos. Steve was as tactful as ever.

'Bit shit in here, isn't it?'

It was a rhetorical question, sharply aimed at us all. Alex, Mary and I stayed quiet, settling down in our chairs. Darren told him to be quiet.

'Steve tells me you used to work outside?' Mary asked.

'Yeah.' Steve spoke for Darren. 'Those were the days.'

'It wasn't for me.' Darren scrunched up his nose.

Is it for anyone? Maybe someone who loves pushing stuff in the rain everyday.

'Anyway, thank you for your votes.' Darren spoke loudly. 'I've counted them in, but instead of just telling you the answer...'

'The winner.' Steve corrected him.

'I thought it would be nice if you all announced who you chose, and the reason why.'

We all glanced at each other. I'm not sure any of us were up for it.

'Dylan...' Darren smiled.

'OK, erm...I chose Alex because...'

The truth was I didn't really have a reason why. And coming up with one wasn't easy, with Alex's gleaming face pointed at me. It's just that out of everyone, Alex was the only one I could possibly bare having as the head porter. So I just thought of the first thing.

'Because he's getting married next year, and I'd like to see him with a bit more confidence.'

'OK.' Darren smiled again. 'Alex?'

'Well, I voted for Dylan, because...'

'Oh, come on!' Steve bellowed, making us all flinch. 'What happened to voting for ourselves?'

'I'm sorry?' Darren asked.

'Ignore him.' I said. 'Go on, Alex.'

'Because...' Alex started again.

'I thought we had a plan.' Steve crossed his arms violently.

'Shut up!' We all shouted.

I wanted to know why Alex voted for me, obviously.

'Mary?' Darren asked.

Hang on, what happened to Alex's reason?

'Well, I voted for myself.'

'What?' Steve leaned into her. 'Mary?'

Mary kept her eyes on Darren.

'What are you doing?' He asked his girlfriend.

'It's her choice, Steve.'

'Bollocks.'

'Steve!'

'Sorry, but....bollocks.'

There was a few moments of silence, as we all waited for the reason behind Steve's reaction.

'Well that's bollocksed it, hasn't it?'

'What? Why?'

'I voted for myself.'

'OK.' Darren smiled.

'So, what happens now? Toss up? Scissors, rock, paper?' Steve suggested.

'No.'

Even I was confused now. We'd all received a vote. Me and Alex voted for each other and Mary and Steve had voted for themselves. One vote each.

'Let's vote again.' Alex said.

'No. You all got a vote each. You all clearly think you all are qualified to be the head porter.'

'Well, no.' Steve interrupted.

'Steve.' Mary warned him.

'So, with that in mind, may I introduce to you you're new head porter...'

There was an inaudible drum roll that rattled around the room. Alex looked to the door, expecting a a man to walk in and declare himself in charge, and Steve put his arm up in the air like a school kid.

'All of you.' Darren smiled.

'What?' Steve asked.

'Yes, you are all the head porter.'

'How will that work?' I asked.

'Well, if there's a decision that needs to be made, you all discus it as a group.'

'Bollocks.'

Steve had said that for to much today. Darren dismissed us all and we walked down together, the collective Head Porter. We could have our own club or Facebook group, uniting every week for a poker night over a few beers, discussing ways to improve our department whilst becoming great friends. It was tough to imagine that, with Mary and Steve arguing in front of me.

'Why didn't you vote for me? I'm a Two Time...'

'A Two Time Head porter, I know. I just thought we needed a change.'

'Well you've got your way. Now we all have a say in what happens. It's going to get us nowhere!'

Alex and I let the happy couple walk on, slowing down behind them. Alex voted for me. A simple but effective way of displaying his thoughtfulness and high opinion of me.

'So why did you vote for me?' I asked.

'Simple. I eeny, meeny, miny, moed it.' He shrugged.

'I'm sorry?'

'Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.' Pointing at me on the last word.

It's hard to be thoughtful when no thought is involved.

Don't Rock The Vote (Part One)

In films, when people leave their job, they usually hold box under their arm with a pot plant inside. Next to the pot plant is lots of stolen stationary and perhaps a framed picture of a loved one. I’d love to leave a job like that, a final walk along the dull corridors, glancing up at your ex-colleagues with glint in your eye, your shirt unbuttoned and tie casually hung. That can’t happen in supermarkets. If you’re not a manager, there is no office or desk to keep your pot plant or framed pictures. You have one single locker to call you own, which is just about spacious enough inside to encase a small tortoise. A colleague did that once, in fact. He got fired the next day.

So there was no final walk for Wayne when he decided to leave us. Well, there might have been, but he was professional enough to work his full eight-hour shift and calmly go home, two weeks after handing in his notice to Darren. Darren didn’t say anything to the rest of us. Why would he? Only one thing would happen if he did. And that one thing did happen, the minute we found out he wasn’t coming back.

‘Darren, can I sit down?’

‘Steve, you’re supposed to knock first.’

