Two Men In A Club (Part Two)

'Steve?'
'What is it, dude? I'm busy.'

When I first met Steve, his first words where something like 'Here's my number, feel free to call me anytime.' I can safely say that's never the case, as every phone conversation we've ever had feels rushed as if he's doing something of massive importance.


'Are you busy?'
'...Yes.'

I bet he's sat in the spare room, playing Call Of Duty and half way through an oversized bag of Doritos.


'I was wondering if you'd like to go out tomorrow night...to a club.'
'Really?'
'Yeah, I've got two tickets.'
'Oh, cool. Hang on.'

I heard Steve moved away from the phone and shout to the next room.


'Mary!...Mary!...Dylan's giving us two tickets to a club tomorrow night, are you up for it?'
'No, no.' I said quickly. 'Two tickets. One for me. One for you.'
'Oh...are you sure?'
'Yeah.'
'What kind of club?' Steve asked.

The truth was that I had no idea what kind of club Spence's was. Up until a few years ago I didn't even know there was more than one kind. But I did know that I would be a deal-breaker for Steve. So the Bullshitter became the Bullshitted.


'Er...a rock club, you know...Quo...Zep...Tull...'

I was on thin ice. I wasn't even sure the last one was a band. A few seconds elapsed before he replied.


'Sounds cool, dude. What's it called again?'
'Spence's. I know the DJ.'
'There's a DJ?'

Oh shit. Are there DJ's at rock clubs?


'..Yeah.' I said softly.
'...Cool.'

At first I thought I'd do a little bit of research into Spence's, to get a feel of the place. The phone book didn't offer any clues, just the phone number. And like most establishments these days, I assumed it would pop up in a standard Google search. Nothing. I gave up all hope when realised the place didn't even have it's own Facebook page. So I gave up, safe in the knowledge that all I could do was just go down there on the night.


Spence's is a dance club discreetly situated in a backstreet in town, behind a Bookmakers and that place where you can swap CD's for cash. You could hear the pulsing beat a mile off, so directions were unnessacery. On each side of the darkened archway that led into the club, large yellow posters filled your eyesite, promoting the different kinds of nights that are on.


Wednesday Night - Tru Grime with Waltzy and Jeff
Thursday Night - Disco Beatz
Friday Night - Dance Anthems with DJ Alley

I assumed DJ Alley was the Allison I'd come to see, and not a rather talented side-street that can play music. A few people lingered below the archway, smoking and chatting whilst tapping their feet to the beat inside. One of them suddenly stopped his conversation and turned around towards me. A youngish lad with shaven blonde hair and a face only a mother could slap. He was chewing violently, his eyebrows firmly pressed down above his eyes. Surely he wasn't looking at me. I wasn't standing out particularly, wearing my standard going out gear. Jeans, muted shirt and a dark coat. Nothing different. I felt footsteps behind me. Along with that, clangs and clanks of several chains being hit together. It was Steve. I wish it wasn't.


'Steve...what...'

I didn't know which of the several questions I had to say first.


'What?' He asked.
'The shirt...the jeans....what...'
'What?'

I couldn't get what I wanted to say all at once. Steve had turned up in all out roadie gear. Full on roadie gear. Tight powder blue jeans with several chains hanging off them, big black boots that matched his leather waistcoat and to top it off, a faded Black Sabbath t-shirt.


'The t-shirt.' I tilted my head.
'What? Master Of Reality tour. 1972.'
'It's...'

I thought for a moment. As embarrassing as it would be walk into a club with him, it would be more embarrassing to go in there on my own. I could have done the usual, obviosuly. Go in there, order a drink, play with my phone. The Loners' Trio, as I call it. But I didn't the energy to keep that up.


'...Let's go in, yeah?'
'Cool.' Steve said, eyes widening.
'I'll admit, it's not really a rock 'n' roll club.' I tried, bellowing over the pumping drumbeat behind me.
'I know.' He smiled.
'You do?'
'Yeah...Dylan, you don't need an excuse to hang out with me...'

I could have told him the truth. About Allison and the fact that no-one else would go with me. But again, I didn't have the energy. Plus, keeping Steve happy was important.


