He Who Chairs Wins

I told Sharon that Darren would not be handing in his final form because of 'cold feet.' When really it was because Steve had written on it in a moment of madness, in revenge. To be truthful, I never would have thought Steve had the nerve to do what he did. Calling all manager's a 'dick' on a form is a daring move. Darren had really been looking forward to this customer services course and could not pluck up the courage to tell the truth. Well, would you? The professionalism and concentration involved in the interviews, the training and the paperwork, then to throw it all away by saying 'Sharon, he's written all over my form! Tell him!' It was a little bit too primary school for his liking. Sharon didn't believe me, of course. She sensed something was amiss and called a meeting the next day to sort the problem out.


'Right, Darren. Steven. Thank you for coming.'
'Did we have a choice?' Steve asked.
'Yes. Attend this meeting or be suspended.'

Steve nodded and sat back in his chair, whilst Darren, on the other side of Sharon's cream coloured office, sat picking his nails.

'Right, we're sorting this problem out. Steve, would you like to speak first?'
'Yes, does he have to be here?'

'He' was me. Sat next to Sharon on a lovely leather chair, on Sharon's side of the desk. The better side. I felt so important, looking across at Steve and Darren, who, quite rightly were questioning my presence.

'Yes. He is an impartial adjudicator.'
'A what?' Darren asked.
'I'm the peacemaker.' I informed him.
'Well, you're here because we need to sort this and I want the truth. Start taking minutes, Dylan.'
'What?'
'Take minutes.' Nodding down at her pad of paper.
'Oh....erm...two minutes past twelve.' I said, glancing up at the clock.

Sharon glared at me.

'Do you know what 'taking minutes' means?'
'Got no idea, Sharon.'
'That's why you're here!'
'...Yes, but I'm here for more than that, aren't I? I've got this nice leather chair.' I said proudly, tapping the shiny leather arms.
'It's all we had.'

The power of the chair was getting to my head. I found myself laying back, touching together the tips of my fingers and gazing over at Steve with narrowed eyes. 'You're fired!' I could bellow at him. But Sharon would probably shout at me again. This is why people become managers. It's not the good money or the respect. It's the feeling you get sat in a comfortable chair in your own office.

'Steve. Speak.' Sharon said bluntly.

Steve cleared his throat, hunched his body forward and got a small notepad out of his pocket. He looked around the room whilst putting on his reading glasses and paused before finding a starting position.

'I believe Darren Johnson pushed me with a tirade of verbal abuse concerning myself, Steve G. Grady and my own mother and fellow colleague. My actions were completely sane and justified and were in reaction to such abuse.'

Darren rolled his eyes.

'You wrote 'dick' on my form because I took the piss about you working with your Mum.'
'That's correct.' Steve said.
'Is that it?' Sharon shrieked.
'What do you mean? It took me all night to write that!' Pointing at his little notepad.
'Did your mummy help you with it?' Darren said.
'Is this what it's all about? You ruined his form because Margaret works here?' Sharon spat at them.
'Yeah, they were laughing at me, Sharon.'
'Why didn't you ask for another form, Darren?' Sharon asked.
'That's what I said.' I leaned in.
'I didn't think I could have another.'
'Of course you could.'
'I said that.' I nodded.
'Dylan...please.'
'Sorry, Sharon.'

Darren was given another form and was asked to complete it within the hour. Steve was told to grow up, a difficult task to take on when you're with your mother 24 hours a day.

'Consider the problem solved, gentleman. And Steve, Margaret is working with you, get over it. She's an asset to the company and a fine example of how a colleague should be. Where is she, anyway? She's supposed to be working today.'
'Oh, she's staying in the house today, Sharon.' Steve said. 'Her angina tablets haven't kicked in.'


Yes, an asset to the company. A heart condition. So the problem was put to bed, Darren got back to work on his form whilst me and Steve cleaned up outside.

'So, is your Mum all right, then?'
'Yes, yes, can we stop going on about her!' Steve shook his head.
'I'm just asking, you said she has angina.'
'She does. Plus, I told her not to come in.'
'Yeah, probably for the best.'
'Too right, she's handing in her notice in tomorrow.'
'What?'

I stopped a pile of trolley's in my tracks, which Steve bumped into, stubbing his toe on the steel.