Darren had got his own office now, next to Sharon’s. He’d been waiting for Steve to crash into it all day.

‘Sorry, but, can I?’

‘Yeah, yeah. Take a seat.’

Steve threw himself down on the itchy blue chair and bit his lip. He was trying to be casual and calm, when he really wanted Darren to make him the Head porter again.

‘Is there something I can help you with?’ Darren stifled a smile.

‘Yeah, the light in the foyer is flickering. You might need someone to look at that.’

‘Right…’

Darren held Steve’s somewhat innocent stare.

‘Is that all?’

‘Yeah. It’s my break now, anyway, so…’

Steve got up and headed for the door. He held onto the handle and slowly turned around.

‘Oh, yeah. Almost forgot. You don’t know…who…is going to be…head porter now, do you? At all?’ Steve said in a high-pitched voice, moving his head for side to side like Stevie Wonder.

If Steve was trying to bullshit, Darren may have well have a go.

‘Oh, you’re interested in the position, are you?’

‘Interested? Errr, I might be. You know I wouldn't want us to go on without a head porter.’

Yeah, I wouldn't know how to deal with not getting my rota the same time every month. Considering I do the same shifts every week it would be hard to keep up. Steve was a Two Time Head Porter. Two Time Head Porter sounds good, doesn’t it? Especially when you use the capital letters. A bit like ‘Two Time World Champion’ or ‘Two Time Award Winner’. But in case you’ve forgotten, the two people who stripped him of his ‘title’ were Wayne and his own mother. Not something to be proud about.

‘I know you've been head porter before.’ Darren held out his hand in defence. ‘But, we can’t just give you the role back.’

‘Why? Why not?’

‘They’d be outrage amongst the others.’

I don’t think so. I didn’t want it. Alex wasn’t bothered. And Mary is Steve’s girlfriend; the only person in the world who considers Steve attractive. I’m guessing she wanted him to be Head Porter too.

‘We’re going to put it to a vote.’

‘A vote?’

‘A vote.’ Darren confirmed. ‘You all get one say. The most popular wins.’

‘That’s a good idea.’ Steve smiled. ‘I don’t know why other people do this…’

‘I think they do, Steve. It’s pretty popular in politics and things.'

Steve wasn’t listening to Darren’s sarcasm. He sat back down in his chair and folded his arms, thinking of ways to win the vote.

‘We should have done this when Wayne was here.’ Darren smiled.

‘Wayne, he was a gay boy, anyway.’

Darren stared Steve down.

‘Why did he leave?’ Steve asked.

‘He thought his fellow colleagues were too immature.’

Steve took the hit, uncrossed his arms and left the room. But not before mumbling ‘Gay boy’ to himself.

Ten minutes later he was down to all of us, talking us through the voting.

'So, we all have one say. We all write it down and whoever gets the most, wins.'

'That's a good idea.' I said.

'That's what I said! Don't you think they should use it for other things?'

'You mean more important things?'

Which was everything in the world, ever.

'Yeah.' Steve nodded.

'I suppose. When do we hand them in?'

'End of the day. Just give them to me. I'll pass them on.'

We all looked at each other.

'No.' Alex said. 'You'll just look at them all.'

'And change them if you don't like them.' Mary added.

'All right, fine! Give them to Darren.'

I don't know how far Steve thought he would get with that, but it was worth a try.

'So, let's get voting!' Steve clapped his hands together.

'Remember, you can't vote for yourself.' I said flippantly.

'Eh?'

'Yeah, that's not fair.'

'Of course I can. If I think I would be the best Head Porter, I can.'

The argument went on for several minutes, and because most of us weren't bothered anyway, we let Steve get his way. Half an hour later, Darren had all the votes and we were up in his office.

End of part one.

Pretty In Drink

I’m going to let you know of a little secret. It may not be a secret to you, you may know of this already but never think about it. It may just be a natural idea that you take for granted. Don’t worry, I understand. It happens to the best of us.

It’s a phenomena used all over world by many different people. If you’re a businessman, a student, a retired person or even famous, it will help you. If you’re busy, disinterested, tired or all three, it can come in handy when you need it the most. Alex needed it today, so I introduced it to him. It's called 'The Pop-in'. He needed it because he had a problem.

‘Fran’s invited me to a party.’

It didn’t sound like a problem.

‘Yeah, so? Sounds good to me.’ I shrugged.

‘She wants me to meet her parents.’

‘You haven’t met them before? 

Alex shook his head.

'You and Fran live together!’

‘Yeah, I don’t think they’re happy about that.’

I can see why he needed my help.

‘They’ll be fine about it.’ I tried.

‘I suppose, but all the relatives will be there and I’m not good at first impressions.’

Yeah, he insulted Fran when they first met.

‘They’ll want to chat and I’m not good at chat.’

