The Trolley Pushers

The Demo - 'Sack To The Future'

2011-11-02T02:37:00.000-07:00

After 100 posts and a year of writing, the demo version of The Trolley Pushers has been created. Filmed in October 2011 and performed by members and ex-members of Bolton Little Theatre, the demo is called 'Sack To The Future', partly taken from the post of the same name. Hope you enjoy it. If so, tell a friend. If not, tell an enemy.

I Love To Lie At Weddings (Part Two)

2011-06-28T08:38:00.000-07:00

Your wedding day is supposed to be the proudest, happiest day of your life. If we are to believe what those films and TV shows tell us, you’re supposed to have a medley of emotions and thoughts. Nervousness. Apprehention, that’s a big one. Excitement. Nauseousness. Then more excitement. You must be knackered after it all, to be honest. Greeting all the people and thanking them for coming, pretending you know who they are even though they’re probably a second cousin you met once when you were drunk. Remembering all the speeches and plans for the day. On top of that, you’re committing yourself to one person for the rest of your life. It must be exhausting. But at the same time it must the most amazing feeling in the world. So far, Alex and encountered three emotions that aren’t on the wedding emotion etinery. Fear. Pressure and Drunkenness. That’s not wedding day material. John, Fran’s Dad, had terrified him into marrying her. I’m sure he meant to be warm and pleasant, welcoming him into the family with a slight warning of how to be a man. But to Alex it felt like so much more and after two bottles of beer and three Jack and cokes, another emotion entered his mind. Utter confusion.

‘What the hell am I doing?’ I stuttered.
‘You’re getting married.’ Steve replied.

At least I think he said that. Steve was slumped over the bar next to Alex, his head in his arms.

‘Why?’
‘Because you love her...probably.’
‘I do. She’s great. She’s....’

Alex spluttered and began to blubber, whining like a little girl.

‘Alex.’ I tried, peering past Steve on the next stool. ‘Sort yourself out. Go and welcome your guests.’
‘Yeah, Alex.’ Steve lifted his head. ‘I’m the one with the girl problems. Mary’s pissed off at me.’
‘Well, you’re not alone.’ I said softly.

Alex and Steve peered over to me.

‘Allison ‘s mad at me too. I lied to her. I don’t work at the museum. Not done for awhile.’
‘Why not?’
‘Bernard was ill...is ill. He couldn’t hire me. Then Allison handed in my notice.’
‘Fuck.’ Steve sighed. ‘Did you tell Allison about Bernard?’
‘I tried. She’s still mad because I lied.’
‘Fuck.’ He repeated.
‘Well, guys...’

Alex put his drink down and picked up his tie. Wiped his mouth and looked at us both.

‘If you two can mess us your relationships so bad. Over the most stupid of things. Steve...she’s haivng your baby. Take responsibility. If you lose your job...get another one. And for God’s sake stop taking the piss telling everyone you used to be roadie. Your Mum told us you were a truck driver last year.’
‘Hang on.’ Steve perked up.
‘Leave it, Steve.’ I stopped him.
‘And Dylan...’ Alex looked at me. ‘How you managed to get the love of your life to get you sacked...i’ll never know. And how you managed to keep her from the fact that you weren’t working...again...I’ll never know.’
‘Me neither.’ I shrugged.
‘But if you two can do that.' Alex rose to his feet. 'I can provide for Fran.’
‘Yes!’
‘Good lad!’
‘I’ll see you at the church.’ He said proudly.

Me and Steve watched him pace out of the room. He turned swiftly to the right before he got to the door.

‘Need a piss first!’

The church ceremony was in a lovely little church beside the park. We sat on Alex’s side, obviously. With Mary and Allison sat a few rows down from Steve and I. It’s easy to know when women are mad at you, they simply cut off all knowledge and eye contact. It’s different with men, you either get a foul mouthed text message or a kick in the bollocks. Girls are far more subtle.

‘How can I make it up to her?’ Steve whispered to me.
‘I don’t know. I’ve got my own problems.’
‘It’s easy for you.’ Steve scoffed. ‘You two are young. You both can find someone else. Us two...after forty you’re either alone our it’s Singles Nights.’
‘Good point’

The ceremony rolled on quite swiftly. Fran was wheeled down the aisle by her father John. John looked exactly like I presumed he would. A round, grizzly faced man who looked as if he’s grown up on a farm. Rosy red cheeks and a smart suit that looked like he was more suited to a lumberjack shirt than a waistcoat. Alex had managed to sober up. The fresh air outside the pub did wonders and the 4 pints of water supplied by Jake sealed the deal. It was a lovely ceremony. Up until everyone heard a ringtone to a mobile phone. It sounded like it was coming from behind me, but as the volume increased I felt the vibritions in my jacket pocket. Oh. Shit. Every single person in that church was praying it wasn’t their phone and it was mine. Of all the people invited to this wedding and it was my phone to ring. Brothers. Sons. Next door neighbours. Old university friends. And it was my phone that rang.

A hot flush of panic splashed over me like a bucket of water. I dove into my pocket and ripped out my phone, press the flashing red button to ignore it. What I couldn’t ignore was my red face and a church full of staring eyes. Even Allison was staring at me and she sworn off all contact. I didn’t recognise the number when it flashed up on the screen. It wasn’t in my phonebook. It wasn’t one of those scary Unknown Numbers. Just a phone number.

At the end of the ceremony we all clapped and smiled and took pictures. Alex looked so proud, holding Fran’s hand as they headed towards the door. It was such a lovely moment. Not lovely enough for me to throw the confetti and ignore another phone call, obviously.

‘Hello?’
‘Hello, Dylan?’
‘Yes...’
‘This is Bernard.’

Bernard. It was like I was talking to the dead. Bernard wasn’t dead, I know. But for all I know he could have been. His wife last spoke to me months ago and said he wasn’t well. Now he’s ringing me. The dead don’t ring people.

‘Bernard...Hey!’ I said, trying to block out the cheering from outside the church.
‘Yes, sorry for the huge delay.’
‘Oh, It’s OK. Your wife said you were Ill.’
‘Yes, I’m still not one hundred percent...’

What a great time to ring me and tell me he’s still not well and still cannot hire me. At a wedding of all places!

‘...but I’m back at the museum...only part-time, you understand.’

I did.

‘But I’ve kept you in mind. I want you to come in on Monday and fill in the gaps, as it were.’

Oh, Bernard. His lovely, deep, middle-class voice was warming my bones.

‘What do you mean?’
‘Be my right-hand-man, for want of a better phrase.’
‘Oh...right.’
‘We can meet up Monday and sort things out. We think we need a fresh touch to the place.’
‘Wow...right.’
‘So what do you say?’

I films, this is were the main character turns down the offer. Worldwind of excitement ensues. Maybe some music plays. But so far, nothing has gone like a film.

‘I say yes. Of course i say yes.’

The wedding meal was at the same place where I had my 18th birthday party, above a library in town. The hall was decorated beautifully with huge white flowers in each corner. Tables were set out like how you would imagine a normal wedding reception to look like. White tables with party favours, bits of glitter and balloons everywhere. Just enough for every small child in a tuxedo to inhale a weeks worth of helium into their lungs. Jake dazzled us all with his speech, with every laugh i’d turn to Allison and expect a rye smile and a glance over, but I got nothing. She wanted to get through the day. I’m pretty sure Steve was doing the same thing but it must have been tough, looking for Mary across three tables. Mary hadn’t even sat next to Steve, making Allisons anger seem tiny and irrational and mediocre, leaving Mary sat next to a fat grandmother with bad ankles.

‘...and I can safely say that Alex is the man for Fran.’ Jake finally announced, a glass of champagne in hand. ‘He’s warm. Kind. Thoughtful. And always gets the drinks in at the bar!’

Cue the small round of appoving applause. He’d kept it clean. No filth. Just annecdones of drunkenness and gentle ribbings. Fresh from a Google search.

‘To the bride and groom!’

Jake raised his glass and everyone followed along. We all clapped and cheered and smiled warmly at Fran and Alex. But as the applause died down, more clinking whirred around the room. At first I thought it was coming from behind me, but as the clinking got louder I realised it was coming from my table. I turned and realised Steve was on his feet. A spoon and glass in hand.

‘Excuse me everyone....’ He said, clearing his throat.

Oh no, we’d already managed to interupt the ceremony with my ringing phone but Steve was taking it too far. I couldn’t help my ringing phone. Granted I could have put it on silent, but still, Steve was purposely interupting!

‘Can I just say...I spent a few hours with Alex before the wedding and...actually a few years with him at work. I feel that I know him pretty well. But before the wedding he was afriad...’

Everyone looked confused. Fran looked annoyed. Alex looked terrified. Even Steve didn’t look completly sure what he was doing.

‘He was afriad of what would happen. It’s a big thing. And it comes with pressure. He was scared that he wouldn’t provide for Fran. He was scared he wouldn’t be able to look after her as a husband. But what I will say...is that we’re all human. We all make mistakes...’

