You know when you're in the wrong job when the first five minutes of your shift includes watching a 46 year old man give sex advice to a 15 year old boy.
'In the early eighties it was all different. You could give a girl a slap on the arse...'
'Steve.' I tried.
'It was the done thing back then.' Steve continued. 'Nowadays...I don't know. It's all changed. You go as far as touching her arse and you're in a court case.'
Jack was Fran's younger brother and due to a child minding miscommunication and a day off school, she was struggling for a place to put him for the day. Alex suggested he come to work and learn all about how his big sister works on the checkouts. Sharon didn't like that, but didn't want to seem harsh on the little lad, and palmed him off to us outside.
'Alex, did he have to come here?' I asked.
'He had no where else to go.' Alex arched his shoulders. 'Fran finishes at two, and besides, child minding puts me in her mum and dad's good books. Jack is the favourite.'
Of course he is. All younger siblings are the favourites. They don't go through that couple of years of being second best whilst your brother swans around in his nappy, making all the relatives melt.
'But take your time, dude. There's plenty fish in the world.' Steve said, nudging Jack warmly in the shoulder. 'Does that answer your question?'
'What question?' Jack looked up at him.
Jack hadn't asked Steve anything. In fact, I don't think Jack had said anything at all up to that point. Jack was quite small for a 15 year old, a bright red face that matched his worn football shirt.
'I'm just saying.' Steve continued. 'There are loads of girls out there...take your time. Try them all...'
'Steve! Can you stop talking filth to him!' I warned him.
'It's not filth, it's information.'
I left Steve and Jack with Alex and went up to the canteen. It was just past half twelve and a couple of minutes late for mine and Allison's scheduled and cleverly synchronised dinner break. I bought us two cartons of Ribena and split open a packet of Discos for us to share on the corner table.
'So, what did Bernard say in the e-mail?'
Allison had a great way of making me feel excited about things. I try to play things down to stay calm. Being British, I tend to repress real excitement. We either grit our teeth a bit tighter or get completely pissed. We don't know how to deal with it.
'He just said he enjoyed meeting with me last week. Thinks I would be perfect for the team. Wondered if I minded coming down on Monday for a look around.' I shrugged.
I did the amateur thing of trying to act casual in explaining what Bernard wrote, but instead I managed to repeat the whole e-mail word for word. All bar the hello's and goodbye's.
'Do you think he'll offer you a job?' Allison looked at me.
That was the first time I thought about Bernard offering me a job. I know it sounds mad because that's the reason I applied and the reason he came down to visit me. But I was preparing so much for his arrival and so pleased in how it all turned out in the end, I guess it slipped my mind. The harsh reality hit me, forming into a flash of excitement and panic.
'I don't know.' I shrugged. 'I guess I'll find out on Monday.'
'You could be just what they're after. New blood, you know?'
'Yeah...'
I sipped my drink and paused for a moment, visioning dozens of old men in lab coats, scuttling around the museum as if it was some kind of ward. If Bernard was anything to go by, they'll all be wearing blazers with leather elbow pads and reading glasses, listening to Radio 4. Allison was right, maybe I was what they needed. A fresh injection of youth. I could make the place more modern, use today's culture to appeal to the kids. I could get a name badge and we could turn over to Radio 1 to hear Chris Moyles. Teach the old folks how to use the internet.
'You'll be fine.' She smiled.
'Yeah...be a bit weird leaving this place.' I looked around the half-empty canteen.
'Weird...but good.'
'Means I won't see you as much.'
'You're not getting rid of me that easily!'
We both chuckled loudly, making the dinner ladies look up at us.
'This is what you want to do, Dylan.'
Her words stuck in my head. It is what I want to do. Well, It was when I graduated. It's amazing how working here numbs everything else. It would be a nice change. Suddenly I started thinking seriously about working at the museum. A new start. I can finally be one of those ex-colleagues who swagger back into the store to buy their lunch, safe in the knowledge that I used to work there and I am now a little bit better than everyone else. You don't say it out loud, of course. It's just in the air.
'Yeah, it would be a nice change.' I smiled.
I looked down from the canteen to the car park. Steve caught my eye, under the trolley bay with Jack in a headlock.
'I'd better get down there.'
When I eventually got down there, Steve had progressed from his head lock and now had Jack on the floor with his arm clamped behind his back.
'Steve! What the hell are you doing?'
'Relax, mate. I'm teaching him self-defense.'
I doubted that. It looked like he was teaching him how to break his arm on the car park of a supermarket. Jack was shouting at him to let go, and after a few more seconds of holding him down, he slowly let go and finished his lecture.
'So, remember. If you're ever in a tight spot. Chicken wing.' Steve motioned the move again. 'Get's them every time.'
When Jack got to his feet, he ran at Steve and aimed a kick at Steve's legs. Steve managed to dodge the kick but dodged the wrong way, angling the foot just right, hitting him square in the nadgers. Steve went down with a pained cry. Jack ran off.
'So does that.' I said.
'Fuck off!' Steve squealed.
I thought working at the museum would be a nice change. But things change around this place. At 11am you could be administering relationship advice to a child, at 1pm you could be administering an ice pack to your swollen balls.
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