He was right, he wasn’t. The typical English person has a gene in their body that can easily chat about the big three. The weather. The latest football score and last night’s TV. Alex’s gene hadn’t evolved. That’s why we spent yesterday talking about a new game show we created. Basically, put famous people in rags and make them be homeless for a month. They have to find food and try not to be recognised. The BBC will snap it up soon. You wait and see.

‘Just do a pop-in.’ I said.

‘A what?’

‘A pop-in.’ I shrugged.

I can’t believe he’d never heard of a pop-in. It saved me a few times in my life. I had no choice to pass it on.

‘It’s simple. You turn up, do a meet and greet, buy a pint. Quick chat to the relatives and then say you’ve got work in the morning, so you need an early night. They think you’re caring for turning up and a hard worker, you’re out in half an hour. Easy.’

Alex looked thrilled.

‘Where have you got this from?’

‘It’s been around for ages. I’m not sure who first did it, but he deserves an award.’

‘Yeah, definitely a medal or something.’

I enlightened Alex with some of my stories of recent pop-in’s, and there have been quite a lot of them. Wedding receptions, which the couple deserved because they didn’t invite me to the ceremony: it’s basically saying “We like you, but not enough to see us in a church.” christenings (the child doesn’t know, does he?) and even funerals. I’ll admit that one was a mistake. But Alex didn’t mind, he took the information and ran with it, but the next time I saw him he looked pained.

‘I turned up. Did the meet and greet. Bought a pint.’ He winced.

‘Good. Sounds about right so far…’

‘Chatted the relatives…’

‘Yeah.’

‘Her Granddad's is a lovely bloke. Good dancer too…’

I didn’t ask.

‘Did you say you had to be up in the morning?’

‘Yes, but Fran gave me another pint.’

‘OK. So you popped it for what? 45 minutes…an hour?’

‘Nope.’

‘So what happened?’

‘I stayed all night.’

‘What happened to the pop-in?’

‘I couldn’t do it!’ Alex shrieked. ‘Every time I said I was off they forced another pint at me.’

‘Bastards.’

Sounds harsh, but they were bastards. Forcing a man to stay at a party, when they think he’s working in the morning. Alex didn’t even get his coat off, he was so prepared to do the pop-in, but they weren’t having any of it.

‘I forgot what happened after the eight pint, I only bought one.’

‘The pop-in pint.’ I sympathised.

‘Yeah.’

Alex put his hand to his forehead and rubbed it. It seemed to me that there was something else on his mind.

‘Fran didn’t speak to me this morning. She stayed in bed.’

‘Oh, that’s bad. What did you do?’

‘I don’t know. After eight pints I forgot my name. She’s in soon.’

It suddenly hit me that my advice had viciously backfired. Without the pop-in, Alex may have been a bit more relaxed and dare I say it, enjoyed the night.

‘Did you speak to her mum and dad?’

‘Yeah, but only towards the end of the night, they were busy chit chatting to other people.’

‘So what do you remember?’

‘I remember them questioning me about living with Fran…that’s all I can remember.’

We spent the next hour trying to complete the jigsaw of Alex’s failed pop-in, but it was interrupted by Fran, shouting us over as she got helped out of her Dad’s car. Fran’s Dad was a big bloke, with a rugby shirt over his big frame and a grey moustache in the middle of his bulky face. He didn’t look up once at Alex as he got back into his silver range rover, said goodbye to his daughter and sped off.

‘Did you enjoy last night?’

Fran smiled, but she is known to be a little sarcastic, so I was waiting for her to run over his foot with her wheelchair.

‘Good. Good.’ Alex swallowed hard.

‘My Granddad enjoyed his dance with you.’

Again, I didn’t ask.

‘He did ask why you had your coat on, though.’

‘Bit cold in there, wasn’t it?’

‘I didn’t think so.’

There were a few moments of silence that was filled with tension and inaudible questions that couldn’t be answered.

‘And what you said to my parents…’ Fran smiled.

‘Oh…’ Alex strained a smile back. ‘Forget about it…’

‘No, no. I won’t forget it.’

She won’t forget it. That was bad. What will she not forget?

‘It was so sweet. You’ll take care of me forever...’

‘Yes. Yes, that’s what I said.’

That sounds like the kind of thing someone would sat after eight pints. Alex smiled to release his tension locked inside his knotted stomach, and glanced over at me.

‘My Mum thanked you for her dance too. She said you’re quite a mover!’

‘Is he? Wow, didn’t know that!’ I joined in.

‘I wanted to make a good impression.’ Alex shrugged.

‘You did.’ Fran reached for Alex’s hand. ‘And they’re coming round our flat next weekend. My Dad wants to learn some of them moves for their anniversary!’

The pop-in was unnecessary. Alex had managed to make an amazing splash on Fran’s family in one drink-filled night. It may even improve Fran’s parent’s marriage with the dance steps he will pass on.

‘We can make it a party of our own. My granddad wants another dance! Dylan, you’re invited.’ Fran smiled.