A few people nodded. Alex looked over to Fran lovingly. Now Steve was peering over to Mary.

‘But a couple is a team. They should be honest about their hopes...their fears and their dreams. And should be sorry when they’re sorry. Because that’s what a team does. They stick together....’

He finally looked back to the couple.

‘And that’s excactly what they’ll do.’

A few seconds elapsed before the first clap sounded. The round of claps slowly evolved into a huge, almost ear splitting applause with a kiss from the happy couple. Everyone looked made up. Even Mary.

An hour later we were all tucking into our main course. Allison hadn’t spoken a word me in all that and it felt like a decade had passed.

‘You still mad at me?’ I said timidly.

Stupid question.

‘What do you think?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know?’

Girls just ask questions when they’re angry, that’s what I’ve learned.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to let you down...’
‘And you let me hand in your notice! How embarrassing.’

She slammed his hand down on the table, making the faces around us look up.

‘I know...but Bernard rang me...’
‘There probably isn’t a Bernard, is there!?’

That’s what I thought this morning.

‘Yes! He rang! And...’
‘Forget it, Dylan.’

Allison pushed her chair back and left the room. To the toilets, probably. She left her purse so I knew she hadn’t fully left. I should solve crimes. I needed to prove to her that Bernard was real and so was my job. I had a plan. My plan needed my phone.

At the bar, Steve bought me and Alex a drink.

‘Congrats, mate.’ Steve patted him on the shoulder.
‘Cheers, and that speech! Wow...’
‘I know. It was brilliant.’ I nodded.
‘You should have been my best man!’

Steve blushed. Alex sipped his beer. I got a tap on the shoulder. It was Allison. Holding her phone.

‘Bernard just rang me.’
‘Oh...’ I said, pretending to be shocked.

There was a second of silence filled by the DJ introducing Kool and The Gang, I thought of something to say. But before I could think of something she leant forward and kissed me.

Maybe things do end like the films.

The End.

I Love To Lie At Weddings (Part One)

2011-06-28T03:31:00.000-07:00

Fran's Dad's pub was a cosy little haunt, nestled by the mouth of a nearby wilderness. It's long gravelled drive split off in several directions. One would lead you to a disused farm, another to a park where teenagers usually hang out to burn things and the third was to the pub. Steve found it no problem, after giving up on his sat nav after a forty minute drive.

'Got it off my mate down the market.' He sighed.
'The man who wears pyjamas?'
'...yeah.'

His choice of clothing didn't give Steve any indication that what he'd bought was shit and of no use what so ever. I found out as soon as me and Allison squeezed into the back seat of his Skoda, right around the time the sat nav blurted out directions in Korean.

'I'll take it back to him. He'll sort it.'
'The man can't dress himself.' Mary scoffed. 'How the hell can he fix a sat nav?'
'We're here!' Allison interrupted.

We pulled up outside the pub. Stood outside were a few people, all smiling warmly whilst sipping soft drinks. Fran had arranged this special meet and greet before the ceremony for both families to chat and get ready for the day. The four of us were greeted by a few familiar faces at the door. Jake was the first to do a round of handshakes and greetings, introducing and re-introducing us to Alex's brother Duncan, cousin Jim and a few aunties and uncles of the bride.

'All right, Steve. You sobered up, yet?' Jake giggled.
'Yeah, just about. Good night, wasn't it.'

We were told to go inside and order anything we wanted and Fran's Dad was paying for it. Inside the foyer the fresh air hit us, shaded from the clear day outside. Largely framed pictures of old men stared seriously at us from each wall, with aged glass cabinets stood beside them, displaying trophies for bowling, darts, dominoes, snooker, women's snooker, pool, cards and rugby. Through the first room was the games room. It wasn't a shock to see considering the amount of games they'd won. But what was a little odd was the size of the pub from the inside. From the outside it seemed like a vintage, grand old man's kind of pub. Maybe one with a beer garden or a separate restaurant area. But inside it was tiny. With low ceilings and wood panelled walls showing off more medals and certificates. From the foyer you could see the pub formed a complete circle, moving from room to room in order to form it.

In the centre was the bar, itself a smaller circle. It was as if the pub had won so many dart's competitions in it's lifetime that the whole building had formed into a huge dartboard. All that was needed was a giant tomatoe in the middle to make a bullseye.

The bar appeared custom built for old barfly's and lonely hairy men. That stale stench of aged ale and the slight scent of cigarette smoke still lingered on the nostrils long after the ban. But instead of the usual clientèle, the bar was propped up by Alex. His gold and black suit matched Jake's but Alex's seemed like it had been worn for a week or so. His shirt was untucked, his tie was on the bar next to his half finished bottle of Budweiser. It looked like the bar was propping him up, slouched over it on a bar stool in the corner. Mary, Allison, Steve and I approached him from behind. The inevitable 'wedding chime' da dum da dum's greeting him.

'Leave it out, guys.' He sighed.
'Come on, Alex.' Mary patted him on the back. 'Big day!'
'Yeah.' He replied, sipping his bottle.
'How many have you had?'
'I don't know...four...five.'
'Jesus.' Steve sat down next to him. 'I've heard of Dutch Courage, mate but this is more like Dutch...'

The four of us glanced at him as we heard the cog's whir around in Steve's brain, desperately searching for another word.

'Pisshead.'

We all angled our heads and accepted it.

'Well, I need it.' Alex sighed again. 'I've just had that talk with John.'
'Who's John?' We all asked.
'Fran's dad.'

He looked like a John. Big John.

'What talk?'
'The talk!You know...providing for his daughter. Protecting her. There's so much pressure.'
'I know but you'll handle it.' Allison tried.
'Yeah...' Mary rubbed his back.
'Yeah, but what if I don't?' He finally turned around to all of us. 'What if I can't provide for Fran? Anything could happen and it's all up to me!'
'It'll be fine.' I said generically, hoping it wouldn't be challenged.
'But what if it won't!'
'Alex, Alex.' Mary said warmly, nudging Steve out of his stool. 'This is a classic case of cold feet. It's perfectly normal to be worried but remember...you are a team. You and Fran are great together and whatever happen's you'll work it out.'
'I suppose.' Alex shrugged.

The barman interrupted Mary's flow.

'Same again?'
'No.' Alex said. 'I'll have Jack Daniels and coke.'
'On the rocks?'
'...Yeah...' Alex narrowed his eyes. 'Can I have it with ice, too?'

Now the barman looked confused.

'Can I get two pints of bitter, mate?' Steve asked the barman. 'What are you guys having?'
'Steve, you're having two pints?'
'What? John's paying!'

We all sipped our drinks in the empty pub. The sunlight was streaming in through the large windows, more friends and family that were arriving were casting shadows into the room.

'Thanks, guys.' Alex smiled softly. 'It just shocked me, that's all. I mean, what if I lose my job? What will happen to the flat?'
'You'll get another job.' Mary said.
'Fran will pay for it.' Steve said at the same time.
'What?' Mary asked Steve.
'What?' Allison asked Steve.
'What?' Steve asked us all.

It was like a cowboy stand off. Except it was in an old pub in England.

'What if she can't?' Mary asked Steve, staring him down.
'She'll have to.' Steve shrugged.
'She can't do it on her own.' Mary protested.
'Doesn't matter.'
'Guys...' Alex tried to gain a grip of the conversation.
'Not now, Alex.' Mary cut him off. 'Is this how you see a relationship? Is this how you see our relationship? What if you loose your job? Do you expect me to take care of you with a baby on the way?!'
'Well, no...but...' Steve started to sweat.
'But what?' Mary snapped.
'Guys...'
'NOW NOW ALEX!'

Mary leapt off the stool and grabbed her handbag.

'I can't believe you think like this...'

I looked at Steve. Allison looked at me. Mary stormed off and Alex ordered another drink.

Me and Allison decided to leave Steve and Alex in the bar with their drinks and head outside to mingle. I never normally enjoy mingling at special occasions but I didn't know many people here and with Allison, I had my own back up for when mingling died out. There was no sign of Mary in the huddle of well dressed friends and family, all sipping and chatting in the sunlight. But we did see Sharon, a few yards away from everyone else enjoying one of her long cigarettes.

'Morning, Sharon.'
'Ah, Dylan. Allison. Good to see you here.' She attempted to smile. 'How was your last shift?'
'I got pissed on by rain and threw a rude woman's shopping away.'

What? She's not my boss any more.

'Lovely.' She ignored it, popping her lighter back in her handbag.
'He's better off at the museum.' Allison rubbed my arm.
'Really? I thought you said you don't work there.'
'What?' Allison asked me.
'What?' I asked Sharon.
'What?' Sharon asked us both.

Oh fuck. I completely forgot I'd told Sharon I wasn't working at the museum. All the panic and desperation of getting out of that office...and keeping Allison away from the truth. It completely slipped my mind.