Inside, Spence's is deceptively large. A three tiered building with balconies that looked down onto the main dance floor at the bottom. A sea of swaying bodies. Apparently, each floor had it's own musical theme, but tonight the same throbbing beat pumped through every door. The walls had neon blue spotlights set into them, making the staff illuminate as they threw glasses about and danced to the music.


'Seven quid to get in?' Steve shouted into my ear.
'I know.'
'Do you realise what I could buy with that?'

A six month old film on DVD, a chicken based meal for four people. But tonight it bought you a ticket into the largest club in town. I scanned the room to find Allison. She wasn't at the DJ podium below us, and the place was too crowded to pick her out. Maybe she'd already played and left.


'I don't see any fire exits.' Steve shouted, distracting my search.
'Yeah...'
'Dylan, do you see any fire exits?'
'No.'
'There's no fire exits in here!'
'So, I thought you were meant to be rock 'n' roll!'
'I am!' Steve squealed. 'But they're breaking regulations. I'm going for a tinkle!'

Suddenly I felt two hands clamp down on my eyes.


'Guess who?'
'Erm...'
'It's me!'

I spun around to see Allison stood gleaming at me, her short brown hair had been spiked up with lots of mascara around her eyes.


'Glad you came!'
'Yeah, me too!'
'You manage to give away the other ticket?' She asked.
'Erm...yeah.'
'Dylan!' Steve headed back over to me. 'Have you been in the toilets yet? There's no ladies or gents! It's just one!'

Allison looked Steve from head to toe and smiled.


'Oh, great, you brought your Dad!'
'What?' Steve flinched.
'No, no. This is Steve, he works with us!'
'Oh right.' Allison smiled. 'Rock on!'

I bought Allison a drink to impress her, and one for Steve to shut him up. We sat in some comfy leather chairs and chatted, about nothing, really. Me and Steve enjoyed a bit of banter too. Out of the contexts and confines of work, his guard seems to lower and he relaxed a lot more. Well, when he wasn't talking about the health and safety of the place.


'I'm just saying...with drinks being bought, this isn't the right carpet. If there's spillage...'
'Steve!' I warned him.
'I thought he was rock n roll?' Allison asked me.
'Hey, hey! I am!' Steve shouted at us. 'I threw a TV out of a flat window once!'
'A ground floor window.' I added.
'Yeah...'
'Into a skip...'
'So?'
'Because you didn't want it anymore.'

Allison and I laughed until a smile cracked on Steve's face. The alchohol made us more relaxed as the evening passed, telling tales of the supermarket we all knew so well. At 9pm, Allison played a full hour of dance anthems, mixing popular songs with pounding drum and bass. She even mixed one of Zep's tunes, which kept Steve happy, and by the end of the night, Allison met us outside to say goodbye.


'Thanks again for coming.'
'No problem.' Me and Steve smiled.
'I'll see you on Monday?'

Me and Steve walked back down the cobbled side street, the music becoming more distant as we strode down the path along side the bookmakers and towards to taxi rank.


'She's pretty rock 'n' roll, you know.' Steve said, as if he was admitting a serious fact.
'I know. Unlike you.'
'Hey!'
'What was all that about fire exits?'
'They didn't have any!' Steve held out his arms. 'Could have been worse...I could have brought up the Noise Regulation License thing.'

Rock 'n' Roll lives on.

Two Men In A Club (Part One)

When Steve and Mary moved in together there wasn't a house warming party, or a 'flat warming' party. Mary had lived there for around three years so the place was warm enough without us. It sounds bad, but I shudder to think what that flat looks like. A wrestler who is also a Goth, living with a forty-odd year old rocker who thinks he used to be a roadie. My imagination gets the better of me sometimes and I just imagine sweaty wrestling gear lying about the place, next to old studded belts and rusty key-chains. Framed pictures of vampire ladies and loads of those World Of Warcraft models he bangs on about all the time. You can hardly have a flat warming party in those conditions, can you? You don't want sweaty wrestling gear lying next to the drinks and nibbles.

