Top Pun

You know that feeling you get when you stop and say to yourself: ‘What the hell is happening?’ It happens a couple of times a year, normally. When you watch your drunken Auntie dancing at a wedding, or when you take a wrong turn when driving and, thanks to the lack of signs, end up in Sussex. ‘What the hell is happening?’ you ask, lost within yourself. Suddenly you leave your body and view something from another angle. I experienced that feeling last week. The moment after I pushed a man over my manager, who was on all fours and giggling like a four year old.

 I questioned the entire day. The shriek of Sharon when she realised Steve was unconscious, the flashing blue lights of the ambulance and the stares of everyone around. I also questioned why I was there in the first place. Over the last couple of weeks I seemed to have forgotten myself, lost in the world of the supermarket. An odd world, I grant you. But that only made me get even more lost. I’d had a few interviews after I started here full time, but they’d seemed to ebb away and, with the money coming in, I’d gotten comfortable.

So, today marked the beginning of the end of the comfort. I’d manage to wrangle myself a job interview at a local college. Which, if I were to be successful, would see me working with students and quenching their thirst for Biomedical Sciences. Or, in other words, making them all go and study the subject later on in their lives. My interview was at 2.30pm, a good hour after my shift. I was excited as it suddenly felt like my last day. Having no idea why I was so confident, I was strolling around the store, filling up the checkouts with shopping bags and smirking. I never get the chance to show my smug look. It basically involves me puffing out my chest and holding my head up high. Finish that off with a walk of a high-powered businessman and it’s a whole package of smugness. That, or it looks like someone who’s had a very testing spine operation the day before.

Alex clocked in at 10.30pm and, due to my overwhelming smugness, hadn’t managed to finish stocking the shopping bags. So Alex helping me out as we chatted.

‘How are you and Fran doing?’

‘Super. She’s on tour this weekend.’ He beamed.

‘On tour? Wow, is she a rocker?’

‘No, she’s in a brass band. Plays the cornet. She’s really good.’ 

‘Brilliant. So there’s no drunken tour debauchery in brass bands?’

‘Oh yeah, they’re wild.’ His eyes widening. 

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yeah, last night they wrecked each other’s bedrooms in the hotel.’

‘Wow, rock ‘n’ roll!’

‘Well, I say, “wrecked”. They just ruffled their duvets up a bit and nicked each other’s socks.’

‘Still…rock ‘n’ roll!’ I shouted, a bit too loud.

‘Then they had to be in bed for half nine.’

I nodded, trying to squeeze as much ‘rock ‘n’ roll!’ out of it as possible. I bet Ozzy has a curfew now, you know.

‘I was going to go with her to help her with her chair, but I have to work.’

‘Shame.’ I said. ‘ I'm sure she’ll be fine.’ 

‘Yeah, they’re in Bournemouth today. Full of old people so they’ll be ramps and stuff.’

Alex said that with a smile. His warmth had doubled since he started seeing with Fran and they suited each other well. You could tell he really wanted to go with her on tour, however unrock ‘n’ roll it seemed to be. But who needs rock ‘n’ roll? I bet Hendrix sat up one day, with empty bottles and drugs strewn around the room and said ‘Do you know what? This isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. I’m off to a café to get a cup of tea and a scone.’ You never know, it could have happened. We all love a good scone.

We finished the bags around twelve, just in time to see Steve getting out of his car for the beginning of his shift. It was his first shift back after being hospitalised by Sharon and me. I felt a little guilty, obviously. But as I said before, it was Sharon’s idea. I may have gently nudged him, but it was our manager that tripped him up. A little embarrassing for him, of course. But his mother made it worse by filming the whole thing from the canteen. She's selling them as DVD’s for £2.50 a pop! Motherly love, eh? Still, glad I got myself a copy, it's proving to be very popular around the house.

‘Afternoon, chaps.’ He said, shutting the door of his Skoda.’

‘Afternoon.’ We both replied.

I thought I’d get it out of the way quickly.

‘It was Sharon’s idea, Steve.’

‘Yes. I've been told.’ Steve muttered, staring at me.

‘ I'm sorry. Well, Sharon’s sorry.’

‘I don’t accept your apology.’ I said bluntly, holding his stare.

‘I sent you grapes.’ I defended myself.

‘What?’

‘Grapes. I gave them to your Mum. Did she not pass them on to you?’

Steve looked towards his right. Playing his time in the hospital back in his head.

‘Yes. Why did you send me grapes?’

‘You were in hospital.’

‘And you sent grapes?’

‘Everyone sends grapes to people in hospital.’

Steve looked at Alex.

‘Do they?’

‘I think so.’ Alex replied quietly.

‘Oh…well…thank you.’

He made his way up the store carefully, holding a flask in one hand and his coat in the other.

‘He seems quiet.’ Alex said.

‘He did get knocked out the last time he was here.’

‘Yeah, i suppose…It’s on YouTube now.’

‘Really? Who’s done that?’

‘Margaret.’

‘Did she really? I didn’t know she knew about YouTube. My mum thinks it’s a plumbing company.’