Fuck the pop-in, I’m going to stay all night! Might bring my camera too.

Man vs Mountain

We had been sat in the meeting room for well over forty minutes. And that’s too long when you’re in a room with Mary and Steve. Alex was on the other end of the row, tapping buttons on his phone. We had all been called up here for a team-building seminar with a member of UK Mountain Climbers. I know what you’re thinking, a mountain climber? A big, hefty, strong mountain climber. We got Philip.


Philip bundled into the room; his round glasses nearly slipping off his face from the sweat on his brow. He looked about Steve’s age, with a grey polo shirt on that look too big for him and a waterproof coat over the top. He was going slightly bald which made his chubby face look perfectly round.

‘All right, guys. Are we all here? Cool and groovy.’

He didn’t give us time to answer the question. We all gave each other a glance, to show our distaste.

‘Right.’ Philip clapped his hands together. ‘I’m here today to talk to you about team building. Who am I?’

We all looked at each other again. Was that a question aimed at us? I went to answer it but got cut off.

‘Well, my name is Philip and I’m a mountain climber. I’ve done 14 climbs in my time, sometimes for our charity, to raise money of Mountain Climbing awareness.’

He left it a second for us to say something, but no one spoke.

‘Any questions so far? OK, cool and groovy. There’s a lot of teamwork in what I do, and sometimes I am reliant on it…’

Normally seminars start more informally than this. Tea and biscuits, bit of a chat. Philip just got on with it, and six minutes later, his eyes were bulging with the excitement of his chosen hobby.

‘Climbing the highest peaks with your fellow adventurers, there’s nothing more invigorating and exciting!’ He yelled.
‘Exciting?’ Alex asked. ‘You want to get on the XBOX, mate.’
‘X what?’
‘Exactly. You said you do it for charity?’
‘Yeah, raised about £400 last year.’ Philip smiled.
‘Couldn’t you just do something easier?’

We all stared at Alex. I’d only known Philip for about ten minutes, but I’m guessing mountain climbing was all he’d got in his life. His face slowly fell into sadness and confusion, like he’d just been told his cat had been run over by a vehicle that doesn’t exist.

‘What do you mean?’ He questioned Alex.
‘You know, wear a costume or something. Or do a dance.’

I doubt Philip could dance.

‘Something a bit less dangerous than climbing mountains.’ Alex said, still with his arms folded.
‘Well, I enjoy it.’
‘What if you get stuck?’ Alex came right back.
‘I try not to.’

That’s probably rule one in the Mountain Climbers Handbook: Try Not To Get Stuck.

‘It’s a bit risky though, isn’t it?’
‘No.’ Philip tried to shake it off. ‘OK, cool and groovy, and questions so far?’
‘Or die?’ Alex continued. ‘Are you saying you’re willing to risk your life for charity? I mean, what’s £400 if you’re dead at the end of it?’

Philip’s soft shrug fell away as he leaned back onto the desk, gazing into the back wall. I should have said something there and then, anything to stop Alex or to break Philip’s sense of increasing helplessness. But I hardly knew the man, and saying ‘cool and groovy’ more than once in a day didn’t help his case.

Philip let out a soft squeak and bowed his head, clutching the edge of the table, turning his knuckles white. We all looked at Alex. His face turned white as Philip began to sob gently in front of us. It’s odd, watching a grown man cry. You don’t know whether to laugh of feel bad. Steve knew.

‘Steve, stop laughing.’ Alex uttered to him.
‘You did this.’ He replied. ‘Don’t blame me!’

Alex shushed him and looked up at Philip, his head still lowered and jerking up every few seconds with another squeak.

‘I try to be a good person…’ He whimpered.

I urged myself to say ‘You are a good person!’ but nothing came out. You can’t tell someone you’ve just met that they’re a good person; they could be a murderer for all you know. Philip seemed unstable enough to be one.

‘But I’m just ruining my life. My own mother tells me not to do it. She only talks to me because I pay her rent.’

Steve let out a stifled laugh. He was the last person to find that funny, at least Philip pays to live with his mum.

‘I feel so stupid.’ He muttered, after a long deep breath, clenching his eyes with his fingers.
‘No, you’re not stupid.’ Alex finally spoke. ‘It’s just a bit pointless.’

Wrong. This made Philip rise to his feet, grab his waterproof jacket and with a hard sniff, quickly walked out of the room.

‘What the hell what that?’ I stood up.
‘What? I didn’t know he was going to cry on us?’
‘We didn’t know you were going to insult the man!’
‘It was a bit harsh, Alex.’ Mary winced.

We all watched from the window, Philip driving off in his silver Volvo, probably crying onto his polo shirt. We all didn’t expect him to cry. Well, you wouldn’t, would you? It seemed that Alex had pointed out a stranger’s mediocre life in little less than half an hour.

The next day, Alex was stood in the foyer.

‘Phil didn’t deserve that.’ He said earnestly. ‘Especially with all the work Fran does for her charity. I should be a bit more thoughtful.’