'You said...' Sharon stared at me. 'In my office. You're not at the museum.'
'Is that true?' Allison turned to me.
'Well...' I put my hands in my pocket and looked away. 'I've not been for awhile...'
'You went on Thursday...you said.'

I cleared my throat.

'When did you last go?'
'Erm...what day are we on now? Erm....May...sometime.'

Allison put her head back and glared at me. It felt like slow motion. She made a click sound from her throat, tutted violently and stamped away from me. All I could do was leer at Sharon. She just lit another cigarette.

Brilliant. A pissed up groom and two angry girlfriends. And it was only 11am.

End of part one.

No Rain, No Gain

2011-06-19T13:45:00.000-07:00

'Is this a joke, Dylan? Because I don't get it.'

Tommy and Steve where huddled around me, Tommy's bushy ginger eyebrows were planted firmly just above his eyes and Steve looked as if a Black Sabbath reunion tour had just been cancelled.

'No, it's no joke. Today is my last day.' I said slowly.
'He's lying.' Steve hissed. 'Like when you said you saw that couple having sex in a car.'
'It happened!' Tommy protested. 'Right outside PC World! I would have filmed it if I had my phone on me!'
'Dylan, why should be believe you?'
'Well, you don't have to.' I shrugged. 'I'm at the museum now.'
'Museum?' They both stared at me.
'Yeah, I mention it every shift, lads. You don't the a blind bit of bloody notice, do you?'
'No, I know.' Steve nodded. 'The museum, of course...'

I stared him down.

'Do we have a museum around here?' Steve asked, gazing at Tommy.

I didn't blame him really. I did mention the museum but it wasn't all the time. Plus I've not been there for a while so I didn't expect anyone to ask. Today was my last shift as a trolley pusher. Five years coming to an abrupt end thanks to a small sense of panic in Sharon's office. It hadn't yet hit me properly, but sooner or later I'd have to deal with the fact that I had no job. Not even a part-time, extra-cash-in-hand odd job kind of job. Just no job. My cousin has three jobs and still manages to go to college. Surely he could give one of those to me. Some people are just greedy. Still, as least my co-workers will miss me.

'We'll have to start looking for your replacement.' Steve smiled.
'Yeah, let's get a bird.' Tommy grinned.
'Yeah, or a gamer.'

Well, I can see the advert now: XBOX BIRD WANTED

I met up with Allison for my last dinner with her. It was quite a strange feeling, to be honest. This girl had single-handedly ended my career at the supermarket, leaving me a desperate, pennyless former student. Yet when we sat down together in the canteen I was pleased to see her.

Oh shit. Is this love? I love her? Suddenly I felt like Hugh Grant in one of his films. A bumbling idiot.

'So...last day!' She giggled.

I don't know what she was so excited about. I'm not going to see her much anymore. Hang on, maybe shge wants rid of me...Yeah, she was the one who wrote and handed in my resignation. Maybe this is all a massive plan to get rid of me. I wouldn't be surprised if it was all being filmed for Channel 4, one of those documentaries where they poke and prod people until the cry or lunge out at someone. I felt myself getting angry. Oh God, the moment I realise I might be in the love with someone and I want to kill them at the same time. Fucking brilliant.

'I know. The lads are gutted.'
'Steve said he's already suggested three replacements to Sharon.'
'All girls names?' I asked.
'Yeah.'
'Thought so.'

I needed to change to subject.

'Excited about the wedding?'
'Yeah, should be a great day.'
'We're all meeting up at Fran's Dad's pub beforehand. For a bit of a drink.' I said, piercing a chip with my fork.
'Cool, what are we getting them for a gift?'
'Alex just said they want the cash...so, a fiver?'
'Dylan!'
'Well...' I shrugged and smiled.
'Give him a fiver and ask for change!'

I might hate her, but God she could make me laugh.

I had twenty minutes left when Steve ushered me over to his car. He was leaning over the bonnet, writing furiously on his photocopied rota sheet.

'Dylan, can you stay an extra hour today? Tommy has to go home. Too many Lucozade’s I think.’

‘Not again.’

‘I know. I knew that eight one wouldn't go down well. He’ll be shitting for weeks.’

What a lovely thought.

‘So, can you?’ Steve asked, raising his eyebrows at me. 'One hour?’

I shrugged and accepted. I might as well take all the overtime I can get, no matter how short.

‘Cool, well. I’m off.’

‘What? You've got an hour left too!’
‘Well, it’s dead out here, mate.’ He said, putting his coat on. ‘Plus, you’re here now.’

Five years of working with an idiot and now the idiot fools me. Well played. Ten minutes later I was on my own, pushing damp, rusting trolleys through the sideways rain. My hood was screwed tightly around my face, making me look like Kenny from South Park. The walkie talkie bussed and hissed to life, a girls voice asking me to come and help a colleague at the tills. Inside? My pleasure.

I squelched my way down the back of the checkouts, a line of bleeps and beeps coming from the tills as I made my way to the end. The way the girl on the walkie talkie described it, it seemed as if I was needed to help an old lady, maybe with a shopping cart or a wheelchair. But instead of finding a wrinkly old woman with fat ankles and angina I was met by quite a tall woman in her late fifties. Her scent struck me first, that sweet, sickly smell of talcum powder and expensive perfume. Her dark leatherly skin made her looked aged, with a long furry coat that covered her knees. At first I thought she needed help with her trolley, most people often do. With all the cat food and crates of beer families buy. But all she had was a small trolley's worth of groceries.

‘Someone called for me?’ I chirped.

The was no reply, just a suble point in the trolley's direction that came from the woman. A split second later she was gone, clicking her way out of the store with shiny shoes. OK, she needed help…maybe she was deaf…or blind…she was wearing dark sunglasses. Or even dumb? Deaf, blind and dumb? Do people have that nowadays? I followed her as quick as my soggy boots could carry me, dodging my way past wet floor signs and toddlers holding toys. I got to foyer in time to wipe my boots on the bit of carpet but she took the lead again, bounding out into the rain ahead of me.

In the car park she caused a scene, slicing though the traffic without a single glance of motion of apology. It was left to me, rushing behind her with soggy boots and a trolley full of groceries, holding my hand up to the angry man in the astra who had to slam on the breaks for her. He wasn’t happy. Neither was his pregnant wife in the passenger seat. I rushed down the row of cars where I saw her last but I couldn’t see her. I couldn’t really see anything. I had been moving so fast my coat hood had nearly swallowed my whole face and the rain was beginning to cause hazeyness in the air.

I searched the cars for a sign of the woman. What car would she drive? Knowing her she’d probably have a driver or some sort of taxi. I know she was deaf, blind and dumb but fucking hell she could run fast! A few cars down I noticed quite a large silver one. I wouldn’t ordinarily notice it but this one has it’s boot wide open. I looked around for an owner but everyone around was either in the store of huddled in trolley bays. I circled the car, from left to right, slowly noticing someone sat in the front seat. Did they know they had their boot open? It’s a bit stupid in this weather. I recognised the coat…a long furry coat. It was her. She wasn’t deaf, blind or dumb. She was rude. Really, really rude. She’d ushered me in to push her trolley and escaped to her overpriced car for shelter. Not a word. Again, just a point in the vague direction of the boot. Rude. Really fucking rude. I was angry. And if my hood wasn’t covering most of my face and you were there that day, you’d have seem me angry. Because that’s what I was. Oh, if this was my last day I would…Hang on…this is my last day.

I looked at her, gradually panicing at the thought of wet apples and cheese. I slowly emptied the content of each plastic bag, taking out pints of milk and curry packs one at a time. I gazed into her eyes. She had no choice but to look at mine. It was the only thing she could see that wasn’t clothing. I turned slowly and pushed the trolley with one swift motion, releasing the caged groceries into the wild that was the sloped car park. All those years of pushing trolleys up that slope. All the tension erased by one quick push. You should have seen her face.

That was my last day working as a trolley pusher. The woman complained to Sharon, unable to describe the trolley pusher as he had a partially covered face. All Sharon had to do was to look at that days rota and the who was on at the time. Steve.

Come Sign With Me

2011-06-13T05:51:00.000-07:00

Working with a partner can be both the best and worst thing in the world. Some couples do it with ease and aplomb, completely comfortable in each others company in both a social and professional environment. There are positives of course, like saving money on text messages. Why text someone a message when they’re in the same room or building? I imagine only millionaires do that, like Rod Stewart or the man who invented the Internet. I’m sure there are others that I can’t think of right now but to me, the negatives out way the positives.

