It had been raining for most of the day, and thanks to yesterdays rain, my jacket was at home attempting to dry. So I went upstairs an hour into my shift, to Christine in the offices. Christine had one of those faces of permanent distaste. Like she'd eaten something rotten ten years ago and never managed to get rid of the taste. She had long, curly brown hair and a slouching, tired walk. Probably why I wasn't looking forward to asking her for a new coat, or talking to her at all.
'Christine?' I asked over her shoulder.
She was looking down at her papers with a pen pressed down on it, like a child learning how to read. She let out a noise resembling a word. I guessed it was 'What?'
'Can you order me a new coat, please?'
'Haven't you got one?' Still looking down.
'I've been using my own, but it's at home drying. I wondered if I could order a yellow one. You know, like the ones Steve and Darren have?'
I know what you're thinking. A yellow one? But if it keeps me warm I don't care what colour it is. If it was pink with spots on I'd wear it, and happily be called Mr Blobby. Christine let out a big sigh, dropped her paper and got up.
'Follow me.' She said with another sigh.
How had she managed to get out of bed and dress herself this morning? If standing up is such a big task? I followed her out of the offices, along the walkway overlooking the store and to the stock room door. She sighed at least four more times before she unlocked the door and bumbled her way in. The room was packed to the brim with all sorts. Boxes of shoes all over the floor, brand new shirts wrapped with cellophane stacked upon the racking up the walls and packs of leaflets and brochures. Christine turned around and thrust something in my face. At first I thought it was an old beach towel, but after closer inspection it was a large, navy blue bomber jacket. It smelled like cigarette smoke and the sleeves were so worn through they were almost white. There were several stains and marks all over it, like thirty years of bodily fluid from an old, hairy trucker.
My face scrunched up, resembling Christine's distasteful face looking back at me. I didn't want to seem like I was mocking her, or ungrateful for the dirty truckers jacket, so I quickly spoke.
'Haven't you got anything else?'
'You're an XL aren't you?' She spat at me.
'Yes, XL is fine. But have you got another coat. Perhaps something....less...like that?'
'No.' Bluntly.
'Are you sure?' I tried. 'What about those two at the back?' Pointing at two pristine yellow coats hung up.
'They're taken.'
'Are you sure?'
'Yes!' She said after sighing.
That was it.
'Look! Have you got somewhere you need to be or do you mind helping me out a bit more!' I barked. Every consonant sharp and biting. She stared at me, her eyes trembling. Her face looked more distasteful than ever. Five minutes later I was in Sharon's office.
'So, you're here because apparently, you were rude to Christine.'
'You can call it rude but I was in the right.'
'You called her a cow.'
'Yes, yes I did.'
She looked at me, waiting for an explanation. So I gave her one.
'Because she is a cow. Do you know how many times she sighed whilst she was 'helping' me? Seven. Seven times. Does that sound like someone willing to help me?'
'She did help you.'
'Do I have to show you the coat again?'
'No, no. Keep that outside my office like I told you.' She said with a shudder.
'See?'
'She won't help you next time.'
'I'd be better off!'
'Again, back talk. You think you know everything, don't you. You students. Get back to work.'
So, my 'back talk' and rudeness towards Christine earned me a verbal warning. And when I got outside, I got verbal abuse.
'Look at that!' Steve yelled, holding his stomach.
'Jesus, Dylan!' Darren laughed. 'You look like a bouncer at a tramps party.'
Good one. I did look like a bouncer at a tramps party. Duncan had a more simple simile.
'You look like a tit, mate.'
Again, good one. The lads laughed a bit more. If I asked them to leave it, they kept going.
'Dylan, you could just borrow my other one.' Steve said.
'Really?'
'Yeah, it's in my car.'
'Really? You have another?'
'No, you tit!' Steve said laughing.
Of course, I was a tit. A tramp-bouncer-tit. Steve then asked me to go and clean out the trolley bay at the far end of the car park. Either the bay was clean or the smell of my coat was getting to him. I made my way over, getting a few odd looks from customers along the way. I raised my arms in a 'what can you do?' sort of way. Four or five empty bottles were in the corner of the trolley bay. It was festival season, so people buy their alcohol at the supermarket, then pour them into plastic water bottles. Good trick. I picked up a few bottles and mumbled a few curse words. Then turned around to put them into a trolley to see two young children staring at me, their mouths open. I stood, frozen, then watched as their mother come up behind them and shoo them away.
'Come on, come on children!'
The mother looked disgusted as she glared at me. Then I looked at myself, in a dirty, smelly bomber jacket, hidden inside a trolley bay, holding two empty vodka bottles, mumbling to myself.
'No, no...' I tried. But they'd rushed away.
It was time to go.
No comments:
Post a Comment