Prince Of Persia: The Sandwiches of Time

'So he came back from school and I empty his lunch box...'


Margaret was halfway through a story about Steve, who was now wincing in the corner of the trolley bay and looking down to his feet. Darren, Alex and I were all ears.

'...and he'd not eaten his sandwiches. So I said “Steven, what's wrong with these sandwiches?” And he says “They're cut into squares”....'
'Mum, do you have to?' Steve attempted to interrupt.
'”They're cut into squares” He says, “you normally cut them into triangles, I didn't think they were mine!”'

We all burst into laughter. All of us bar Steve, of course.

'It was an easy mistake to make, guys.' He squealed. 'Mum, it wasn't funny when you told Sharon and it's not funny now!'

Steve was right, it's wasn't funny. It was hilarious. Stories like that was one of the many reasons why I recommended his mother to Sharon. She'd done a few shifts so far, a few hours at a time. Working with someone as old as Margaret distilled a calm, relaxed atmosphere, plus hearing a story about Steve pissing the bed doesn't hurt either, does it? Well, it hurt Steve.

'Sharon, she can't work here any more!' Steve barked, sitting down at her desk.
'And why not?'
'It's not on, she's just not up to the work!'
'I'll be the judge of that.'

Sharon lay back in her chair, took a puff of her menthol cigarette and smiled. She knew how Steve felt about his mother working with him, but she was willing to play with him.

'But, as the Head Porter...'
'She was the best of the three I trialled, Dylan told you.'
'She's 68 years old!'
'That's ageist.' Pointing at him.
'That's not ageist. It's impossible to be ageist against your own mother.'
'Then you'll work in perfect harmony.'

Steve sighed heavily, but Sharon kept going.

'She's an asset to the company, enthusiastic, reliable. It's more than I can say for Duncan. Hardly ever turned up. And when he did he stunk of marijuana.'
'It was weed, he smoked.'
'She's a hard worker.
'She's sat outside now, on a bench, eating an apple.'
'I don't want to hear any more about this, Steven. Plus, having a female porter does wonders for my reports.'

Steve's eyes lit up.

'This is what it's about about, isn't it? Ticking boxes and positive discrimination in the workplace. We struggle outside so the suits and the fat cats up here can get their pay rise. You make me sick, Sharon.'

Steve got up from his chair, leaving Sharon open-mouthed at her desk. He turned to leave, but then turned back to her.

'She's making fun of me in front of the lads!' He shrieked, his hands on her desk.
'Tough.' Sharon smirked.

The rain had finally let up by 4pm and Margaret had caught the bus home. Steve walked sheepishly out onto the car park to me and Darren.

'She gone, then?' Darren asked him.
'Who?'

Steve knew who. It was amazing to see him still bullshitting after a morning of embarrassment.

'Don't worry, lads. I'll get someone else in soon. We can't be working with dead weight.'
'No, no. She's great. She's an asset to the company, Steve.'
'Why does everyone keep saying that?' He shrugged.
'Aye, she's a good laugh.' Darren smiled.

This was killing him and we knew it. I decided that it was my aim to keep Margaret on for as long as possible. We all knew she didn't do much work, but it's nice knowing that I wasn't the one doing to least amount. You must have someone like that who works with you. You tolerate them just to make sure you're not thought of as the worst.

'Anyway, I'm off for my tea. Sharon wants a banner putting up.'
'OK, Steve. Are you having sandwiches?' I asked.
'Yeah, I think so.'
'Make sure they're yours.'

Steve snorted and marched up to the store while me and Darren cracked up into laughter. Ten minutes later I was up a ladder, smashing nails into a wooden frame, while Darren, who was meant to be holding the ladder for health and safety reasons, was pacing up and down, staring at a piece of paper.

'I just don't get this question!'
'What is it?' I said, aligning the banner and positioning the nail.
'If you were to be successful, how would your skills and abilities that you have attained in your current position help your growth in a managerial role?' He read out loud.
'Good question.'
'But what does it mean?'

Darren was filling in his last form on his course to become a Customer Services Manager. He'd had three interviews, two and a half weeks of training and this form was the last test. If it were to be approved, he'd be in a suit and tie by Monday morning, telling middle aged woman to open a checkout and serve customers.

'It means, what have you learned as a trolley pusher and why would it help?'
'Oh...I don't think I've learnt anything out here.'
'Write that then.'
'I can't write that. What is there to learn out here?'
'How to stay warm. How to clean a dirty bin where to hide when you want an extra ten minutes on your break.'
'Hmm...I could write that.'
'You could, but you wouldn't get the job.'
'It's not a job. It's a course. A six month course.'
'What? So you don't get a job at the end of all this?' Looking down at him.
'No, I get accepted on the course.'
'Just leave it blank.'
'I can't leave it blank.'
'I'd leave it blank.'
'Leaving it blank means I've got no idea, I've got to write something!'

Darren disappeared into the store soon after, leaving me to put half of the banner up on my own. It had started to rain again and the wind was blowing a gale, which is fun when you're on top of a rickety ladder with no-one holding it at the bottom. I finished the banner and went back out to clear the trolleys. Steve had finished his sandwiches and made his way down to the car. He had just finished work, something I never really understood. When I first started he made up a bullshit story about needing his tea just before clocking off, something that no-one else is allowed to do. 'I've got these allergies, you see. And I need to take my tablets.' he said. Now his Mum was working with him, he's one step away from her wiping his arse. I was expecting him to be sulking when he got to his car. After all, if I got the piss taken out of me by my mum at work, I'd be sulking. But Steve was wearing a smile.

'See you tomorrow, Dylan.' He beamed.
'Yeah, see you tomorrow.'
'Wish Darren good luck from me.'
'What for?'
'His form, for his manager's course. I helped him with his form.'
'Oh right, yes I will.'
'Good.'

Steve shut the door of his skoda and raced off. There was something oddly smug about his departure that was quite unsettling. My first thought was that he'd got his mum fired, but Darren told me soon enough.

'Where's that prick gone?' He spat at me.
'Who?'
'Who? Steve. Have you seen what he's put on this form?'
'What's he put?'

Darren had gone into the canteen whilst I was up the ladder, he didn't want the rain to spoil his paper, but Steve did that for him.

'I asked him to help me out and the prick does this!'

It must have been bad. Steve was a bit of an idiot at times, a bullshitter for most of that time. But I'd hardly call him a prick, especially not twice. Steve offered to fill in his form for him, whilst Darren went over the road to McDonald's. A mistake, obviously, with Steve seeking revenge for taking the piss out of his triangular sandwiches. In the question that Darren was having trouble with, Steve wrote in neat black capital letters.

'MY ROLE OUTSIDE WILL HELP ME AS A MANAGER BECAUSE I'M A DICK, JUST LIKE THE REST OF THE MANAGERS.'

'Well at least it's not blank.'
'Oh, fuck off Dylan!'
'Calm down, just get another form.'
'I can't. This is the only one! And it's wet now!'
'Oh so if it was dry it would be fine!'
'Shut it, you dick!'
'I'm not a manager.'

He punched me in the arm, which made me shut up. Then we made a pact. If Darren was staying outside, so was Margaret.