Don’t get me wrong; working with Allison is a real treat. I can’t complain because it was working together that got us together in the first place. But the saying goes ‘you should keep your work and personal life separate.’ It’s not an exact quote, but it’s something along those lines. Like, what happens if you really embarrass yourself at work? Really embarrass yourself? You go home and never speak of it again, obviously. But at work it becomes a matter of fact, engrained into the history of the company for eternity. It’s the same reason why I don’t go to the work’s Christmas Party. Really, what is the best that can happen at a work’s Christmas Party? You’re never going to buddy up to the boss, tell him your inventive new plans and initiatives over a swift beer and suddenly get a raise. It’s not the time or place for that kind of thing.

And what’s the worst thing that could happen? Well, ask that question to Ryan, the young lad who works on the checkouts. At the last Christmas Party he got drunk, pissed himself and showed his privates to the entire Grocery department. Like I said, engrained into the history of the company for the rest of eternity. And it wasn’t like he could go home and forget about it. His sister and mother works on the Grocery department.

But I couldn’t grumble. I met Allison whilst working here and up until today it had been going swimmingly. I had been pleasantly lying to her about how much work I had been doing at the museum and she was happy enough within the confines of my lie. Every day I would say to myself ‘I’ll tell her. She’ll be fine. I’ll tell her. I’ll tell her tomorrow. Tomorrow will be fine.’ It had been a almost two weeks since Bernard’s wife told me he was ill and not able to hire me at the museum and those two weeks involved not telling Allison about it. Somehow I had managed to convince her I was going down there twice a week to ‘sort things out’, a mush of vague words escaping from my mouth, hoping that she’ll just drop it.

The fact that I haven’t been going to the museum made me wonder about her intelligence. I mean, if I’m not going to a museum twice a week, think of what I could be doing! I could be gallivanting around town with any old tart and she’d been none the wiser. But then sanity strikes and I realise I don’t want anyone else, certainly not an old tart, and that I’m not really one for gallivanting.

But at least she was there for me this morning. Complete with a bacon sandwich and a lovely greeting.

‘Hey, you. I’ve handed in your notice for you.’

Maybe not. Her words were spoken so casually I almost missed them, stumbling into my seat.

‘You’ve…’ I stared at her desperately. ‘You’ve what?’

‘Yeah, just wrote it out. I figured you were running late, so…’

I stared at her a bit more.

‘Sharon’s got it.’ She added.

My mouth was open so much it could have caught a fly.

‘My notice? You haven’t?’

‘Yeah.’ She chirped, nicking a bit of bacon off my plate.

This girl has just ruined me. Her time saving device has just lost me my job. My only job.

‘You…you didn’t need to do that.’ He chuckled nervously.

‘Well, you’re working more and more at the museum lately, I’m sure you don’t need to be here.’

Think…just think of all the gallivanting I could have been doing! All the fucking gallivanting in the fucking world!

‘But...’

I had nothing. No come back. No argument. I was calling her bluff for so long that she’s just turned around and kicked the bluff of a cliff.

‘You need to sign it, of course.’

‘Yeah…well, best go and do that now.’ I cleared my throat and got up.

‘Hang on, finish your bacon butty.’

‘Naa, not hungry.’

I wasn’t hungry. In fact I should have asked her to save it, pop it some tin foil and keep it for when I’m jobless. On the street. Gnawing on my bacon sandwich. Dancing for money.

Sharon’s door was shut. Normally it’s ajar, luring you in and making you peer nervously through the gap. But no, the heavy door was staring at me straight on, a silent guard keeping away from the inevitable. I knocked. Nothing. I knocked again louder. Nothing. I went to knock again and she shouted me in and told me to sit down.

‘Dylan. Dylan. Dylan.’ She smirked.

She was already sat, slowly moving from side to side in her swivel chair. A piece of paper covered the keyboard of her computer. The smirked still covered her face.

‘Well, well, well.’ She said. ‘The end of an era, it seems. We’ve been through a lot, haven’t we? Year upon year. Christmas after Christmas. Dylan…’ She gazed down at the piece of paper. ‘What is your last name again?

‘James. But…’

‘OK.’ She jotted down. ‘Well, you’ve been very adequate.’

To Sharon, that was amazingly positive feedback.

‘Thanks, but…’

‘I’ve enjoyed working with you and wish you luck for the future.’ She said in matter-of -factly, as if it was written down in front of her.

‘I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.’ I leaned in. ‘Allison wrote that.’

‘I know, all I need is a signature.’

She whisked the paper in front of me, a vast gap where my name was needed and Allison’s curly handwriting above it.

‘I can’t sign that, Sharon.’

‘What?’

She glared at me.

‘I mean, not yet. They’re still sorting things out at the museum.’

‘Yes, Allison did mention you were…sorting things out.’

‘Yeah…’ I nodded.

‘I’m afraid it’s already gone through. You’ve got two weeks left.’

Her words were said so firmly that every syllable hit me, punching me in the head with her spiky Scottish accent.

‘Two weeks? But I haven’t signed it.’

‘I assumed it’s merely a formality.’

‘A formality?’

A formality? Think of all the things in the world that need a signature. A mortgage. A car. What happened to the phrase ‘sign your life away’? I’ve just lost my job and I haven’t even signed it away yet!

‘So you’re not leaving?’ She picked up her pen.

‘No…well, yes. But…’

I was confused. God know how she was doing.

‘What, Dylan?’

‘I am at the museum…a bit.’

‘Dylan.’

Stop talking about the museum! There is no museum. Stop going on about the fucking museum!

‘OK, here’s what happened. Allison thinks I’m working there.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I told her.’

She just glared at me.

‘But I’m not really.’

‘So why did Allison write that?’ She nodded towards the paper.

‘I don’t know.’

‘I’ll bring her in.’

Sharon grabbed her phone and attempted to dial. I put my hand over it and stopped her.

‘Wait, hang on. I’ll sign it.’

I signed the paper and left the room in silence.

‘Where are you going?’ She asked.

Job Centre, probably. And to find my bacon sandwich.

Pappa's Got a Brand New Stag (Part Two)

2011-06-06T13:09:00.000-07:00

‘Waiter!’

Steve shouted over the half empty bar.

‘Waiter!’

Again.

‘Waiter!’

‘Steve, that’s a man.’ Alex said.

‘Shut up! Waiteress!’

‘That’s not a word.’ Alex’s cousin Jim said.

‘Shut up! Man…’

Steve finally got the attention of the waiter, gargling his way through the order. The order was six bottles of beer. Simple. It took him about four minutes.

‘Steve, maybe you should calm it down a bit.’ Duncan added.

‘Naa, you know…’

Steve mumbled, balancing himself by clamping both hands down on the table as he stood over us.

‘You are right; I need to let my hair down a bit. Mary can get a taxi home…she’s fine. She’ll be fine…’

Around 9pm the bar started getting a bit more crowded. With it’s dimmed lights and modern art on the walls; a small three-piece jazz band started tuning up in the corner. The stage was a small raised square beside the toilets, marking itself out with a neon blue strip across the edge. This was a really nice place; more apt for a bank manager’s New Years Eve drinks do than a supermarket stag event. As the double bass and light snare beat started up, Steve locked onto his pray, narrowing his tired eyes towards the stage and holding back a burp.

‘Sweet child of mine!’ He squawked.

‘Steve, they don’t want requests.

‘What? They’re a band, aren’t they?’

‘Dylan, I think you need to take outside for a bit.’ Jake suggested.

‘Yeah, come on, Steve. Let’s get some fresh air.’

I manuvoured Steve towards the exit and angled him through the glass doors. My phone buzzed as he leant onto the wall outside.

‘Hello?’

‘Dylan, how’s it going?’

It was Allison.

‘Oh, hey! Good. Good. It’s going good.’

Allison asked me another question, finishing her sentence with her high inflection. I couldn’t hear most of it as Steve was singing. Well, shouting.

‘Is that Sweet Child Of Mine I can hear?’

‘Yeah.’ I said, one finger in my ear. ‘Steve is enjoying the night.’

‘Oh, good. When are you at the museum next?’

Why does she keep bringing that up? I. Am. On. A. Stag. Do. Surely that means I can forget everything for one night. I haven’t been to the museum for ages. I didn’t want to tell her that. Why? Because… I. Am On. A. Stag. Do.

‘In a few days, I think.’

‘Oh, so your rota isn’t sorted?’

I tried to think of another answer but as I turned back towards the door I realised Steve was missing.

‘Shit. Allison, I going to have to ring you back.’

‘OK, well…’

I bleeped my phone off as she spoke and ran inside the club.

‘Where’s Steve?’ I asked them all.

‘What? He was with you.’ Alex said. ‘You took him outside.’

‘Oh shit, he must have wandered off down the street. Come on…’ I ushered them.

‘Wait.’ Jim piped up. ‘You know Steve is like forty odd, don’t you? I’m sure he can handle himself.’

‘Was he still singing Sweet Child of Mine?’ Alex asked.

‘Yeah.’ I bit my lip.

‘OK, let’s go guys.’ Alex stood and necked the last of his beer. ‘If some of the lads out there hear him, he’s not going to wake up in the morning.’

