We'd all like to think that when we leave our jobs, there'd be outrage. Crisis talks amongst managers, huddled together rustling up their papers and saying important things. Things like 'Can we offer him more money to stay?' 'I don't mind a pay cut, he can have my money' or 'Give him car, free meals or his own comfy chair in the canteen!' Giving you anything to make you stay. But supermarkets are big places, and you can be replaced as fast as you got there. It's an well oiled machine, designed to keep going.
I hadn't planned on leaving the supermarket. I had put in a transfer for another department, on grocery. It didn't matter which one, really. The important thing was that it wasn't outside. The twins stupidity and the seemingly random insanity of Darren was getting to me. And of course, Steve's bullshitting. There comes a time in everyone's life when you have to get rid of all the bullshit in your life. Some call it Bullshit Cleansing. Some get rid of friends who bullshit you, some get rid clothes and books that bullshit other people into believing the kind of person you are. The pile of books on the bookshelf are thrown away because you have to get rid of the bullshit. Even if they are mostly celebrity autobiographies and PlayStation cheat books.
It was due to Steve's bullshitting that made me look at myself and where I was. At 23 year old graduate, with a firm knowledge and interest in his given subject, with enthusiasm and the heart to succeed. When thinking about it for too long it turns into an interview, questioned by your own mind. Deciding if you're good enough for a job that doesn't exist. Suddenly I found myself, there on the car park, thinking up sentences like 'I work well on my own and as part of a small team. I am reliable and have up to 10 G.C.S.E's from A to D.' It shocked me to look at myself in such a way. I almost felt guilty that I was here, with two twins who have never achieved anything but puberty, a 25 year old who shocks me with his logic and crass nature, and of course, the icing on the bullshit cake, Steve.
Steve never seemed rock 'n' roll to me. Apart from that day a kid tried to buy weed off him. Then again, Steve didn't know what weed was, which kind of proved my point. But Alex thought otherwise. He was the only porter who took Steve on. Walking with him, nodding to every sentence and being fascinated by his stories. Stories about being 'on the road' and what it was like in the 70's.
'He's cool. He's seen loads of bands in his time. Floyd. Zep. Even Tull.'
Sounds like Steve to me.
'But so did everyone back then, Alex. Do you actually believe all the other stories he tells?'
'Like what?' Alex asked, as if Steve had never told a lie in his life.
'About being friends with all these rock stars and all those ludicrous tales that would never happen to anyone.'
'He's got Bowie's number in his phone.'
'Course he has.' Sarcastically, but Alex didn't see it.
'So what's your point?'
'My point is, he's not rock 'n' roll. Look at where he is?' Holding my arms out.
'You're just jealous, Dylan. Like Steve said, you're a snobby little student who knows nothing.'
I don't doubt Steve said that.
'He's had a well good life, and met loads of great people.'
As he said that, an old lady walked behind him and was trying to get my attention.
'Excuse me.'
'Yes, can I help you?' I said.
'I'm Steve's mother...'
I don't know why I didn't think that at first, she looked just like Steve. Only older, obviously, and a perm instead of a ponytail.
'...I know he's gone for his break but can you leave him a message for him?'
'Sure.'
'Tell him I've put his flask in the boot of his car. It's Leek and Potato soup.'
I looked at Alex, who was smiling at Steve's mum.
'OK, sure. I'll tell him.'
'Thank you.' She said, then walked off.
I looked at Alex again.
'Wow'. I said. 'Leek and Potato. That is rock 'n' roll.'
That was the point, right there, when I realised where I was. One hundred percent proof who Steve was, and that everything he's ever said was wrong. But it didn't matter if he was a bullshitter or not. His Mum's visit stripped him of everything, made him vulnerable and weak. But, somehow it made me feel horrible. I was the one in the wrong place. These people we're comfortable here. Steve was happy bullshitting, Darren was happy in his world and the twins were just happy to have a job of work. I was the one who was trapped. I was the one who was, not unhappy, but, out of place. The board upstairs showed six or seven jobs up for grabs within the store. I looked at the first decent one and got myself an internal application form. My degree could wait for now, I just needed a change to clear my mind.
The canteen was full. Loud, clinking cutlery in the background of barking voices and machine gun laughter. I sat at the nearest empty seat, which happened to be at the same table as Steve.
'What you doing there?' Steve said, sipping his diet coke.
'Just writing.'
'Writing what?'
'Your mum's been in.' Changing the subject.
'Oh right?'
'Dropped off a flask for you. It's in the car.'
There as a pause between the two of us. I could sense he was fishing around in his brain for some excuse.
'For the late shift. Got to get your energy where you can. Just like being on the road.'
Did he take his mother on the road? It wouldn't surprise me. I presumed he snorted his leek and potato soup while the rest did cocaine.
'So what you writing?' He started again.
'It's a internal application form.' I said bluntly.
'What? You...you cant.' Nearly dropping his drink.
'I can.'
His manner turned swiftly from overwhelming shock to cool and breezy.
'You've be a fool to leave this job.' He scoffed.
'Whys that?'
'Long breaks.'
Which you're not supposed to have.
'Good people.'
Nope.
'Easy work.'
OK, one out of three.
I stood up and made my way to the offices, ignored Steve's goodbye and handed in the form. As soon as I got back down onto the car park I felt a huge weight off my shoulders, and questioned why I didn't do it sooner. But I suppose we all feel like that at times, you get something done and the relief makes you feel good, but sad because you hadn't thought of it before. All I had to do was get through the interview, with grocery manager Judy Anderson. How hard can interviews be? Quite hard, it turns out.
End of part one.
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