Dawn Of The Head

It was another Bullshit Wednesday. But not a Bullshit Wednesday as I knew it.


Steve couldn't bullshit today, his mind couldn't come up with anything. No stories about once knowing the band who supported Europe in 1984, no pretending to be ill or even telling me that the burn on his arm was from setting fire to promotional poster of Phil Collins, even though his Mum told me it was from making a Pot Noodle.

Steve was too busy thinking about Darren and all the bad names he could call him.

'What an arse.'

I laughed.

'Such a tit.'

I smiled.

'I can't believe he made Margaret the Head Porter, what an idiot.'

My eyebrows fell.

'Margaret?'
'Yeah...'
'You mean your mum?'
'Yeah, Margaret.'
'Why are you calling her Margaret? She's your mum.'

My Mum would go mental at me if I called her by her first name, plus it would sound so weird. I know Steve was 46 years old but still, your mum is your mum.

'It's more professional, isn't it?'
'Ah, yes. She's now your superior.'

Steve shrugged and pulled a face. I was right but knew for a fact that he would never agree with me. I worked with Margaret the day before, who was more than delighted to take the role of Head Porter. In her words 'it gives me a chance to wear my new reading glasses when I'm doing the rotas.' She told me Steve tried to persuade her to turn down the role and, in his words 'leave it to the professional.' but she was having none of it. Good on her. A few reasons for Steve's willingness to keep the role was:

1) Doing the rotas takes a long time. Margaret may get tired.
2) Sharon's always on your back about things.
3) You get people ringing you about problems when you're at home.


Statements that were soon undone, when Margaret did her first month's rotas in seven minutes, received a bunch of flowers from Sharon and said she would be glad of a phone call, she loves a good chat. Of course, Steve wasn't happy.

'What a tit. Why would he give her the Head Porters job?'
'I don't know, shake things up a bit? Maybe add some age and experience to the department.'
'She's already added age and experience by being here, I'm The Head Porter.' He protested.
'If you've got a problem with it go and speak to Darren.'

Steve cleared his throat, took a large breath of air and walked up to the store.

Darren hadn't got an office yet. In fact, calling it 'a desk' would be generous. His enrolment earned him a large table in the corner of the personnel offices. Something that Darren seemed happy with, since his course was seemingly 99% paperwork. Steve made his way over to the corner, after dragging a chair across the carpet, making the whole office glare over at him. He sat down and looked at Darren, who was still writing on one of the 57 pieces of paper on his table.

'Darren?'
'Hang on.' He replied quickly.

Darren kept writing for at least fifteen seconds, which felt like a lifetime to Steve.

'Go.' Darren said, finally looking up at him.
'I wondered if I could talk to you about the Head Porters role.'
'Your Mum is doing a great job.' Darren said bluntly.
'Margaret? Yeah, she might be, but if it ever gets too much for her, I'll be OK to take over, for her sake.'
'All she has to do is complete the rotas and let me know of any problems. So far, so good. She handed in the rota yesterday and there are no problems as of yet.'

Darren had summed it all up well. So much so that Steve was now struggling with what to say next. So he came up with a lie.

'She's in hospital.'

Darren dropped his pen.

'What?'
'Yeah, angina attack. She'll be out of work for a while, so...'
'I'm sorry to hear it, Steven.'
'Yeah, so the head porter thing...'
'I'll let Sharon know and I'll find cover for her.' He said, finding out of the many pieces of paper in front of him. 'Do you fancy doing any of her shifts?'
'Erm...well, I'll be visiting Margaret at the hospital.'
'You mean your Mum?'
'Yeah, Margaret.'
'Why do you call her by her first name?'
'Professional.' Steve smiled.
'Oh, well, I'm sure you'll only visit her during visiting hours. The rest of the time you can pick up a few shifts.'

Steve and Darren held their stares. Steve had never done any overtime whilst he worked here. His excuse was that as Head Porter, his job was to find cover not do cover. Now his role was stripped off him, he was obliged to do overtime. Darren managed to wrangle him to do his Mum's shift the day after. Even though Margaret wasn't in Hospital and due to work tomorrow.