Oh, I should have mentioned; Alex was stood in the foyer, dressed as a mountain. I bet you’re thinking that’s a bit too hard to imagine. Even I thought that when I looked at him. Overnight, he had managed to create a large model out of papier-mâché, and cut a hole in the top so he could fit into it. It was painted black with white bits on the top to denote snow, and on the front, read the words ‘UK MOUNTAIN CLIMBERS’ Alex had done his research, contacting the organization and making himself a registered fundraiser.

‘It was easy enough.’ He said. ‘They knew Fran from the WWW.’

That’s the Working Women In Wheelchairs’, if you’ve forgotten.

‘So, I’m going to stand here all day…’
‘Dressed as a mountain?’
‘Yes, and raise money for Philip.’

What a great thing Alex was prepared to do. Noble, honourable, considerate. It was such a shame he looked like a complete tit. Four hours went by and Alex had managed to raise 14p and two old till receipts.

‘I think people don’t care about mountain climbers.’
‘I think you proved that point yesterday.’ I suggested.
‘Shut it, you.’

I’ve never been threatened by a mountain before. At that moment, Philip wondered into the store, grabbed a basket and looked up at us. I don’t think he was expecting to see Alex again in his life, let alone dressed as a mountain; the one thing that made him cry hours earlier.

‘Lads…’
‘Philip.’ He both nodded.
‘What err…are you doing?’

That was a good question.

‘Raising money.’ Alex eyes widened. ‘For you. I mean, for UK Mountain Climbers.’

Philip looked made up, but he didn’t want to show it. So as his face turned red he shrugged and moved closer.

‘How much have you raised?’ He asked, trying to peer into the bucket.
‘It’s not important at the moment.’ Alex moved it away. ‘What’s important is that I’m raising awareness.’

Philip and Alex smiled at each other. I didn’t know where to look. It’s a bit odd watching a man smiling at a mountain. Steve wondered in and broke the tension.

‘Haha, you look like a right tit, Al! Why are you raising money for that stupid thing?’


Steve hadn’t noticed Philip stood two feet away from him. I don’t blame him; Philip’s a pretty unnoticeable guy. He bowed his head again and his shoulders fell, a reconstruction of yesterday, before the tears. Alex spotted it and ran at Steve, bolting at him with the sound of a charging rugby player. Philip didn’t have time to cry again, he was too wrapped up in the scuffle at his feet. Steve was covered by a mass of black, his feet and arms flailing around it, as Alex bounced on top. There was so much papier-mâché that Steve’s squealing became muffled and distorted, covered by Alex’s growls of aggression. Soon enough, the mountain had managed to pin Steve down to the ground.

‘Its not a stupid thing, it’s for Mountain Climbers! Honest, brave mountain climbers! Who risk their lives!’
‘OK OK, get off me!!’ Steve squealed.

The mountain released his pray and managed pick himself off the floor, floundering as it got to his feet.

‘And that goes for anyone who thinks this is a stupid thing!’ Alex circled the foyer, preaching the word to the whole store whilst trying to sort out the position of his costume so his face would fit through the hole.

Alex raised £127 in the end. Being threatened by a mountain makes you give to charity. OXFAM should try that.

CrimeWatch (Part Two)

'Did you see what I saw?'

It was Danny, stood at his little desk by the front doors, with a smug yet worried smile on his face.

'I'm sorry?'

'The man. By the watches.'

'What?' I creased my face up and moved away from him.

'I saw it too. If he doesn't pay for that, we are having him.'

We? I'm not getting involved. I can't get involved. He's my neighbour. If he finds out I helped catch him, that's it. Home life will be hell. He's still got our stepladder that he borrowed off us, we'll never see that again.

'I don't know who you're talking about?'

'Yes you do.'

It's really shit when idiots get the better of you. I moved over to his desk.

'OK, but you should know something about him.'

'What?' Danny moved his head back. 'Is he dangerous?'

'God no.'

Yesterday he was out in the garden teaching his cousin how to skip. Hardy a dangerous man.

'I know him.' I said quietly.

'Brilliant. That will help us when the police arrive.'

'What? No. Not the police!'

'Yeah, they'll want his address. If he doesn't give it to us...'

'No, Danny. I can't be a part of this.'

'You don't have to. All you have to do is be a witness.'

That sounds like being a part of it.

'What? A witness? Why?'

'Well, I only caught a bit of it of camera. I need a witness for back up.'

I'm not a witness. I'm certainly not a back up. 'Back up' sounds like it requires skills and effort. Two things I can't pull off whilst trying to get my neighbour arrested. But sure enough, Jake was stopped at the door by Danny and a few managers. He was made to handover the watch and escorted to the security office. He said they where a little short on cash after their daughter was born, and needed a few Christmas presents. I got a call from Danny an hour later.

'Dylan. Can you come to my office please.'

It wasn't his office. He just used it like all the other colleagues who did his job.