'Yeah, she's going to be leaving.'
'But she likes it here.'
'It's not good for her, Dylan!'
'Bullshit, you just don't want her around because she embarrassing you!'


I shouldn't have said 'bullshit' to Steve. Saying 'bullshit' to Steve earned us another meeting with Sharon.

'OK, I haven't got all day with you lads. I thought we'd sorted this.' She frowned.

We both sat on the other side of her desk and I took a second to stare at the chair I was once sat in. The chair I was sitting on now was wooden, with itchy powder blue padding. Not the best I'd been on today. This one didn't even recline. I felt low. Ten minutes ago I was Sharon's noble assistant, now I was getting bollocked by her.

'Steve said Margaret is handing in her notice tomorrow.'
'Is this correct?'
'It's what she told me.' Steve shrugged with his arms crossed.
'It's what you told her.' I stared at him.
'I'm sure I'll speak to her tomorrow, that's if she comes in.'
'I'll give it to you if she doesn't make it, Sharon.' Steve said.
'I'd like to see her do it herself.' I said.
'Why don't you shut your face!?'
'Free speech.'
'I'm Head Porter.'
'I've sat in that chair.' Pointing at the leather seat.
'Gentleman. Get back to work. I'll speak to Margaret in the morning.'

We sheepishly walked down the walkway, like two school children who'd just been sent to the Head Teachers office. We both muttered abuse to each other with blushed faces when Darren called us over in the canteen. His posture had changed quite radically. Sat properly upright at a table full of papers, his movements were more confident.

'Gentleman, please take a seat.'

Gentleman? Only Sharon called us gentleman. Had he forgotten who was the manager was around here? Even I was higher up that him at that point, after all I've sat in the leather chair. I'm going to buy one of those executive chairs when I get paid. I may have to put it together myself but it will look great in my room. I'd need a desk, of course. It was a bit odd just sat in a chair in the middle of my room.

'Say hello to your new manager.'

Me and Steve looked around the canteen after taking a seat. A few night staff we're still in the corner eating chips, and a young lad was sat on his own on the middle table. No sign of any managers.

'Me!' Darren barked.
'What?'
'Eh?'
'Yes. I've spoken to Sharon after handing in my form. My customer services course starts today. My first port of call: Take over the Porters department.'
'Oh, Jesus!' Steve held his head.
'Sounds good to me, Daz.' I nodded.
'Darren. Call me Darren.'

I nodded, a little bit offended but I was chuffed for him. It was a good move by Sharon. All the hassle that comes from Steve was now Darren's problem. If he succeeds, she'll take the credit for trusting him. If not, it's Daz's fault. Oh, sorry, Darren's fault.

'I'm glad I've caught you too. Here's a list of updated rules and regulations that I've drawn up.' Handing a sheet of paper to both of us. 'Take a good look. I'll still be doing my shifts but from now on, all problems, holidays, cover days, sicknesses...you'll come to me.'

Steve frowned and looked at me, before clearing his throat he spoke up.

'Holidays?'
'Yes.'
'But that's the Head Porter's job, Daz.'
'Darren...' He corrected him.
'I normally do the holidays.'

Darren looked down to his sheets, scratched his cheek and began.

'Ah, yes. Second port of call: I've decided to change the Head Porter. I've confirmed it with Sharon.'
'Our manager and Head Porter?' Steve asked, putting the emphasis on the latter as if it was a more important role.
'No, not me Steven.'
'Steve.' He corrected him. 'What, him?' Looking a me. 'He's only just started full time. What does a student know?'

More than a 46 year old bullshitter.

'No, not Dylan.'

I was relieved. No offence but admitting I was a trolley pusher to people was hard enough for me. To say I was the 'Head Trolley Pusher' made it worse. After all, you can't polish a turd.

'Then who? Surely not Alex?'
'No.'
'There's no-one else!'
'Yes there is. Think.'

Steve's eyes glazed over before fixing on Darren's.

'My mum?'
'Correct.'

Oh yes! Oh yes! Oh yes!

'But, you can't!'
'I can. I have.'
'She's old, Darren. She's not staying here for long.'
'She is. Just got off the phone with her. She's delighted to take the role.'
'Darren!'

Darren smiled.

'...Now we'll see who's a dick.'