The five of us stepped out into the fresh spring evening. Distant music and nattering filled the air as we turned the corner. It was there that the glare from the first club hit us. A tall white building with black and white banners draping the sides, the word LOUD covered each one. And Loud, it surely was. Not just a bit loud, like the loud you get when your alarm goes off in the morning. The kind of loud that makes your face squeeze up and your ears cringe.

‘This must be where he is.’ Jake pointed to it. ‘The lights, the sound. It must have lured him in.’

A few girls trickled in as with made our way the entrance. The large glass doors were open and inviting, but the man inside the glass box just outside it wasn’t. It looked like he had been forced into the box, his black bomber jacket touching each side.

‘Ten to get in, guys.’ He said commandingly.

At first we all thought he meant 10pm. Wasn’t it 10pm already? It felt a lot later.

‘It’s ten past.’ Duncan said.

‘No, ten. Ten pounds.’

‘Ten pounds?’ Jake held his head back. ‘To get in?’

‘Correct.’ He answered coolly.

Ten pounds to get into a nightclub. Surely you should get more for your money than just an entrance. Like a toy or free sex or something.

‘Hang on.’ I said, stopped the lads from diving into their wallets. ‘We’re looking for a friend.’

‘Aren’t we all.’ He said, looking down at his desk.

‘No, not like that. We lost him in a bar and we think he’s wandered in here.’

The man stared at me through suspicious eyes, with one eyebrow slightly raised. After a few moments I thought he was going to sort this out for us, maybe call one of his boys to go and look for him inside.

‘Tenner to get in lads.’ He sniffed.

‘Listen…’ Jim pushed himself to the front. ‘He’s about forty odd. Wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a picture of a dragon on it.’

‘Oh, yeah. The guy who was singing…’

‘Sweet child of mine.’ We all said together.

‘Yes.’ Alex confirmed.

‘Yeah, yeah he’s in here.’ The man smiled.

‘He must be out of it.’ I said. ‘He’d never pay a tenner to go in here.’

‘He didn’t. He paid twenty.’

Ten minutes later we were in the club. Fifty quid down and ready to find Steve. The club was massive. Absolutely massive, so finding him was negligible. We all agreed that I’d go and get a round of drinks in, with what money I had left and the rest went to find a place to stand. The bar stretched the width of the room on one side, with lads with trendy hair flipped and spun bottles about and moving to the music. I found the bar with my hand and moved towards it, taking out a fresh, crisp twenty pound note and trying to get the attention of the tenders.

A few moments later a lad stood next to me, looking around every so often and checking his phone. One of the bar tenders, a tall lad with brown spiky hair, raised his eyebrows to the man, silently asking him for his order. Instead of handing it over to me he just ordered without a flinch. Normally I let it go, but I’d had a few drinks already and my mind was more occupied with finding Steve.

‘Excuse me, I was first.’

They both looked at me.

‘Naa…’ The lad said.

‘No, I was. It was my turn.’

‘Turn? There are no turns.’ He cackled.

‘Yes there is. There are turns and it’s mine. It’s my turn.’

‘Fuck off.’ He scrunched up his face.

The bartender sorted out his drink, a little shy and awkward, putting down the glasses carefully and looking over at me every so often.

‘Dick.’ I muttered, looking towards the dance floor.

‘What?’ He squared up to me.

I hadn’t planned on that. Normally I say things quietly, cleverly masking my anger. But it was loud, living up to it’s name, so I just bellowed it out, forgetting for a second that he was right beside me.

‘Do you want to say that again?’ He stared down at me.

Of course I didn’t. Before I could think of what to do the lad was down on the floor. I felt the room turn towards me, glaring at me and my enemy who was now on the floor and whining. I found Steve.

‘Steve! There you are.’ I said, shaking. ‘What a shot.’ I said, moving him away from the bar.
'It must have been my Iron Maiden ring...' He slurred, peering down at his clenched fist. 'It's put a few down in my time...'

The rest of the lads rushed over to us, ushering us out of the building. We got in a taxi and everyone got dropped off at their respective homes. The next morning I got a text from Steve.

‘Why do I have no money, 43 missed calls from Mary and a sore hand?’

There was one answer. Stag do.

Pappa's Got a Brand New Stag (Part One)

2011-06-01T01:24:00.000-07:00

It was another busy Wednesday and it was usually me and Steve outside, but I hadn't seen him since he went up for his dinner at half 12. I wouldn't usually go and find him if he was a few minutes over his half an hour limit, but since it was nearly 2pm, I considered it worthy.

'Steve, do you know what time it is?'

'Sorry, dude. I'll be down in a sec...' He muttered, organising his knife and fork on his dirty plate. 'Just finish my brew.'

'Is this all you've been doing since half 12?' I asked.

'No..I did the Sudoku in the paper. Well, didn't finish it, it was the Medium one.'

'Oh, right...Hey, did you get a text from Alex's best man?'

'Yeah, about Friday?'

'Yeah.'

'I don't think I can make it.'

'What?' I said, sitting down. 'It's Alex's stag do. It's been booked for months...according to the text.'

'I know, but...Mary...with the baby and everything.'

Steve has been doing this since he found out about Mary's pregnancy. Getting out of every conceivable thing. It would be considered noble and grown up if there was an actual baby to take care of, but Steve was literally using something that was size of a peanut to get out of everything. Working, shaving and now his friend's stag do.

'Come on, Steve. Mary won't mind. In fact, she's going to Alex and Fran's flat on Friday for the hen do.'

'Yeah, but...I've told her to stick to lemonade and I've told Alex to reserve her a comfy chair.'

Party on!

'Just an hour. Show your face. It'll be fun.' I tried.

'Fine.' He sighed. 'But I need to be at Alex's for eleven to pick her up.'

'Great.'

I smiled and raised my eyebrows, hoping that he'd get up from his extended break and start work again.

'What?' He asked.

'Shall we...'

'Oh, I'll just finish the crossword....'

The next day Alex was in for his final day before his wedding, booking three weeks off for stag, wedding and honeymoon. We spent a good hour talking about the wedding. Who was invited, choice of DJ and food. The main three, I always think. His best man had organised a stag do for tomorrow, inviting six or seven of Alex's closest friends. Paint ball at 2pm, a meal at 5pm and drinks at 8pm, something I was very much looking forward to as I'd never played paint ball before. Thinking about it, if there's one thing I'd love to shoot somebody with, it would be a ball of paint.

'Are you looking forward to the stag?'

'Yeah.' Alex smiled. 'I've never played paint ball before.'

'Me neither.'

'I've always wanted to shoot somebody with...'

'A ball of paint?'

'Yeah.' Alex grinned.

'I know, me too!'

Shooting people on a stag do is the done thing nowadays. A celebration to honour a man's marriage and the first thing people think of is physically hurting them. It's how we say 'well done.' Whether it's shooting them with a ball of paint or strapping them to a lamppost in the pouring rain whilst stark naked in a town centre, it's all done out of love. In fact, my Uncle Kevin went through the same thing, even then it was snowing. He must have absolutely froze. He wasn't getting married or anything, he was having an affair and my auntie wanted some revenge.

Friday came around and by 8pm, the six of us stumbled into the Jazz Box, a low key bar in the town centre. Alex, best man Jake, brother Duncan, Fran's 28 year old cousin Jim, Steve and I all sat down in comfy leather booth in the corner and ordered some drinks.

'I'm just going to have one and them I'm off.' Steve said, glancing at his watch.

'Come on, Steve. Fran said they'll be finished at eleven.' Alex said. 'We've got ages.'

The paint ball went quite well. Jake won, which means he didn't get shot as much. I got shot quite a lot, actually. Turns out I'm not a very good hider whilst dressed in chunky protective clothing. In a forrest. Already covered in multicoloured paint within the first 30 seconds.

'Technically I won.' Steve chipped in after hearing Jake gloating over the win.

'Well, Steve, you know. You can't technically win if you hide in the reception bit all day.' Jake said, sipping his bottle.

'I'm about to become a father, Jake. I need to stay safe.'

'Oh, great.' Jake smiled and patted him on the back. 'When is it due?'

'About nine months.'

Jake stared into space, a little confused. Duncan raised a toast to his brother and all took a bit swig of our beers. All apart from Steve, who slowly sipped his water.

'Steve, what is up with you?' Alex's cousin piped up.

'What? I like this. It's sparkling. It's not still, all right? I'm not that square!'

'Let me get you a beer.'

'No, I'm OK. I need to stay focussed if Mary needs me.'

'Needs you for what? To give birth to a baby that's not formed yet?'

'Oh and what are you...a scientist?' Steve questioned him.

'Yeah...Biologist, actually. I work at the College in town.'

Didn't see that coming. The next hour rolled on, we laughed and joked. Sharing stories about Alex and finding out about each other at the same time. The constant thread that ran through it was Jake's nagging over Steve's choice of drink. As best man it was his duty to make sure no one remembered Alex's special night.