'Why?'

There was a slight pause. Danny had to choose his words carefully in front of Jake.

'I need you to come and fill in a few details.'

'Can't I do it here...on the phone?'

'No.'

'Why not?'

'You just can't.'

'I'm a bit busy, Danny.'

I wasn't. The car park was empty. I really didn't want to go and finish Jake off. Why can't people do it over the phone? The courts would be done a lot faster. Or even with text messages! 'WE FND THE DFENDENT NT GUILTY.' You'll be out by lunch and the guilty man wouldn't get to see you. You'd be safe.

I opened the heavy office door slightly and put my hand through the door.

'Can I have the details, please?' I asked, in a slightly lower voice.

'Come in. Take a seat, Dylan.'

I cleared my throat and tried again, hiding my face with the door and waving my hand about.

'The details. I'll fill them in out here.'

'Why?' Danny asked.

'I've told you, I'm busy!'

My lower voice disappeared when I said that. I was getting annoyed at Danny. He knew I knew Jake, but he still wouldn't give me the details.

'Just come in and sit down. It's not just something to fill in. We need you to tell us it was him.'

'Yes, It was.'

'You've not seen him yet.'

'I can just tell.'

I heard Danny get up and yank the door open, revealing my sweating face behind it. Jake was sat on a chair in the corner, looking up at me.

'Dylan! I didn't know you worked here!'

He smiled as he spoke, as if we'd just bumped into each other on the milk aisle. There was no need for hours of wondering who I was and avoiding me, he knew who I was straight away.

'Hiya! You all right?'

Of course he wasn't all right. He was ten minutes away from a pair of handcuffs on him.

'Yeah, I've been better.'

'Dylan. Is this the man who you saw with the watch?'

'Yes. No.'

'What?'

'Yes and no.' I said quickly.

'Yes and no?' Danny asked.

'Yes. Yes and no. Yes I saw him with it. But no...I didn't see...you know...'

Danny looked annoyed. Jake looked confused. I felt both.

'You...didn't see him put the watch in his pocket?'

'No.'

'Well it was in his pocket when he chose to leave without paying.' Danny folded his arms.

'I've told you, I'm sorry.' Jake said sincerely.

'He is sorry.' I said.

Suddenly I was sticking up for him. I didn't want to be involved and now I was the defendants lawyer. I don't get paid enough for this.

'All we need from you is to confirm he put it in his pocket. Then we have a witness.'

'OK, but under one condition.' I sat down.

'We won't tell anyone in store, you'll be completely anonymous.'

'No...'

'You won't have to go to court.'

'No...'

'Just a quick chat to the police.'

'Not that...'

I looked at Jake.

'Can I have my stepladder back before you go to prison?'

CrimeWatch (Part One)

I can honestly say I've never stolen anything in my life. Apart from when I was 13 in the local paper shop. It wasn't a ram-raid or anything, at that age I couldn't plan something of that scale. I put twelve sweets into my 10p mix. After a few weeks I realised the old woman behind the counter wasn't counting what I put in. You know what happens, one thing leads to another. Ten becomes eleven, eleven becomes twelve, and I got away with it, too. That's the main reason why people keep doing it, the fact that they get away with it. But I stopped early. I got home that day, feeling a bit sick from the sugar and swore I wouldn't steal again. Probably because I choked on the last one. Bloody cola bottles.

It was yet another Bullshit Wednesday with Steve. Since he and Mary started going out with other, the bullshit had reduced quite a bit. I guess he had other things on his mind. Mary normally works today, but last week one of her opponents, Death Beth, if you're asking, broke her arm jumping off the ropes. The manager was furious, and ordered a week long course in Wrestling Safety. A little bit of a contradiction, in my opinion. If you want to be safe, don't wrestle.

 So it was just me and Steve today, and to stop him banging on about Mary or those little figureens he paints, I started a conversation of my own.

 'I watched Forrest Gump last night.'
'Great film.'
'Yeah.' I nodded.

 I wanted to talk about 'The Great Films' of our time, but Steve soon sabotaged it.

'You don't get many slow fellas in films, do you?'
'What?'
'Disabled people.'
'Of course you do.'
'Go on then, smart arse. Name some!' Steve ordered.
'You mean disabled people....in films?'
'Yeah.'
'I don't know, erm...Rain Man. He was autistic.'
'Never seen it.'
'The Elephant Man.'
'Yeah, that is a disability.'

I was struggling now. I knew there were loads more, but when you're put on the spot, it's difficult. God knows how Glen the Greeter did it on The Weakest Link, he came third. Thinking back, I could have said the big lad in The Green Mile, the bad guy in The Usual Suspects or Dr Evil, if a scar on your face counted. But I had a bit of a lapse in thought and went for something else.

 'Dumbo?'

Steve burst out laughing, which I predicted.

'What? He had a disability, didn't he?' I defended myself.
'By having big ears?'
'Yeah!'
'Joan from the bakery department has big ears, I'm not sure she counts it as a disability!'