Although Mary and Steve were still living together, they weren't working together. Mary was days into her new checkout contract and busy dazzling middle aged women with tales of super-kicks and chair shots that come with women's amateur wrestling. And as for Tommy..well...

'I mean...' Steve sighed heavily and looked out from our sheltered trolley bay. 'He likes the XBOX and everything, but...he's just a whiny little shit.'

It's almost as if having a mutual addiction to idiotic, pointlessly violent video games aren't enough to make someone a decent, likeable person.

'You probably should have gotten to know him before getting him to work with us.'

Steve looked at me the way he often looks at me. The same look I get whenever I say the obvious to show his mistake.

'At least you get the pleasure of working with him tonight.' Steve smiled.

He was right, I was working with him that night. The fact that he actually turned up was shocking, considering the heavy rain lashing down. He told us he was afraid of thunderstorms and hated the rain. I'm beginning to think he should have taken that into account before taking an outdoors job in England. He was armoured for the night, though. With a full, bright yellow waterproof suit on, a hat, a pair of gloves and huge Wellington boots. He looked like one of those fisherman not content with fishing in a boat, they got into the water with those big trousers on.

'Evening, Tommy.'

'Oh, all right...what was your name again?'

'Dylan.'

'Dylan..yes.'

'Named after Bob.' I smiled.

'Bob?'

'Yeah.'

'So...why aren't you called Bob?'

It was going to be a long night.

Two hours into his shift I'd learned a lot about him. He was only working here until a job came up at his Dad's computer shop, he loves Top Gear and has a sister who works on the checkouts.

'She's called Allison.' Tommy said. 'She basically got me a job here in the first place.'

I immediately pictured Allison to look just like Tommy, only with less spots and longer curly red hair. But in the canteen later she sat at our table, asking her brother about bus times whilst crunching on a bag of quavers.

'Oh, Allison.' Tommy piped up. ' This is Dylan.'

'Dylan, hi!' She smiled.

I didn't want to explain the name again, even though it wouldn't be as painful this time around. It's like teaching someone to play pool. You do it with a girl and it's flirty and cute. You do it with a boy and it's just weird.

'Like Bob Dylan?' She smiled again.

'Yes.' I replied, a bit too loud.

'I've mixed a couple of his tunes in the past.'

'I'm sorry?'

'She's a DJ.' Tommy said.

'Oh, right...brilliant. Where at?'

'Down at Spence’s? On Hester Street?'

Allison spoke in questions, turning each sentence up at the end in a higher tone, so you're inclined to answer.

'Oh yeah.' I nodded.

'Playing there tomorrow night.'

'Cool.'

That sounded as if it needed a 'cool' kind of answer, which made her casually invite me with a calm come-or-whatever shrug. I nodded with a smile and looked down at my empty can of fizzy vimto. She had Tommy's green eyes but with short, brown hair that shaped her rosy, freckled face.

'Liz and Beth dropped out so I've got 2 tickets If you're up for it?'

Liz and Beth? Two tickets? Up for it? Hell, yeah!

'OK, whatever.' I shrugged.

Two tickets to Spence’s on Hester Street tomorrow night. First I needed to find out what the hell Spence’s was, find out where Hester Street was and then find someone to go with. The trouble was that I didn't have many friends. I had them, at uni and college and that, but I wasn't lucky enough to grow up with those 2 or 3 close friends who live just around the corner from you. So close that it takes no real effort to meet up, knock a football about and talk about girls. I couldn't go to this thing on my own. I'd just prop up the bar for an hour and leave without talking to her. And that was the whole point of going.

'Alex?'

'Yeah?'

'Are you free tomorrow night?'

'Naa, going to Fran's parents house. Wedding plans..'

Damn.

'Darren?'

'Dylan, come in.'

'Are you free tomorrow night?'

'Why?'

'Wondered if you fancied going out...you know, to a club?'

'...No, no thanks.'

Shit.

'Tommy?'

'What?'

'...Nevermind.'

I was struggling. Allison had given me two tickets to a club she was DJ'ing at. I'd be stupid not to go and stupid to go on my own. I had to find someone. That someone was Steve.

End of part one.