'Come on, Steve. Where's your rock and roll now, ah? I bet the boys in Megalicca have a beer or two on a stag do.'

'Metallica. And they're all parents now. Like me.'

Yeah, and I bet they all go home after a gig and have a nice cup of tea, maybe watch Big Brother.

'Come on, Steve.' Jake tried.

'No.'

'Steve...'

'Fine!'

Steve stood up, startling everyone and turned towards the other booth. He grabbed a handful of leftover drinks and started necking them violently. Everything from neglected purple shots to half pints of cider, he finished them all off, one by one. We all sat there and watched.

'There? You happy, best man, ah!'

'Yes!' Jake high fived him.

'Waiter! Another round please!'

This was about to get ugly. Just like a stag do should.

End of part one.

In The Name Of Love

2011-05-17T00:47:00.000-07:00

‘So how’s life in the Grady household?’

‘Oh…OK.’ Steve yawned, stumbling along side me with three trolleys. ‘We got the house.’

‘Brilliant.’

It had been a week since Steve and Mary found out they were having a baby. The Grady’s were having a baby. A Grady Baby. Don’t think I didn’t crack out that gem the minute I saw him today.

‘I know you think I’m a bit of a cool dude, Dylan. Too laid back for my own good and all that. But, I may have gone bit overboard when I heard the news.’

A bit overboard? The day after he found out he told me he bought ‘Daddy Day Care’ and ‘About a Boy’ on DVD to prepare himself.

‘But I’m warming to it. Mary’s going to have a baby.’ He confirmed.

‘Both of you. Both of you are having a baby.’

‘Yeah, I know.’

He had to get out of the habit of saying that. I don’t know much about women but they don’t like to take full responsibility for some things. Babies and reversing a car are the main two.

‘So, any baby names yet?’

‘Well, I want Steve.’ Steve said proudly.

‘Steve?’

‘Yeah, you know.’ He smiled. ‘Steve Junior.’

‘Or Steve The Second.’ I smiled back.

‘No, that would be stupid.’

Oh, that would be stupid? Calling a baby Steve is fine. You can’t call a baby Steve. That’s like calling a baby Alan. It doesn’t sound right.

‘Mary’s got a good idea. She didn’t want Steve…’

Shocking.

‘…And she’s finding it really tough, so we’re thinking about pooling names from a few people, popping them into a hat and drawing one.

‘Like a raffle?’

‘Yeah. Like a raffle. Everyone loves a raffle.’

He was right. Everyone likes a raffle. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea. It’s an interesting story when you grow up. How did your parent’s choose your name?

‘My mate Chuggs has gone for Ozzy’.

Maybe not.

‘And you've just gone with Steve, again?’ I asked him.

‘No, I went for my second choice.'

'What's that?'

'I'm not telling you.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s a secret. I want to keep it quiet until it's out of the hat.’

‘All right…’

I bet he’s chosen something horrendous like Rocky or Axl. Axl Grady. Not bad.

Allison was back from her caravan break in Cornwall, a bit of a tan on her face and the same bright smile. We shared a pack of crisps and chatted.

'So, have you been to the museum whilst I was away?'

I wondered when she was going to bring that up. I tried to push other things to the front of our conversations. Her holiday, the latest episode of The Apprentice and the expiry date of the crisps all dried up within five minutes. I hadn't heard from the museum since Bernard's wife called me so he was ill, since then Allison has been presuming I work there. Maybe because I didn't want to let her down. Or maybe because I hadn't told her otherwise. Maybe both.

'Yeah, I’ve popped down a few times. Sorted a few things out.'

'Things? What things?' Allison looked at me.

'You know...admin.'

Admin always takes time. She can't argue with admin.

'Oh, right. When do you finish here then?'

'Err...a few weeks, I imagine.' I said, nearly choking on a crisp.

'A few weeks? Wow...why that long?'

I couldn't say it was because of admin again, can I? Surely not.

'Well, the museum is only a few days...for now. I can get away with two jobs...for now.'

'Great.' She smiled, leaning over to me. 'Proud of you.'

Allison kissed me on the cheek and got herself a drink from the machine.

'Have you heard about what Mary and Steve are doing?' I shouted over to her.

'Not their Wrestling Rock nights down at the town hall?'

'No, not that. Although Steve wants that to happen. No, they're putting names into a hat to get a baby name. He's asked us all to do it.'

'Cool. Is it not Steve Junior any more then?' Allison asked.

'No, that was just a pipe dream.'

'I'll have to think of some names.'

'I'm going to put Patrick.'

'Patrick?'

'Yeah.' I nodded. 'I've always liked that name.'

'Yeah...it's nice.' Allison smiled.

Half an hour later we were all standing outside of the store. Allison, Tommy, Darren, Alex, Fran and even one of the cleaners, Juan, who didn't really seem to know what was happening. I think he just saw a crowd and wandered towards it. Steve and Mary stood beaming in front of us, both holding hats full of screwed up paper.

'You actually got two hats for this?' Darren asked, a bit disgruntled from having to stand outside in the fine rain.

'Of course.' Mary said.

'I thought it was just an expression.'

'Anyway.' Steve cleared his throat. 'Thank you all that putting names into the hat...'

After Steve's long welcome speech he pulled out the name for the girl. Tallulah. Everyone cringed apart from Allison's brother Tommy who smiled broadly, showing off his braces. They couldn't pick again, those were the rules. Mary picked out a piece of paper from her hat.

'OK...and if it's a boy...'

Everyone looked at each other. Juan wandered off. This was the moment. The moment that ruins a baby's life. Ozzy. Rocky. Axl. Poor kid.

'Patrick!'

Me and Steve yelled at the same time.

'What are you excited about?' He asked me.

'I chose that.'

'No, I chose that.'

'Wait...you chose Patrick, too?'

'Yeah, it was my Granddad’s name. Why did you?'

'I just like the name.' I shrugged.

We all cheered and clapped and hugged, happy in the knowledge that the baby may end up with a normal name.

'Patrick it is!' Mary announced.

'Or Tallulah!' Tommy interjected.

We all looked at him.

'Or not.' He looked down.

Yeah...or not.

Dad Medicine

2011-05-14T04:02:00.000-07:00

Things never turn out the way you want them to, do they? You can plan and plan and plan until your house is filled with diary's, full calendars and little 'to do' notes, but in the end, things don't go perfectly.

It would have be perfect if Bernard came back from his relaxing holiday in full health, rang me up and offered me at job at the museum. But no, things don't go perfectly. Jake, the knob who I embarrassed in front of Bernard came into store yesterday in his annoying flip flops and oversized sunglasses. There was a frosty air between the both of us at first, but as the conversation moved onto Bernard's health we both said all the polite and melancholy things in respect. Towards the end he mentioned he wasn't working at the museum any more. Perfect. Jake neglected to tell me how, but simply stated he got another offer from somewhere else. Bollocks. More likely it was because I proved to Bernard he was pissing about whilst he was supposed to be working.

But Bernard was ill. A simple hint that life's not perfect. Life isn't perfect. If it was I'd be working at the museum now, food wouldn't be allowed in cinemas and Steve wouldn't be screeching his way into the car park at half nine at night when he should be at home.

'Steve, what are you doing here?'

'Got to speak to Sharon, mate.' He stuttered, slamming the door to his Skoda.

'Is everything OK?'

I've never seen Steve at work past at least 6pm. Seeing him in the stark spring moonlight was a little unsettling.

'It's Mary.'

Oh, God. I've said it before and I’ll say it again. Woman shouldn't wrestle. She's probably broken her back jumping off something on to someone. Or something.

'Oh yeah?'

'She's...'

Steve held his hands out in front of me.

'Lost her hands?' I guessed.

How can you loose your hands while wrestling? It's getting far too violent. The town hall should ban it.

'No.' He spat at me. 'She's...'

His voice trembled as his broke from the sentence, clutching the bridge of his nose with both thumbs.

'What? Pregnant?'

'Yeah...'

At least I thought he said 'yeah', it was more of a muffled squeal.

'You're joking?'

'I'm not.' He over pronounced. 'You think this is a joke? The only joke I tell is the one about the Jelly Baby in the doctors.'

That is a great joke.

'Wow...' I said, biting my lip.

'Couple of weeks. I need to tell Sharon.'

'And Darren. That's Mary's manager.'

'Oh yeah...'

He was just going to book time off for himself if it wasn't for me reminding him.

'Why didn't you just phone up...instead of coming all the way up here?'

'I panicked.'

'So you just left her in the flat?'

'She's watching a film.'

There's a baby growing inside you, but don't let it put you off Toy Story 2, love.

'Well...congratulations.'

'What?' He stared me down.

'It's...it's good news...isn't it?'

Steve stared at the floor.

'No!' He finally shouted. 'Mary is having a baby!'

