Steve and I had been chosen to put together a small party, to celebrate Alex and Fran's engagement. When I say 'put together', all we had to do was set the tables in the canteen and blow up a few balloons. The fact that Sharon chose the two of us for this told me that the management didn't really see this celebration as a big thing. Normally they have colleagues from the Events team to set things up. They use their best, most colourful banners and send e-mails and flyers out to promote it. But no, it was Steve and I. The B-Team. Not even the B-Team. Plus, the party was scheduled for later that day, a Tuesday evening. Not really an ideal time for a celebration. I'm not sure Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston had their engagement party on a Tuesday night, definitely not in supermarket colleague canteen.
The second decision Sharon made today was to make Wayne our new Head Porter. Darren was on holiday for a week, which gave her the chance to make his decisions, move his desk into the corner of their room and swap his desk lamp for her broken one. She'll go on to deny that, obviously. But we all saw her from the car park, on all fours underneath his desk, unplugging plugs violently as soon Darren left the building. So instead of being in charge of three porters, Steve was now in charge of six primary coloured tablecloths, plastic cups, cutlery and bottles of pop. After all his attempts to regain his role, he seemed unusually care free about the entire thing.
'So, Wayne's our new leader, then?' I said, in between breaths into a yellow balloon.
'Yeah, been here twenty minutes. Doesn't know this place at all. But good luck to him.'
'Head Porter Wayne.' I'll admit, I was trying to rub salt into the wound.
'Head Porter.' He shook his head. 'It's like polishing a turd.'
I've been trying to tell him that for two years.
'You get no extra money, I told him. No perks to the job. Just hassle.'
'Where is he now?'
'At Pizza Hut with a few managers.'
That sounds like a perk to me. A pizza perk.
We finished setting up in silence. A few checkout colleagues trickled in a sat down, Glen the greeter took his position at the DJ podium, which was essentially a CD player hooked to some portable speakers. Around 5 O'clock the kitchen staff brought out party food, giving the cue for a few more of our staff to sit down whilst I hassled them to put on their party hats.
'Put it on.' I said to Sandra, the loud woman off checkouts.
'Why?'
'...Because it's a party.'
'Oh...'
She placed the green paper hat on the side of her head, trying her hardest not to ruin her hair. Alex made his appearance, along with a few half-arsed claps and cheers from those sat down; with mouths full of onion rings and scotch eggs. I'll admit it didn't feel like a party, the canteen was about a quarter full and, more importantly, we hadn't seen Fran.
'Where's your soon-to-be bride?' I asked Alex.
'Oh, she's over there.'
Alex pointed to the corner of the room. Fran was sat behind two small tables. One table was full of leaflets and badges. The other had a pink cardboard sign on it, brandishing the letters W.W.W.
'What's she doing, Alex?'
'She's part of a charity. Sharon said she could help raise money in here.'
'W.W.W?'
'Working Women in Wheelchairs.' He smiled.
'Oh, right. Great. But it's your engagement party, Alex.'
'So?'
'Shouldn't you be celebrating your engagement, not women in wheelchairs?'
'Yeah, we can do both together. That’s what she told me. And anyway, she's not celebrating it, she's raising awareness and money for better equipment.'
Fair enough. The 'party' started. Glen started playing music whilst everyone ate their food and Alex, Steve and I talked mainly about charity, or Steve's view on giving.
'When did you last give to charity?'
'I give to charity all the time, Dylan. Oxfam. British Heart Foundation.'
'Really?'
'Yeah, they've got shops in town. Last week I picked up Metallica's Ride The Lightning for three quid.'
I suppose that's charity. Giving his spare change to a retired woman for a heavy metal masterpiece. We all finished eating around 6pm, but I have to tell you, Glen had wasted his best songs. I’m no DJ, but there are unspoken, unwritten rules about what songs you leave until towards the end, to get people up to dance. There wasn’t really a ‘dance floor’ in the canteen, as such. But I’m sure if we moved the broken vending machine and the seven recycle bins no one uses out of the way, we could get a pretty substantial space. But Glen had blown it. ‘Livin’ La Vida Loca’ was the first song he played at 5pm, whilst we where eating! Can you imagine? ‘Love Shack’ made its appearance far too early. Even ‘Oh, What A Night’ by The Four Seasons got a spin, all while we were tucking into our mini sausage rolls. It’s heresy! I had to have a word.
‘Glen?’
‘Yes, young ‘un?’ He replied, looking down through his darkened glasses to a pile of CD’s in his hands.