It was a crisp November day. The sky was blue and for the first time in a while we could see our breathe in the air as we exhaled. Darren skipped towards Steve, Alex and I as we collected a few trolleys. Still in his shirt and tie and one month away from being a fully qualified manager.

‘Gentlemen! How are we today?’

That was the royal “we”, by the way. Which involved us all. Even Darren. His course had taught him that “we” are all in this together.

We (the non-royal one) hadn’t seen much of Darren recently. His trolley pushing days had become few and far between. But I was happy for him, although it becomes a little odd talking to him as a manager. There’s an inevitable distance that comes between you in those situations and it’s hard to deal with at first. But we treated him with respect.

‘The tie’s a bit gay, Daz.’

Well, Alex and I did.

‘Thank you, Steve. Now, Sharon is going to be away for a few days…or weeks, so I will be in complete control of this department. Any problems, see me.’

‘Where is she?’ I asked.

‘Well, thanks to last weeks…unpleasantness…’ Darren winced, trying not to look at Steve. ‘She is on a Development Training Course in Middleton, to brush up on her skills.’

‘You mean she knocked me out and now she’s getting bollocked in Middleton.’ Steve scoffed.

‘That is correct. And by the way, Alex, how are you and Fran?’

‘Oh yeah. Good, thanks. She’s on tour at the moment.’

‘Very rock ‘n’ roll!’ Darren smiled.

‘Fran?’ Steve asked. ‘Fran? Who’s Fran? Your new squeeze?’

‘Yeah. Been going out for a bit.’

That set off four painful minutes of Alex trying to explain who Fran was. Short, dark hair. About his age. Works on the checkouts. Steve had no idea.

‘There’s loads of chicks on there! Narrow it down.’

‘Fran is our disabled colleague.’ Darren said quietly.

‘Oh…oh right.’ Steve looked away.

Darren finished off his lecture and skipped back into the store. I think he’d forgotten what it was like to work outside. He did that thing people do when they’re underdressed on a mild day. Crossing their arms and shuddering out loud, as if he had no idea it could be at all cold before he left the house. Steve asked a few questions about Alex’s relationship with Fran. Alex remained defensive, but every now and again he would break into a smile when he said her name. Steve had been away for seven days, unconscious for one of them, so no wonder he had questions.

‘How long have you been courting, then?’

‘What?’

‘Going out.’ I translated Steve.

‘Oh, just under a month.’

‘And why haven’t you told me?’

‘I didn’t think I had to.’

Steve looked offended. It’s hard not feel sorry for someone you put in hospital, but he didn’t help his case. Questioning and harrying Alex for information that he knew he wouldn’t get straight away. Alex is a shy lad and you could tell he really liked Fran, so the best thing to do is not give him a hard time. Of course, that’s wasn’t Steve policy.

‘What’s she into then? Zep? Quo? Tull?’

‘Is that a band?’ Alex said.

Yeah. Zepquotull! Coming to a town near you!

‘Three bands.’

‘She’s in a band, actually. On tour at the moment.’

Steve looks put out, and genuinely impressed.

‘Really?’

‘Yeah.’ I said. ‘Really rock ‘n’ roll. Wrecked hotel rooms, the lot.’

‘Oh great.’ Steve looked down.

OK, I’m in no way going to endorse what Steve said next. But, like a lot of people, I love a good pun. And for Steve to come up with it was quite a pleasant shock. But this was tasteless and offensive.

‘I hope you are wheelie happy together.’ Steve grinned.

Alex glared at him as his face dropped.

‘What?’

Steve cracked up into giggles, but Alex kept staring. I shook my head in part shame and part embarrassment.

‘Come on…You know…wheelie happy.’

‘Shut up.’

‘It’s a joke, come one, Al!’ Steve croaked.

‘That’s not funny.’

‘Dylan, come on, you…’

‘Don’t get me involved, Steve.’ I stepped back.

‘Wheelie…’

‘Stop saying that.’ Alex spat at him.

Steve made it worse, of course. As he said the pun he did that wheelchair mime with his hands by his side, as if it would help his case, a physical gesture to explain the pun.

‘It’s a good one, though, isn’t it? I hope you two are whee…’

That’s as far as Steve got. As quick as a flash Alex leapt over and jumped him, barging his shoulder into Steve’s chest, which sent him crashing into the side of the trolley bay, snapping the Perspex in half.

Ten minutes later the ambulance arrived.

‘Dylan, get in.’

Darren was sweating. He’d only been in charge of this department for half an hour and he was forcing me into the back of an ambulance where Steve lay, complete with breathing equipment on his face. He’d been knocked out again, but awoke minutes later, drowsy and shouting about it only being a joke.

‘Why do I have to go?’

‘Because Margaret isn’t in today and Alex is with the police, now get in!’ Darren barked, shoving me into the van.

‘But I have an interview later!’

‘Balls to the interview, he needs someone to go with him!’

Today, at 2.30pm I should have been sat down with Mr A. Fields, Head of Sciences at a local College, discussing why my enthusiasm and understanding of Biomedical Sciences would enrich the hearts and minds of today’s youth. But today, at 2.30pm I was sat down in a Hospital ward, helping a 46-year-old man vomit blood into a paper bag.