'Both of you are having a baby.' I corrected him.

'Whatever.'

Steve marched up the store. Wow, Steve. A father. All that pointless knowledge passed on. Say what you like about what will become of the child, but if you want a kid with a wrestling mum and an infinite knowledge of Led Zeppelin’s back catalogue, you know where to go. Tommy wandered over to me. He joins me on Thursday nights, usually with one earphone dangling from his neck and a bottle of Lucozade in his hand.

'What's he doing here?' He muttered.

Since I started going out with his sister there's been an obvious void in conversation. He's not the most talkative teenager out there, but I had to be kind for Allison's sake.

'Steve and Mary are going to have a baby.'

''Awww...'

At first I thought he was being nice.

'I know kids are fat at first, but that one will take the piss...'

Congrats, then.

I didn't see Steve for again that night. By ten o'clock his skoda was missing from the car park but the next day he turned up. Half an hour late and unshaven.

'Sorry, mate. Been a rough night.'

'I thought all this starts once you have the baby? Not a few weeks in.'

'We sat up all night talking.' Steve scratched his grey stubble. 'Knackered. Going to ask Sharon if I can go early.'

Brilliant. The kid probably hasn't even for fingernails yet and already Steve is taking the piss. Allison was on holiday today, away in the caravan with her parents down in Cornwall for the weekend, a bit of a late birthday treat. So I joined Mary and a piss-taking Steve for my dinner.

'Congrats, Mary.' I smiled, sitting down with a sandwich.

'Thanks.' She gleamed. '

I took it as read that Mary actually wanted the baby. Why wouldn't she think otherwise? Steve would be a great Dad. There's an art form to piss-taking that needs to be passed on. He was the man for that. He hadn't done a minute's work since he pulled up.

'You excited?' I grinned.

'Yeah. I've always wanted a baby since I babysat for Julie, my sister. We stayed up last night planning things, didn't we Steve?'

'Um? Oh, yeah.' Steve blinked, holding back a yawn.

'Just applied for a new house. That reminds me, Steve. We're going to have to clear out the spare room if we get it. For the baby.'

'The Den?'

'Yes.' Mary stared him down.

'But...where am I going to put all of my records?'

'Use the garage.'

'The Bat Cave?'

'Yeah, or sell them. We'll need all the money we can get once it arrives.'

'Mary...my vinyl collection is worthless.'

'You mean 'priceless'?' I asked.

'Yes. Priceless. Besides, I already tried selling them. It wasn't my fault those people at the car boot don't know what real music sounds like!'

'And that game thingy...' Mary said.

'The XBOX?'

'Yeah, I bet that would go for a bit...' Mary nodded.

'Jesus...' Steve sighed. 'Being a parent...you have to sacrifice, don't you?'

Yeah, a second hand games console and Deep Purple's greatest hits. It's tough being a father.

A View To An ill

2011-05-11T12:51:00.000-07:00

It was ten in the morning on another bullshit Wednesday, half an hour away from my timely planned breakfast with Allison, whose birthday it was today, and ten minutes into Steve’s conversation with Kenny. Steve has about a dozen regular customers he chats with on certain days. Every conversation is different but repatitive enough to get bored instantly. And only because there’s nowhere else to go, I stand beside Steve and watch the conversation unfold. Wednesday is Kenny day, a retired electrician who insists on wearing a dirty white tank top in all weathers, cackling with Steve about D.I.Y and old TV shows.

The nice thing to do would be to, at some point, involve me into the chat, maybe with a nod in my direction, a chance to offer of my own opinion about a certain type of screwdriver. But no, Steve doesn’t work like that. He chats and chats as if i’m not there. It’s safe to say that after about a year of weekly conversations, Kenny and I are complete strangers and if it wasn’t for the fact that I wear the excact same uniform as Steve, Kenny would think that I was some weird stalker, thriving off half-arsed chats about how to build a shed.

I took my breakfast early, slowly walking up to the canteen. Luckily Allison was already up there, on a table surrounded by a few of her checkout friends with cards and little pink gift bags. I nodded with recognition and got myself a drink from the vending machine. My phone vibrated in my pocket, as it if was in sync with the heavy drop of the can in the machine. It was an Unknown Number. Sometimes I ignore unknown numbers, but today was Allison’s birthday, so why not be nice to people.

‘Hello?’

‘Oh, hello. Is that Dylan?’ A gentle voice answered me. ‘This is Maureen. Bernard’s wife? From the museum.’

‘Oh, hello. Maureen. How are you?’

‘Good, thank you. Well, I’m ringing regarding Bernard.’

It’s nice how Bernard allows his wife to make his calls for him. Maybe she is her part-time secretry. It’s how middle class people work. Allison looked over and I mouthed the word ‘Bernard’. She smiled sweetly and opened another card.

‘He’s been taken ill.’

Oh.

‘Oh...’ I said after quite a long pause. ‘Sorry to hear that...’

‘Yes, it’s nothing serious, really...’

That fact that she said ‘really’ made me not so sure.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, we think he got in on holiday. The emergency doctor has been out twice.’

‘Oh...’

Emergency doctor? That’s two of the worse words that have ever been put together. I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t ask her the holiday was for her. How was it, Maureen? Did you do much sunbathing? Any duty free?

‘Yes, it wasn't bad...considering.’ She said softly, her voice cracking. ‘So, I’m afraid you won’t here from him. Not for awhile at least. The museum is on hold but he’ll keep you in mind.’

Keep me in mind? The man’s ill. He’s not going to remember me. An emergency doctor sees you and you forget everything else. I wished him and her well and bleeped my phone off, as if that was in sync with another roar of laughter from Allison’s table. I wondered over and took a seat.

‘What did Bernard say?’ Allison smiled.

Not much.

‘Erm...nothing much. Just a catch up...’

‘When do you start?’ She beemed.

‘He’s ill...’

Allison’s face fell. It was her birthday.

‘But I’m going in next week. Sorting out shifts.’

Another roar of laugher from the table, in celebration of my job and Allison’s birthday. Allison chose to tell the whole table about the job at the museum whilst I was on the phone. Stupid Allison, being proud of me and telling her friends about my job opportunities.

‘So, what are you two doing for her birthday?’ Suzie asked, the blonde haired girl next to me.

‘We’re going to the cinema tonight. Watching that new film with that bloke from Star Trek.’

‘It looks really cool.’ Allison smiled. ‘So, did Bernard mention the wage?’

It’s her birthday, why is she asking me about my life? Your birthday is all about you. Stop being so bloody selfless!

‘No, no.’ I sighed. ‘But i’m sure it’ll get sorted out. In time.’

How long does it take to recover from an illness that requires an emergency doctor? I tried to Google it but I got no luck, and Ask Jeeves is a load of shit.

I walked back down to the car park. Steve was still chatting away with Kenny, now sat on a bit of railing and scratching his back with his car keys.

‘Alright lads.’ I tried.

Steve looked at me, nodded and went back to his conversation. That guy has no idea about my museum troubles.

‘Dickhead.’ I said.

‘Sorry?’ Steve flinched.

‘Buying a shed.’ I smiled. ‘Knob.’ I muttered.

People say swearing is for the uneducated. Fucking idiots.

It's All About The Money

2011-05-09T12:49:00.000-07:00

‘Take those sunglasses off, you’re not Bono.’

Steve was in a bad mood today. His Skoda was playing up, some World Of Warcraft figurines hadn’t turned up in the post and to top it all off, Alex was wearing sunglasses indoors.

‘Arsehole.’ Steve added, under his breath.

‘Sorry.’ Alex said softly.

Bit of an overreaction if you ask me. Alex was only weeks away from his wedding and over the last few days, he had a confident and mature air about him. He’d even taken down those novelty pair of tits from the back of his car.

‘Steve, that was a bit harsh.’ I said.

‘Sorry, I’m a bit off today.’ He confessed. ‘Not seen Mary for a few days. She’s been working a lot more. We have to pay for our holiday somehow!’

And where does an old rocker and a wrestling goth go on their holidays?

‘Disneyland won’t pay for itself.’

‘Disneyland?’

‘Yeah, so?’

I thought twice about questioning it. He looked far too disgruntled. The three of us strolled down the seasonal aisle, past the 47 different kinds of barbecue’s we have on sale and towards the warehouse doors. Darren had asked us all to stock up on our new summer range of bags. 20p dearer than the normal ones, with flowers scattered all around it. As we got to the doors we were met with the site of Bargainman. That’s not his actual name, you can probably guess, just a name we had christened him over the years, in honour of his overwhelming passion for a bargain. Of course, we all love a bargain. It’s one of those things in life that get you a spark of excitement. That’s normal. It’s a normal thing to feel. But what’s not normal is skipping around a supermarket for hours on end, hunting through the shelves like a predator, seeking out items that may be marked down in price. He’s always the last out of the place when we shut, scuttling out the doors with a trolley full of treats. Dozens and dozens of items, from discounted meat to broken packs of cheese. At the end of his day his trolley with be full, even though he’ll only spend around two pound fifty.