War Of The Girls: Trolley Pusher Tommy

I dread to think of the tension at that flat when Steve got there, still confused and angry about Darren poaching Mary over to the checkout team. It was a bold move but I can see why he did it. As well as being a Goth who dabbles in scary amateur wrestling, she's also a sweet and warm girl, most probably wasted as a trolley pusher. Steve attempted to play it cool, though.

'You know in those films, when there's a bloke ready to argue and explode. So he waits for his perfect opportunity and then just goes mental!'

'Yeah...' I nodded.

'Well, that didn't happen.' Steve frowned. 'I couldn't find the time. I drove to Birmingham in silence. She was nervous...I was too confused...'

'You didn't enjoy the exhibition, then?'

'What? Of course I did. It's World Of Warcraft, dude!'

Apparently that meant something. They had a little bicker when they got back. Mary had gotten friendly with some of the checkout girls and was delighted to find Darren wanted her permanently after her back surgery.

'You're not pissed off then?'

'I was. But it's the way it is, dude. Keep on rockin' in the free world...'

This sense of ease felt really uneasy. Something wasn't right.

'I have a plan.' He said, widening his eyes.

'A plan?'

'Darren took Mary. I'm going to take one of his precious staff.'

'That's your plan?'

'Yeah...'

'That's not a plan, it's just revenge.'

'Yeah, a revenge plan.' He nodded.

'Fighting fire with fire?'

'Yeah, my Fighting-fire-with-fire-revenge-plan.'

It sounded clever and devious enough. But all it involved was Steve buddying up to a checkout colleague. Two hours later he reported back to me in the canteen whilst I was enjoying a quiet sandwich.

'It's not going well.' Steve sighed, throwing himself down in front of me, making my can of fanta shake a bit.

'No?'

'No. I've spoke to about twenty odd of them! Nothing.'

Steve got his scruffy little notepad and flicked through a few pages, popped on his reading glasses and began his list of disappointment.

 'Four of them think trolley pushing would be tedious. Three of them think it would be too boring. Over half of them think it would be both tedious and boring.'

'Shocking.'

'Gordon didn't even know the job existed, so I had to explain what we do!'

I bet that took at least 15 seconds.

'Two of them were students...No girls wanted to do it...I'm all out of ideas.' He sighed again.

'What about him?' 

I nodded over Steve's shoulders towards Tommy, a young lad half way though a plate of chips. I chat to him on Saturday mornings when I'm filling up his checkout with bags. We have a bit of small talk, you know, the usual. Last nights sleeping habits, breakfast menu and tonight's arrangements. Nothing special. He seemed nice enough, with reddish curly hair and a few youthful spots scattered over his face.

'You think?' Steve asked.

'Yeah, it's Tommy. Seems nice.' I shrugged.

'OK, let's go...'

'What?'

'Let's go...sit next to him.' Steve said, getting up.

That gives off the wrong impression, don't you think? Two men switching tables all of a sudden and sitting next to a young lad. It's either a weird come on or a massive threat. I don't know which one is worse, to be honest. 

'Just you.' I said quickly. 'Have a chat.'

Five minutes into their conversation and Steve was on fire, his hand on the back of Tommy's chair to keep his attention. Tommy seemed interested enough and a couple of seconds later Steve was back over to me.

'I think we have our winner.'

'Yeah?'

'Bored of checkouts.'

'Tick.' 

'Loves the XBOX.'

Natch.

'Fan of 70's prog rock.' Steve smiled.

'Splendid.'

'Oh, hang on...'

Steve turned his back and shouted over to Tommy.

'You're not a student are you?'

'No.' Tommy said softly.

'Perfect.'

So, apparently we had got our man. As much as I thought it was a somewhat childish knee-jerk reaction to Darren's poaching, you have to hand it to Steve. It was amazing to see him get things done. It normally takes him 20 minutes to get something from his car, in under 24 hours he'd lost a colleague and replaced her before anyone knew what was going on. Of course, he had to get Darren's permission.

'I went in there, guns a' blazin'...said my piece. Told him straight.'

'Oh yeah?' I asked.