‘Don’t you think you should hold back…with the good songs?’
‘What do you mean?’
This guy was clearly an amateur.
‘Well, you’ve played great songs so far.’
‘Thank you.’
‘But, if people are going to be dancing later…’
‘Dancing?’
‘It’s a party. We can move things to make a dance floor.’
‘Oh OK, smashing! I’ll dig the songs out again.’
Glen fished through some more CD’s. He was planning on repeating all his played songs. Schoolboy mistake. If your DJ did that at your wedding you'd have thrown him out by now.
‘No, no. Just hold a few back until later.’
‘Which ones?’
‘OK…’ I thought. ‘You haven’t played Kool and The Gang yet, have you?’
‘It’s lined up next.’
‘No…save it. It’s all about timing. You’ll thank me.’
I winked at him and turned away, only to be stopped by myself. As I turned to face the canteen again, Alex was towards to back welcoming someone in. It was Jenny. It was a good job Darren was on holiday; things would have got a little awkward if he wasn’t. Steve made up for it, though.
‘What’s that harlot doing here?’ He shouted, a little bit too loud.
I don’t think Jenny heard it. I don’t think Alex heard it either, but he sat her down and offered her food as she smiled at everyone. It must have been odd for her to come back. Stealing from the company’s safe and cheating on Darren, now the manager of the services department. That’s quite a CV, isn’t it? Duncan wasn’t around, yet again. Still the coward he always was, even on his twin brother’s engagement party. I wandered over and smiled.
‘Jenny, how are you?’
‘Good. Good.’
You could tell she was uncomfortable, still wearing her coat and clutching her handbag at an empty table.
‘How’s the baby?
‘Good. Duncan’s taking care of him at the moment.’
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. God help that child. He's probably sat in the living room right now, covered in food, surrounded by stolen XBOX games and fag ends. The baby, I mean.
‘Alex, where’s your bride-to-be? We haven’t met yet.’ Jenny smiled.
‘Oh, she’s over there.’
‘W.W.W…what’s that?’
‘Working Women in Wheelchairs.’ Alex replied with a sigh that suggested he was already tired of explaining it.
Alex wandered over to his fiancé, now chatting to one or two grocery colleagues and exchanging badges and e-mail addresses.
‘Honey? Jenny is here. Do you want to come and say hello?’
‘Just a minute.’ She replied, still writing another contact down.
Alex smiled at the colleagues as they left and sat down with her.
‘Fran, people have come to celebrate our engagement. Don’t you think we should give a bit more time to them?’
‘Do you think I should give more time to this cause? We’re only a few more grand away from buying a new lift. You know, one that doesn’t break down half way like last time?’
‘I remember. But, sweetheart, Jenny’s here.’
He pointed towards her, which made Fran usher Jenny towards the her, like a rock star at his latest album signing. Jenny sheepishly moved forward and towards the tables.
‘Fran, nice to meet you. I’m Jenny. Alex’s brother’s wife.’
‘Nice to meet you, too.’
‘I have a little something…’ Jenny said, reaching into her coat pocket and taking out a cheque. ‘A little gesture, you know. From me and Duncan.’
Alex smiled and said thank you whilst Fran took the cheque. Then she folded it in half and popped it into the pink bucket in front of her.
‘Fran, what are you doing?’ Alex asked.
‘What? That’ll help towards the new lift.’
‘That was for us! Not your little charity thing!’ He said, standing up.
‘Little charity thing!? How dare you, Alex! A woman from Coronation Street is our Patron!’
‘This is our engagement party, Fran. She was giving it to us for our wedding!’
‘Were you?’ Fran stared daggers at Jenny.
‘Weren’t you?’ Alex nodded at Jenny.
Jenny froze, still smiling the shy little smile she’d shown since arriving and clutching her handbag more than ever. I'm not sure she even knew the right answer, now.
‘Erm, well…it was…is for the two of you, you know.’
‘See?’ Alex said.
‘Well, I’m sure Jenny would love to see it go to a good cause.’
‘Our wedding is a good cause!’
That’s as far as they got when Glen interrupted them over the microphone.
‘This one’s for the bride and groom, it’s a bit of Kool and the Gang!!’
And so the happy couple’s argument lasted through the entire version of ‘Celebration’. Everyone got up to dance whilst they bickered, apart from Jenny, who was still stood frozen in fear. Thanks Glen, it’s all about timing.
No comments:
Post a Comment