Thursday came around and I couldn't wait for Steve to turn up. I worked especially hard to make the car park clear, then stood by the trolley bay and waited for Steve to park in his usual parking space. Half expecting Steve to arrive alone and spiel some bullshit to his Mum about not bothering to work, I was surprised to see Margaret in the passenger seat, smiling at me and Steve parked the skoda.

'Now, Mum. As I said, you wait here and I'll go and speak to Sharon.'
'Shouldn't you speak to Darren?' Taking off her seatbelt.
'Why? Sharon is the manager.'
'Yes but Darren is in charge.'

Steve scoffed, got out of the car and hurried over to me.

'Help me.'
'What do you need?' I smiled.
'I couldn't stop her from coming. She locked herself in the car. Please, think of something I can tell Sharon.'
'You mean Darren?'
'Oh, shut up about Darren!'

He shouted that so loud that Darren heard it. Simply because he was ten metres away, walking towards us, dressed in a pristine white shirt and sky blue tie.

'Come on lads, let's get to work!' He said, in a half-serious voice. 'Steve, how's your Mum doing?'
'Yeah, fine.' Steve replied, trying not to look back at the car.
'Hang on, is that...'

Darren spotted Margaret in Steve's car, who was now enthusiastically waving to Darren, who waved back.

'Hello Margaret!'
'She's holding up.' Steve winced.
'Why is she...?'
'I was going to come and tell you, need to take her to the hospital.'
'I thought she was in hospital?'
'Naa....'

Darren looked at me. I wasn't prepared to help either of them out. Just seeing Steve here on his day off was enough entertainment for me. Now he was trying to squeal his way out of being here with his Mum to a man who was twenty odd years younger. I was enjoying it, and to make it better, Steve started to sweat. And to make it even better, Margaret got out of the car.

'Morning Darren!'
'Morning Margaret. How are you holding up?'
'Oh, not bad. I'm keeping on. I've started the rotas for the next two weeks. No-ones on holiday so there's no changes.'

Steve looked at Darren. I looked at Steve. Margaret looked at me.

'That's great. But shouldn't you be resting?' Darren asked.
'Resting? I'll rest when I'm dead!' She giggled. 'I've got work to be getting on with.'
'Oh my word, you're such a fighter, aren't you? So you're OK to do your shift after all, then?' Darren tilted his head.
'Eh?' Margaret grunted.
'Yep...she's a fighter all right!' Steve smiled and put his arm around his mother.
'She is, Darren.' I smiled and looked at Steve, who was wincing more than ever.
'Steve, why are you in your uniform if you're just dropping her off?' Darren asked.
'That's what I said.' Margaret added.
'Yeah, why are you dressed like that?' I smiled
'What can I say? I'm a professional.'
'You're a fool, more like!' Darren laughed. 'Margaret, come to my office...'
'Table.' Steve corrected him.
'...I think such bravery and reliability deserves an award at the next ceremony.'

We stood and watched Darren and Margaret slowly walk their way up to the store. Steve looked absolutely shattered. I wasn't sure what he was hoping to achieve in locking his mother inside the car. Maybe that she would just sit there silently for eight hours whilst Steve did her shift, hoping both Darren and Sharon wouldn't come outside and notice her.

'She can make her own way home if she's so brave.' Steve muttered.

He stomped his way over to the car and threw himself in. The only way I could describe what I saw next was a little like a mid-life crisis. But instead of it happening over 5 or 6 years, it happened in 5 or 6 minutes. He sat there staring at the steering wheel, his eyes glazing over and glistening. Turning the radio on blurted out some awful 80's rock tune through his tinny speakers. His head was rocking slightly back and forth. Then after a while, he turned off the stereo and rolled down his window.

'Tell her I'll pick her up at five.'


They say there's nothing better than a love for your own mother. Faking her hospitalization and inadvertently making her win an award for doing nothing, that's real love.