I suppose  he was right. The checkout team asked us to get them some more bags from the warehouse, something that Steve loves to do, as he can skive without many people noticing him. We walked through the store, past the customer services desk and along the aisle full of Christmas stuff. On our left stood the jewellery stand, where a few people milled about looking at earrings and shiny gold bracelets. I noticed a face I recognised by the watches. It happens a lot at work, you see someone you know and because it's out of context, in a different place, you automatically can't place them. You spend the whole day thinking of their name and hope you don't bump into them. I soon remembered it was Jake, the man who lives next door to me. The half of a young couple who had just had a baby girl. They'd only been living beside me about around six months, he seemed a nice lad. A couple of years older than me, with a stylish overgrown beard and expensive jeans on.

 Whilst we passed him, I noticed the watch he was holding slip into his jacket pocket. Me and Steve were walking quite fast, but I'm sure I saw it. I stopped and stepped back a few paces, slowly peering over to where he was stood. There was a bulge in his pocket, like a box was stuck in it, proof of what he had done. I didn't want to believe it at first. I watched him look around the store, biting his top lip with his eyes slightly widened.

'Dylan.'
'Hang on.' I said to Steve, my eyes still on Jake.
'What are you looking at?'

 I couldn't tell Steve what I saw. If I didn't want to believe it myself, I couldn't make others believe too.

 'Nothing. Thought I saw someone I knew.'

We walked on to the warehouse. Steve chatted to one of the warehouse staff about new film that's not been released yet, whilst perched on a bit of racking along the warehouse walls. I grabbed the box of bags and headed back. It was theft, at least it was going to be, when he decides to walk out of the store without paying. I walked along the same ailse again to check if he was still there. Now he was a few yards away, fingering a knitted jumper that was hung up in front of him. He still looked nervous, looking from side to side and sweating slightly. I couldn't tell anyone. We were neighbours. Neighbours are important, they even made a TV show about them. I don't think they'd make a TV about something that wasn't important, no one would watch it.

I could just forget about it. I'm sure lots of things happen in supermarkets that are not seen or forgotten about. Yeah, I could just have a quick word with him in the morning. Over the garden fence with cup of tea. I'd give him advice and tell him that you could have been caught. Maybe we become good friends afterwards and he would tell me where he gets his nice shoes from. And out of a really bad thing, a really good thing blossoms. The friendship of two neighbours. I can see it now.

 'Did you see what I saw?' Danny asked, staring up at me from his security desk.

Oh no. I can't see it any more.



End of part one.

Law Of The Worlds

'What do you think?'

Alex was stood in front of me, a huge smile stitched to his face, with a shirt and tie on.

'Nice. Very nice.'

I was being genuine. I know sometimes I can get sarcastic, especially with people I work with. It's to make me feel better about working outside. The only thing that makes it worse is when they don't realise I'm being sarcastic, even when I'm at my most sarcastic. I think I get it from my Dad. He was sarcastic with me from a very early age, so it was engrained in me and made to appreciate it. Some father's pass on the rules of chess or their old vinyl collection, I got sarcasm. And no doubt I'll be passing it on to my son, and the rules of when and when not to do it. Funerals, in church and job interviews being the top three. The rules also apply to farting.

Alex was in a shirt and tie and was due to be in court in an hour, to support his brother Duncan. Alex didn't tell me that much about why his twin may go to prison, mainly because Alex didn't know enough, but it was something to do with robbing a car. I always knew Duncan would go to prison somewhere down the line, he just had that look. Maybe for drugs or punching someone for having a better X-BOX game, but robbing a car was hard to believe. Simply because he couldn't drive. Probably why he got caught. It would be hard to drive off in a stolen ford focus when you can't catch it on the bite.

'I bought the tie from here. It looks good doesn't it?'
'Yeah, you look snazzy.'

Do people say snazzy any more?

'Really smart, mate.'

Smart, that's better.

'Brilliant. Just going to get some dinner before I go.'
'OK, mate.'

Alex trotted off in store and I got back to my row of trolleys. It was a cold day, and when I say cold, I mean cold. The mist was low and ice was on the ground, enough ice for me to walk slowly, with my hands out to balance myself. Isn't it odd how a bit of ice can make you look like a complete tit? It's like when people walk on a pebbled beach with no shoes on. It doesn't matter how cool you are, you look stupid.

I pushed my row of trolleys up, but as I did, a woman shut the boot of her car and got in it, leaving the trolley beside it. It really pisses me off when people do that, so much so that it made me say 'Oh, for fucks sake.' Out loud, as well. I realised I said it out loud when a girl behind me made a noise of disapproval and scooted over to me.

'Excuse me? What was that?'

I knew what is was, did she want me to repeat it? If she was so offended, she probably didn't want me to repeat it.

'Sorry?'
'Is that the right kind of language to be using? On a public car park? Whilst at work?'