'Yeah. Then when he got off the phone he asked me what I was shouting about. So I told him again. Guns a' blazin'. I said my piece and told him straight.'

'What did he say?'

'He said fair enough. Well said. He's ours...done.' Steve nodded.

That sounds a little strange. I decided to make my that-sounds-a-little-strange noise.

'Hmmm...'

'What?' He asked.

'Darren just...gave you a colleague?'

'Yeah, so?'

'There might be something wrong with him.'

'Of course there isn't. He's completed all Grand Theft Auto's. Knows all the lyrics to 'Spirit Of The Radio.' What more do you want?'

Sounds like a normal teenager to me. At 2pm, Tommy had finished his final checkout shift and thanks to Darren's suggestion, we were showing him around the car park to get a feel for his new environment. The paperwork was going through and a new shirt was ordered for him. I felt like an estate agent, showing a potential and somewhat reluctant buyer around a show home. Steve led the way.

'We have 6 trolley bays in total. Three of them stick of piss. A tramp usually sleeps in the far one. Lovely bloke, he's called Twixsy.'

Steady on, Steve. Don't big it up too much.

'Right.' Tommy smiled. 

Steve was right, he did seem like a normal lad. He nodded and smiled in all the right places, asked the appropriate questions. Then we realised what was wrong with him.

'Oh, no...' Tommy grimaced and look up to the skies. 'It's starting to rain.'

Me and Steve said nothing. It's the kind of statement that doesn't need a reply.

'I don't like the rain.' He looked at us with tired eyes. 'I can't do thunderstorms either. Far too loud.'

'It's OK.' Steve said. 'We've ordered you a coat.'

'Is it thick, though? Like, really thick?'

'I think so.' Steve nodded.

'Not too thick, though?' Tommy asked softly.

'Well...I don't know.'

Tommy was a girl. A big girl. No offence to girls. I know girls who sleep in tents in the pouring rain, walk for miles in thunderstorms. Don't ask me why I know these girls, but Tommy wasn't one of them. He was afraid almost everything. In a matter of seconds we got it all. Rain. Thunderstorms. Dogs. Men with dogs. Dog hairs. Dirty water. Pigeons. It was amazing he ever get's out of the house. Steve was up in Darren's office before Tommy started again.

'Darren, the paperwork hasn't gone through, has it?'

'Just sent the e-mail. Why?'

'I don't think Tommy's right for the job.' Steve shook his head, sitting down at the desk.

'Why's that?'

'Just got a feeling.' He shrugged.

'Is it because he's a moaning, whiny teenager?'

Darren had managed to hit the nail on the head. Oh, shouldn't say that. Tommy's afraid of nails.

'Might be.' Steve said softly, looking down.

'Steve.' Darren leant forward in his chair. 'Do you not think I knew that? He's worked for me. Every two seconds it's "Darren, can I go to the toilet?" "Darren, can I get off my till I think it's got germs on it!" "Darren, can I go early?" And now he's yours.' He smiled. 'Enjoy.'

A poaching backlash. Didn't see that coming.

War Of The Girls: Checkout Mary

Steve's face was going redder every second. When he get's frustrated or angry, his round head turns slightly brighter and when he had his ponytail, it used to shake about the place like a nervous rattlesnake. A greasy, greying rattlesnake.

He was furious because Alex hadn't yet arrived. After a two week holiday with Fran, he was due back at 12 noon. At three minutes past, Steve began to sweat and moan at the same time. It wasn't because we were one man down on the car park on a busy Saturday afternoon, it was because Alex's return meant he could clock off early, pick up Mary in his skoda and drive to Birmingham.


'What's in Birmingham, anyway?' 
'What's in Birmingham?' Steve questioned my question.
'Yeah.' I shrugged.
'Only the best World Of Warcraft exhibition in England.'

I stared blankly.


'OK, second best. There's a a bigger one in Grimsby.'
'Ah, right.'
'I'm going to text him.' Steve said, skuffling about in his coat.
'Again?'
'Yeah, we'll go and see Darren, too.'

