Tache And Burn

I was fuming. Literally fuming. A sweaty fuming mess. Suddenly It felt like all eyes were on me as I made my way downstairs and out to the car park. As if everyone had witnessed the interview on CCTV cameras and, like myself, could not believe what had happened. The lads played a trick on me, to ruin the interview. It was an awful, selfish and cruel joke that made me feel stupid, embarrassed and still fuming. But I'm English. So I repressed the whole thing and strode outside with a smile.

'How did it go, Dylan?' asked Duncan.

I wanted to punch his face in. But I played it cool.

'Yeah, not bad. You never know, do you? Went good.'

His face dropped.

'Really?'
'Yeah, Judy seemed to like me.'
'Oh...' Double taking. 'That's good then.'


I smiled and walked away. A bit later on I could see the lads talking more and more. Sometimes arguing, sometimes shaking their heads. It made me a little bit better, but the truth was, they tried to sabotage my interview. God knows why I didn't ignore them, but they convinced me that Judy was once a man. I was more embarrassed than angry. That was the main reason why I didn't tell them how the interview actually went. Thinking back, our chat did seem very scripted. Alex kept staring at Steve during the meeting, and Darren couldn't stop grinning. What a fool I was to believe them and to bring it up in the interview. Still, I wouldn't let them know.

'There's my grocery colleague! How you doing, dude?' Steve bellowed.

Not letting them know about the interview lasted about three minutes.

'You fucking idiot, Steve.'
'What?' He grinned.
'You know what! Don't say 'what' as if you don't know what's what! You know what!'
'What's what?'
'Judy is a woman. A fucking woman. Thank you all very much!'

The lads all laughed.

'It was only a joke, mate. Come on!' Darren tried.
'It wasn't funny. I could have been sacked.'
'But you didn't. Let's forget about it!'

I wasn't going to forget about it.

'You fucking idiots.'


My ears were red for the rest of the day. The lads did their best to make light of it but I wasn't having any of it. Five minutes left on my shift and I was still fuming. Violently pushing a large row of trolleys up the store and this silver jaguar comes roaring past me and parks up and the Pick Up Only spot. The space is only meant for taxi's, but this guy, a tall leathery faced man in a cream linen suit, hops out and wanders into the shop. Normally it wouldn't annoy me but today, oh yeah, it fucking annoyed me. I marched in and got a piece of paper. Wrote on it, in quite violent terms and shoved it under his windscreen wipers.

'What you doing there?' Darren asked, walking up beside me.
'This tit has parked here.'
'Oh right, thought that never bothered you.'
'Today it's bothered me.'
'Look Dylan, it was only a joke.'
'Some joke.' I muttered.
'It's only because we want to keep you out here.'
'What? Darren...start a petition then! Or set up a meeting with Sharon! Don't tell me a woman has got a cock and balls!'

I said that a bit too loud. I knew that because all the old women waiting for taxi's looked over and gasped. Apologising, we quickly scurried off, leaving the note of paper fluttering on the window.

'Really Dylan, we want you to stay out here. Steve won't admit that will he? Or the twins. So I'm saying it. We're sorry.'

Darren looked really earnest. He hardly ever looked at me straight in the eyes. He always looked around my face or into the middle distance. But now he was staring at me. I could tell, if he was actually representing all of the lads, that they were really sorry. But it didn't matter.

'It's too late, Darren.' I said, and walked away from him.

I was half way through collecting baskets at the checkouts when the woman over the announce system said. 'This is a colleague announcement: Could Dylan James please come to the Customer Services Desk.' It was odd hearing my name like that. I don't think my name has ever been called out, apart from that time Alex got into a fight with two six year olds. At the desk stood Sharon, deep in conversation with the cream linen suited man. He had his arms up in her face, protesting something. Sharon spotted me and rushed over.

'Follow me.' She demanded.

I sheepishly followed her outside, followed by the cream linen suit man. He was now on his mobile phone, barking at somebody, possibly his wife. His dark moustache glistening with sweat. I thought moustache's went out of fashion in the 90's. This guy was breaking all the rules. Out of date facial hair and a badly fitting summer suit.

'What is this?' Pointing at the car.
'It's a Jaguar, Sharon.' I replied. 'Not a very nice one, but it's a Jaguar.'
'Oh, really?' The linen man stepped in, in one of the deepest voices I've ever heard. 'And where's your Jaguar, son? Or do you catch the bus to work?' Staring down at me.
'Gentleman, please.' Sharon interrupted.
'I don't appreciate little notes like that. So can you please tell this boy not to put them on my car.'

Boy? I'm a boy? I'm 23 years old. I haven't been called a boy since primary school and spilled paint on Mrs Barker.


'Did you do this Dylan?' Sharon glared at me. 'I've told all our porters to not do this. It's very rude.'


And I suppose it isn't rude to park in the Pick Up Only spot to get a pack of cigars? If you parked in the taxi rank in town you get towed away, but here it's fine and dandy! I thought for a second about what to say. What he did wasn't really a big deal, but I was still fuming about the interview and I guess it tipped me over the edge. Like Michael Douglas in Falling Down when he doesn't get the right hamburger. I guess it's not that similar. He went mental with a shotgun, I put a tedious note on a car. Then a voice spoke up behind me.


'No, Dylan didn't do it. I did.'

It was Darren, staring at the moustachioed linen man.

'It winds me up when people park here. Why should you? Everyone else finds a normal parking space. These people are getting picked up...' Pointing at the old ladies huddled around the trolley bay. 'And taxi's need the space to park.'

And with that, the huddle of old ladies began to clap. Slowly but surely, the whole trolley bay was alight with cheering grannies. Walking sticks and handbags were in the air, there were whoops and jeers aimed at the linen man, who still had something to say.

'I want something doing about this!'
'Darren. My office. Now.' Sharon barked.


The man rushed to the door, threw himself in and screeched off before tearing my little note up in front of me. The grannies were still clapping, smiling at me. I nodded at them and gave a smile back, like a sheriff protecting his town. This was My Town. And no-one ain't gunna disrespect it.


The day after, Darren told me he got an ear bashing off Sharon, giving him the 'Customer Is Always Right' lecture. I'd like to modify that to...

'The Customer Is Always Right (Unless They Are Moustached Cream Linen Suit Wearing Idiots.'


Sometimes it's not so bad working out here.