She was right. Three questions I couldn't get out of.

'No.' I hung my head low. 'I'm sorry.'

She was a small woman of about thirty, with a long winter coat on and straight dark hair and harsh, sharp features on her face.

'Can I speak to your manager, please?'
'Yeah, sure. Has someone damaged your car?' I asked, looking for her car.
'No. I wish to speak to someone about your language.'

I felt stupid. I know people are offended by bad language, but was it really enough to talk to Darren about it? Darren wasn't in today. Oh, no. Not Sharon. Surely not.

'Oh, yes. OK.'

I led the woman up to the store, like a school child on his way to the headmaster's office. It's hard to walk like a guilty man when there's ice on the ground. You look more like a tightrope walker than anyone else. As we reached the foyer, the warm air hit us like a sledgehammer, making me take off my hat and gloves. We walked past Glen the greeter and by the checkouts. It was then that I did something stupid and genius at the same time. I saw Alex by the customer cafe, chatting away to the girl behind the counter. I wandered over to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

'Alex?'

He turned around and smiled at me.

'All right, mate?'

I winked at him, which felt odd, and shot at quick look to the girl beside me.

'This customer would like to speak to you.'
'OK.' He shrugged.
'She wants to speak to a manager.'

I said 'a manager' with wide eyes, gleaming at him to take the hint.

'OK.'

I wasn't sure if he got the hint or not. He just shrugged again and bit into his bacon butty.

'Are you on your break?' The woman asked Alex.
'Yes.' I said quickly. 'But I'm sure he's got time to speak to you. It's quite important.'
'OK.' Alex said again with another shrug.
'Your colleague here used offensive language.' She said bluntly. 'On the car park as well, what if a child heard it?'
'What was the offensive language?' 
'I'm sorry?' The woman tilted her head.
'The words? What was the words he used?'
'It was only one offensive word.' I said.

Alex pushed out his lips and moved his head from side to side. I still wasn't sure if he was sure what I was trying to do. But he was in a shirt and tie, enough to make him look like a manager around here. The woman seemed to be believing it, the trouble was getting Alex to know what he was doing.

'But it was bad, Alex. I'm sorry.'
'OK.' 
'And I'm sorry to you.' I turned to the woman.
'Apology accepted. Let's not have it happen again.' She pointed at me.

This was brilliant. I was off the hook. I don't know why I doubted doing it in the first place. I do know, it was the fear of getting caught. And this wasn't an American sit-com, it was real-life. And we did get caught. That's why ten minutes later, the three of us were in Sharon's office.

'So, what's all this about?' Sharon snarled as she sat down with one of her long cigarettes.
'These two tricked me.' The woman sat down first. 'This one pretended to be a manager.'
'Did I?' Alex asked.

Now I know if Alex knew what he was doing. Of course he didn't. All he said was 'OK'. Manager's can't do that, they'd be fired on the spot. They probably wouldn't even have got the job, thinking about it.

'Yes. I asked to speak to a manager and this one brought me to him.' She pointed at me.
'And you believed he was a manager?' Sharon asked.
'He's dressed like it.' The woman shrugged.

See, I told you.

'Hang on. Hang on.' Sharon put her elbows on her table and dragged her hair back with her fingers. 'Dylan, you told her that he was a manager?' 
'I might have.' 
'You did.' The woman looked up at me.
'Sorry, what's your name?' Sharon asked.
'Julia.'
'Julia, I'm sorry about the mix up.'
It wasn't a mix up. It was deception.'
'OK. That's sorted.' Sharon cleared her throat and smiled.

There was a pause as we all looked at each other.

'Can I get off now?' Alex pointed to the door. 'I've got to be in court in twenty minutes.'
'Why? What have you done?' Sharon asked.
'Nothing.'
'Sorry, this isn't finished. I want these two to be disciplined?'
'Why? Because of the deception?'
'Yes, and for swearing.'
'What swearing?' Sharon asked.

Sharon hadn't been told that yet. I was getting a headache and I think everyone else felt the same.

'He swore.' Julie pointed at me.
'At you?'
'No. But I heard it.'
'Right.'

Sharon knew she had to punish us both, but was a little confused as to when, how and at what degree. She leant back, waiting for Julia to leave in the knowledge that Alex and I would get shouted at today. But she stayed bolted to the chair.

'Dylan. Don't swear. Alex. Don't...he does look like a manager, though, doesn't he?' Sharon narrowed her eyes.
'I've got to be in court. I bought the tie here, do you like it?' Alex smiled.
'I'm sorry? Can we can back to the point?'
'What are you in court for?' Sharon asked Alex.
'Oh, for fuck's sake!' Julia stood up violently.

There was a short pause after the three us flinched at Julia's reaction. Sharon was the first to speak.

'I don't think that kind of language is appropriate.'

Julie was thrown out of the store for abusive language. It's a good job too, Sharon was too confused to shout at people today.