Darren's office never changes. The same four walls with odd pictures in it. Primary colours with words like 'Teamwork' and 'Communication'. One more of those kind of words and I would swear he was in a cult. He was at busy work, obviously. Sharon told us that he was our manager when he first starting turning up in a shirt and tie, but we hardly see him any more. Just once a month to hand out the rotas. They never change either.


'Guys, take a seat. I'll be with you in a second.'
'Alex isn't in yet.' Steve blurted, not giving Darren his second.
'What time's he due in?'
'Six minutes ago.' Steve replied quickly.

Darren didn't know whether to laugh or kick him out.


'He might be running late.' Darren shrugged, looking back down at his papers.
'I've text him twice. No reply.'
'He'll be on his way.'
'The second one was in capital letters.'

That's going too far, if you ask me. No man deserves capital letters. No one texts like that, apart from my Grandad who doesn't really know how to use his phone. We all know the rule. 'No caps unless it's an emergency.'


'I consider it an emergency.' Steve added. 'He's late for work. Plus I've arranged for me to go early, remember?'
'Oh, yes. The War Of The Worlds thing.'
'World Of Warcraft.' Steve stared him down.
'Same thing.'
'No. Plus, Mary's coming with me. Need to pick her up, so...'

Darren's eyes lit up, like he'd seen something fascinating on his desk or he'd remembered something very important.


'Oh yes, Mary.' Darren put down his pen. 'I've been meaning to speak to you about that. I've spoken to her over the phone this morning...about her back.'
'Yeah, she's getting better. Thanks for asking.'
'I did ask.' Darren nodded.
'She's doing a few shifts on checkouts until it's better.'
'Yes, but one thing I haven't told you...told you both, actually.' Darren smiled shyly. 'I am now in charge of the checkouts. I am the new checkout manager.'
'What about Frances?' I asked.
'Pregnant.'
'So, you're the manager whilst Frances is on maternity leave?'

Darren paused and felt the sting in my sentence.


'That's correct.'

I don't blame him. 'Checkout Manager' sounds a lot better than 'Temporary Checkout Manager.' 'Temporary' is always a negative word. 'Temporary Traffic Lights', 'Temporary Blindness'.


'Congratulations!' I smiled.

Eight months ago, Darren was scooping dog shit out of a shopping basket. He's come a long way.


'Oh, I get it!' Steve stood up quickly. 'I see what this is all about. You don't want Mary on your patch!'
'No.' Darren tried.
'You're just like all the rest of them. Stuck is this size zero shit! Not the right image for you, is she? You're all the same....
'Steve...'
'Mary's parents...the wrestling fans...the woman in the clothes shop...'
'No, Steve. Sit down.'

Steve sat down. He was up for protesting, but he was betting on a bit in age.


'Quite the opposite.' Darren said softly. 'I've asked Mary to be part of the checkout team. Permanently.'

Permanently is a better word. 'Permanently Employed.'

Steve laughed. Partly because he was tickled by Darren's ridiculousness and partly because out of offence.


'Good luck with that.' Steve crossed his arms. 'Trying to poach one of my men...'
'Women.'
'Same thing.'
'I've already poached her.'

Oo err missus?

'What?'

Steve's chewing gum nearly fell out of his mouth.


'She said yes. She's part of my team.'
'But...she can't...you can't...you need my permission as head porter.'
'I really don't.' Darren stayed firm.
'But...'

Steve's head nearly imploded, only to be interrupted by Alex, bouncing into the room.


'Sorry I'm late, Darren. Bus was running late.' He panted.
'No problem.'
'Steve, you texted me.'
'Because you were late.' I spoke for Steve.
'In capital letters?' Alex questioned him. 'I thought it was an emergency.'

See, I told you.

'Well, you're free to go, lads.'  Darren announced.

Steve's stare moved from Darren to out of the window behind him, glaring into nothingness with a look of confusion and despair.


'Steve?'
'Yeah.' Steve snapped out of it and headed for the door.
'Enjoy your World War games.'

Steve stopped at the door, looked down and took a heavy breath.


'This isn't over!' Steve spat, with his back turned to Darren.

 A split second later he was off, led by a few moments of silence, filled by Alex's panting and confusion. I had to fill the air with something.


