Lie Me A River

I have another term for Wednesdays. Bullshit days. 100 percent bullshit.

Eight hours in which bullshit is omitted. Omitted, relieved of and violently thrown out of the mouth of Steve. He is, in no uncertain terms, a bullshitter. You all know a bullshitter. They're either your Uncle, who you only speak to at family parties, your hairdresser, who you only tolerate because they have sharp objects near your head, or in my case, my immediate superior at work.


These last few weeks I've been in a horrible mood. Having to put up with questions from other colleagues, who seem to be really interested in why I, a 22 year old graduate, happen to be still working in a Supermarket. I tell them the short story, 'nothing out there' and 'having a look around' or 'taking a break from biomedical sciences' to be greeted by that condescending little tilt of the head, as if I'm a middle-aged divorcee who has 'just not found that special someone yet.'


'Ohh, hang in there, love. It'll happen for you!' It's funny, isn't it, how the kind of people who condescend and tilt heads are often 30 odd year old women with useless kids and a fat waste-of-space husband. 'Oh' I'll say, 'hang in there!' If I had the guts, that is. So Wednesdays mark half way through the head-tilting, condescending shittyness, and I work through a day's worth of Steve's bullshit. Truth is, we didn't get off to a good start. Our manager Sharon, a Scottish woman with flame-red, scraped back hair, introduced me as 'a student'. It went downhill from there. When I said I study Biomedical Sciences he got confused and said 'What, you're studying three subjects?'


We work together two days a week. Saturdays are busy enough for us to work separately. But Wednesdays are usually quiet, and so he follows me around, attempting to impart wisdom unto 'a young, naive philistine mind'. All because I said I didn't like Motley Crue. They're a novelty band. He blanked me for two weeks for saying that. The fact is, if you're going to be a bullshitter, you have to be a) grandiose in your bullshitting and b) bloody good at it in order to get away with it. Steve isn't either. He, for some reason, bullshits about tiny, little things. Things that don't really matter but somehow make him feel good about himself. The first day I met him he, out of nowhere, said the management told him to cut his ponytail off.

'Naa, I'm not doing that.' He said. 'The suits aren't in charge of me.'


Now, on my first day I was willing to piss about with him. He humoured me. A 40 odd year old rocker who, according to Darren, still lives at home with Mummy.


'Well, they are in charge. Technically...' I tried.
'Technically.' He looked at me and used the quotation-marks-with-his-fingers when he said that, snorted and walked away. I don't think he appreciated words with more that two syllables. Since that day he continues to tell me odd little things. All bullshit, in my humble opinion. But occasionally entertaining. My top three being...

1) His band 'Death Wish' once supported Alice In Chains at Liverpool Academy in 1983.
2) He once picked up a hitch-hiking Jeremy Clarkson whilst truck driving through London.
3) He was a guest at Bono's wedding.


Now all three of these 'facts' are mildly amusing, interesting and somewhat confusing, if you're willing to believe them or not. But honestly, if you were going to bullshit to someone, you'd come up with someone a bit...well...better. Wouldn't you? These things may be true, of course. But when I asked where Bono had his wedding he just said,

'Ireland.'

Just Ireland? Really? No venue, no name of a village, not even a city in Ireland. Bono got married in Ireland. And a forty odd year of trolley pusher was invited. I can see the Wedding Invitation now.

DEAR MR STEVEN GRADY


BONO AND BONO'S FIANCEE ARE CORDIALLY
INVITING YOU TO THEIR BEAUTIFUL WEDDING
PLEASE R.S.P.V
THANK YOU


WEDDING CEREMONY ADDRESS:


IRELAND


He just seems to pluck names, places and events out of the air and creates his own little story. Attached to anything I bring up comes another droplet of bullshit. He's either severely bored and completely insane. I asked Darren about him one day when he clocked in for his 5pm till 10pm shift.


'He's a bullshitter, Dylan. A one hundred percent bullshitter.'
'But, why? Why make up these things?'
'Makes him him, I suppose. You haven't The Wedding Story, have you?'


I could read the capital letters in his words. The Wedding Story. Sounds like a film, doesn't it? Knowing Steve, he's probably written it, directed it, starred in it...all whist on holiday in Marrakesh or somewhere.


'No. Go on...'

'We were invited to a wedding a couple of years ago. A girl off grocery. Blonde. Big tits.'

Probably forgot her name.


'Anyway, I took my mate Colin and Steve went on his own. Was a good do and everything, DJ, bit of food, you know the sort.'
'Yes, I'm familiar with weddings.'
'Anyway, the next day he told Jim he went with his girlfriend. When I know for a fact he went there and left there on his own.'


Since then I've known. He's a bullshitter. He's gone on to tell me she's is called Julie, (although in the past he has referred to her as Julia and Jackie) lives and works in Scotland (convenient) and works as part of 'a big company.' No name. Just 'a big company.' Plus, owns a brand new Peugeot. You see what I mean? Not a Mercedes, not a Ferrari, a Peugeot! Where's he got that from!?



Forgive me but I can't see an early middle aged, slightly overweight trolley pusher with a grey ponytail  dating business minded, Scotland based Peugeot driver. Especially not one with three names. But, maybe I'm wrong. I'd love to be wrong. It's like being an Atheiest. If i'm wrong it's great. I'll go to heaven. And if i'm wrong in Steve's case I'll get to enjoy his stories. Yes, I am wrong, actually. Thinking about it. Steve and Julie (or Julia or Jackie) probably met at that Alice In Chains gig, or he picked her up whilst trucking, or even at Bono's wedding in Ireland. We all know Bono loves Peugeot's.


Bullshit.