'Congratulations again, Darren.'
'Thanks, Dylan. I'm still in charge of you lot.'

I smiled warmly and headed for the door.


'I'm sure Steve will be delighted.'

Like Steve said, this wasn't over.

Heads, Shoulders, Knees and Clothes (Part Two)

'Bloody hell.'
'I know.'

Steve wasn't happy. Being told one thing is strenuous for him, so two things was a bad idea.

'It's mental out there...pissing down with rain...and she expects us to watch her shitty clothes...although that shirt looks pretty good.'  Steve said, eyeing the black shirt with a dragon on it at half price.
'We could keep an eye on them in here.' I suggested. 'We could get dry too.'


Ten minutes later we saw Sharon scuttle across the front of the store. She spoke a few words to Glen the greeter and carried on walking, double taking in our direction.


'What in God's name are you two doing?' She bellowed over at us.

I don't know what her problem was. We were doing a favour for one of the managers, keeping an eye on supermarket property. Just because we chose to do it whilst sat on a bench sipping tea from a plastic cup, doesn't mean we weren't working.


'Watching the racks of clothes, Sharon.'

She turned her head towards the clothes, one either side of the sliding doors.


'Janice told us to.' Steve added.
'She told you, with my blessing, to keep an eye on them.'
'Yeah...and were getting dry. My coat's on the radiator over there.'
'But not your cap? That's still on your head...' Sharon tilted her head.
'It'll damage the fibres.'

I bet damaged fibres takes a tenner off the Ebay asking price.


'Outside. Now.' She said bluntly.
'Let us finish our brews, Sharon. Joan from the canteen's just made them for us.'
'Outside.'
'She's on the way with the ginger nuts...'
'Out!'

We went outside and braved the sideways rain. I should have been surprised, really. Only half an hour went by until we realised the two racks of clothes had disappeared from the foyer.


'I didn't take them in!' Janice screeched when we rushed over to her.
'Shit! Where can they be?!'
'Go and find them!'


We bounced towards the doors, skipping past the old aged pensioners like they were traffic cones and through the foyer sliding doors. Steve led the way, using his bright red cap as a beacon in the haze of panic and rain. I almost lost him for a second as he turned left out of the store and bolted along the walls. God knows why Steve thought were to go, but he we right. Up ahead I could see the two silver racks of clothes, seemingly moving of their own accord, rumbling down the wheelchair access ramp at the side of the store.

As I got closer to Steve he was at a standstill, his soggy hands gripping one end of the clothes-filled rack. On the other end stood a panting young man with shaggy black hair and shiny necklaces around his neck. The tug of war began as Steve shouted at me to chase the second rack, so I bolted forward again, gaining speed on the moving t-shirts and trousers. I was so impressed with myself when I got a hold of it, yanking it backwards with a tired heave. To my surprise the rack seemed too light as I almost fell backwards with my own strength. I stopped to see another young lad running off into the distance, looking back at me every so often. I wanted to shout something at that point. Something like 'Don't come back!' but I was far too knackered.

Steve was still wrestling with the first rack though.


'Give it back, you melon!' Steve attacked the lad with his words through the mist of rain.
'Piss off!' The lad fought back.
'Dylan, hit him!'
'What?' I asked.

I can't hit people. This isn't a film. I was now stood in the middle, watching the rack being pushed and pulled in opposite directions like a tennis match.


'Hit him!'
'No.'
'Hit him!' Steve spat back through the rain.
'Piss off!' 
'All right, all right, stop it, stop it!' The young lad waved his head about. 'You can have your clothes.'
'Good.' Steve panted.
'You have to give me something for it though!'
'What? What do you mean?'

The young lad and Steve were both grasping the rack, bargaining over it's content that was now worth fuck all, thanks to the rain.


'You know, money or something.'
'I've not got any on me.' Steve said. 'I'm not allowed.'

The young man looked at me.


'Piss off, I'm not giving you anything!'


There was a few moments of silence, only filled by the whistling wind and splattering rain against our bodies. The young man nodded at Steve.


'Is that a racing cap?'

Steve looked up and touched it.


'Yes.'
'Official?'
'Hollogrammed, autographed sticker on the peek.'
'Shiny?' The man asked.
'Of course.'

The young man bit his lip, looked at both of us and nodded.


'OK, I'll have that.'
'Oh, no...This is not for sale.'

Until he finds a decent Ebay bid, plus £4.50 postage and packaging.


'Oh, come on Steve.' I tried.
'No.'
'You can get another one!'

Steve looked to the floor, attempted to yank the rack one more time and sighed.


'Fine.'

He handed over the cap slowly. The man grabbed it, crushed it onto his head and raced off into the mist. Me and Steve stood there for a second, breathing heavily and soaked to the bone. A group of colleagues had formed above us, peering down from the canteen.


'I'll get Joan to make us another brew.' I said softly.
'Yeah...get warm...'
'Yeah...'
'It was a fake anyway.' Steve said. 'Got it off the market.'

Steve The Bullshitter lives up to his name.

Heads, Shoulders, Knees and Clothes (Part One)

Mary was due back to work within the week, resting her back on the checkouts after her surgery. Steve went mental, claiming that Mary was a 'trolley pusher through and through'  and wouldn't be seen dead on a till with all the rest of the women. Sharon told me Mary was delighted, and couldn't wait to sit down for money after weeks of boredom.

Along with the key to Mary's flat, ten unsuccessful lottery tickets and a crisp twenty pound note from his mother, Steve received a present from his friend in America, one of the many middle-aged single men who play World Of Warcraft with him on a nightly basis. It was a bright red baseball cap with logos all over it, the main one being some kind of racing car company. He was adamant on wearing it all the time, even though it's not uniform policy. It wasn't black or navy blue, or bore the title of the supermarket. Instead it was covered with every kind of logo you could think of. From phone companies to sports designers. Telecom businesses to food restaurants, so much so, you could hardly see the actual colour of the cap.

'It's really red, Steve. It looks like you've won a competition or something...'

I rarely tell my honest opinion to Steve, sometimes it would be too painful. He took my statement as a compliment.


'Thanks.'
'Or you've been given it as a gift because you've been ill.'


It was bright red. Too red. All the logos were different colours so the hat looked vaguely comical, like it belonged to clown on holiday.

'This is an official racing cap, this! They're over a hundred quid on Ebay.'
'You actually checked?'
'Too right.'

He loves it so much that he immediately wanted to know how much he could sell it for.


'Look, it's even got a sticker on the peek.'

Steve took off the cap carefully and turned it over, showing the shiny, hologrammed sticker with a print of an autograph in the middle of it. Looked legitimate to me. But it was such a pity I wasn't in any way interested. The walkie-talkie crackled and fizzed in Steve's coat pocket, which made him fish about for it frantically.


'Yeah, what?' 
'Foyer. Now.' A voice spat back.
'What for?'
'Foyer. Quick.'

Life would be so much easier if people only spoke two words at a time. Things would get done faster, that's why 30 seconds later we were in the foyer, shaking off the rain as we were met by Janice.


'Alright, lads.'
'Morning, Janice.' Steve said.

They were keeping this 'Two Word' thing up. Maybe we could actually govern it and make it compulsory.


'I've got a job for you two.'

Stupid Janice, ruining my dream. Janice was a fifty-odd year old manager of our clothing department.  She was in charge of the quarter of the store that didn't sell food or cheap DVD's. A roundish woman, with dark eyes that matched her straight shoulder length hair.


'We've got a sale on, so we're putting these two racks of clothes in here...so we can shift them.'
'So what?'

Well done Steve, keep my dream alive.

'So, I need you to keep an eye on them. They'll be here until 2pm, OK?'

Janice said 'OK?' as a demand rather than a question and trotted off inside.


'Bloody hell.' Steve sighed.
'I know.'

Maybe me and Steve could keep this up. Let's face it, the less Steve says the better. It could become our thing. We could get YouTube to film it and be in a Louis Theroux documentary. Famous for saying very little, it's the trend these days! But we couldn't think of that right now. We had a job to do. Well, two jobs to do. Push trolleys and keep an eye on some clothes.

Turns out you can't do two at the same time.


End of part one.