‘Afternoon.’ Steve nodded at him.

‘Oh, alright boys.’ Bargainman flinched.

He shot is eyes towards us, scanning our faces and motives for being near him.

‘Got a few bargains, have you?’ I smiled.

‘...Yeah.’

His eyes narrowed, as if I was about to clock out, rush over to him and steal his 3 week old beans and sweaty ham. A few moments of silence overtook us, the four of us caught in an interlocked gaze.

‘What’s that smell?’

I forgot to mention, Bargainman absolutely stunk. Like a horse had fallen into a tip.

‘Come on, lads.’ I walked towards the doors. ‘Those bags won’t shift themselves.’

In the warehouse, the three of us filled our trolleys with heavy, vacuum packed bags.

‘He’s a millionaire, you know.’ Steve sniffed.

‘What?’

‘Bargainman. He’s loaded.’

‘Bull-shit.’ I smiled.

‘Honest. He won the lottery seven years ago. Janice told me. He’s rolling in it.’

Bargainman? A millionaire? He doesn’t look like a millionaire. Mind you, what does a millionaire look like? They don’t all walk around in gold jewellery, flashy suits and buying lavish goods. That’s just Elton John. Not all millionaires look like Elton John.

‘Why the hell would he spend his days crawling around the bargain bins if he’s rolling in it?’

‘Haven’t you seen those documentaries on the tele? About lottery winners who go the car boot sales?’

I must have missed that one. I just scoffed and threw another pack in my trolley.

‘Ask him yourself if you don’t believe me!’

At first I considered going straight over to the man and asking him if he was a millionaire or not, but after a few seconds, I realised that was a bit much. It's not really the done thing, asking someone if they're loaded or not. It's like asking a woman her age, it never ends well. Particularly when you try to guess it instead. Believe me, that's never a good idea.

'I can't do that...'

I left the words hanging around in the noisy warehouse. Steve and Alex just looked at me, confident that I would. They had a right to be confident, because six minutes later I was stood in front of the man, trying to avoid my nostrils from picking up his strong scent.

'Alright, mate.' I raised my eyebrows.

'Yeah...you?' He mumbled, re-arranging the bargains in his trolley to make room for even more bargains.

'Did you see that documentary last night? On the tele?'

'No. Don't watch much tele...' He said.

'Cracking, it was. About people...at car boot sales.'

I left out the millionaire bit, seemed a bit too harsh. Now my description of the TV show sounded unbelievably boring.

'Oh, right.'

Another moment of silence passed.

'Any holidays recently?' I asked him cheerily.

'No, went to Wales last year.'

Wales? Do millionaires go to Wales? Surely not.

'Steve...the bloke from before...he's going to Disneyland.'

'Disneyland?' He finally looked at me.

'Yeah...' I giggled.

I ran out of ideas. Other than just asking him if he was a millionaire, I had nothing. Could I ask him for a tenner?

'So, any plans for toni...'

'I'm busy.' He interrupted me.

I scrunched my lips up and nodded, listening to the wheels of his trolley squeak past me. In a rush of panic and curiosity, I went for it.

'Are you a millionaire?'

The wheels squeaked to a halt. He turned his head towards me and stared me down. A second later, he was an inch away from my nose.

'What?'

'Steve said that...'

'I am sick of this stupid little rumour...'

Steve popped his head down the aisle.

'Alright, lads.'

'Keep your trap shut.' Bargainman spat at me, kneeing me square in the bollocks.

I went down like like a sack of swollen testicles, Bargainman gazed over at Steve.

'Disneyland? What are you, eight years old?'

He scuttled off with his trolley of treats. Steve hovered over me.

'Why did you tell him that!'

'Because you told me he was a millionaire!' I squealed. 'He probably owns it, he'll give you discount!'

'Naa...he's not that rich...'

This post is dedicated to Dougie 'The Greeter' Robinson.

Naming Of The Shrew (Part Two)

2011-05-04T03:22:00.000-07:00

It definitely begins with a T, I know that much. Terry? No, he doesn't look like a Terry. Terry's are builders. Or big bulldogs or something. No, he's definitely not a Terry. Tony? No. Timmy? Oh, I hope not.

I walked slowly to Sharon's office, hoping that my pace would calm down my thoughts. Making them clear and rational. I felt offended for him. My old primary school friend. So many memories. So many...Tobias? No, I think not. Sharon's door was open, almost silently inviting me in to take a seat. She had her back turned to me, peering out of her huge glass window.

'Afternoon, Sharon.'

She turned around, holding the smoke in her lungs from one of her long cigarettes. Gazing at me as she slowly let it out.

'Dylan, are you aware of recent...events in this company.'
'No...'
'Recent...sackings.'

Sackings? I'm getting the sack? I'm being sacked? Where did 'sack' come from anyway?

'No, I don't...'
'We've had to let a few people go, Dylan.' She sat down. 'For drug dealing on the premises.'
'Oh...'

It sounds like a silly reply, but that was natural. I had no idea, of course. We've not heard of any drugs on the car park. Apart from that time Steve was offered some by a young lad. Steve didn't even know what the drug was.

'Who was that you were just talking to?' She nodded towards the window.

Straight away I knew what she was trying to get at. Me and a 'stranger', meeting up in a car park. I can see how it would seem that way. In a way he is a stranger. I don't know proper stranger's names either.

'Oh, no. Sharon...that was an old school friend of mine.' I laughed quickly, my throat cracking.
'Really? Didn't seem like much of friend to me. It was very...brief.'

People always have the upper hand when they leave long pauses before words. Like baddies in Bond films. I can do that.

'He had to go, he was late for a... barbecue.'

That just sounded like I was making it up.

'What's his name?'

Shit. Shitting shit shitter. Terry. Tony. Timmy. No, not Timmy.

'Tony.' I said.
'Tony?'
'Yes. We are going to have a bit of a catch up. He give me his number.'
'Ring him.'

I paused. Letting the two words seep into my brain.

'Ring him?'
'Yes. Now.'
'OK.'

I dove into my pocket and figited about, digging my phone out. I went into my phone book and pressed the little green button. My phone was ringing someone called 'Primary School.'

'Hello?'
'Hi...'

Shit, what did I say his name was?

'Timmy.'
'...I think you're got the wrong number, pal.'
'What's he saying?' Sharon blurted.

I shrugged. Sharon told me to put it on to speaker phone mode.

'Mate. It's me...Dylan.'
'Dylan?' The voice rattled.
'Yeah...'

Suddenly I realised there was no conversation to be had.

'So...you alright?'
'Dylan, give me the phone.' Sharon snatched it off me. 'Who's this?' Putting the phone close to her face.
'...Well, surely my old mate Dylan can tell you that.'

Sharon looked up at me. And I'm sure if my old friend was in the room he'd be looking at me to.

'OK, it's either Tony or Terry?'
'Terry?' Sharon squawked. 'He's not a builder, is he?'
'No, I'm not.' The voice from the phone rattled again.

I snatched the phone back from Sharon and began my apology.

'Look, I'm sorry mate. I'm terrible with remembering names. I know we've been through a lot but I just can't Thomas!, it's Thomas! Thomas, you're name's Thomas, isn't it?'

Sharon glared at me through the silence. We both listened to the phone click as he ended our conversation. I got chucked out of Sharon's office and ten minutes later I got a text message.

'It's Richard, dick head.'

Naming Of The Shrew (Part One)

2011-05-03T09:58:00.000-07:00

It had been two weeks since my glorious day at the museum, the day I embarrassed Jason and taught a successful lesson of primary school children in front of my girlfriend's mum and the man I wanted a job from. Three fantastic things in one and quite frankly, if only one of those things happen in a year I'd have been happy. But since then, Bernard had taken a holiday. Fourteen days in Madrid with his wife, Maureen. He said he'd get back to me when he'd gotten back to England, and we'd discuss my future at the museum, leaving ample time for me to sit back and be proud of that great day. But of course I couldn't, as I hadn't stopped working at the supermarket.

Steve hadn't asked me about the museum. Why would he? It didn't involve him or anything to do with an XBOX, why would he be interested? But I was determined to let people know I was doing something other than pushing trolleys, crowbarring references into every single conversation I was having. Sonia at the kiosk heard all about my day teaching school children, even though I was buying a packet of chewing gum and there was a long cue for the lottery. The receptionist got an earful and even the man in the cash point cue, who was startled to hear the specification of the computers we use over there. Still, glad to hear he was interested.

But Steve wasn't. He was too busy applying layers upon layers of sun cream his mum bought him earlier that day, re-angling his Iron Maiden cap on his head and making high pitched noises to show he was hot. This time last year it was trying to snow, now it seemed the whole town was buying stacks of beers and meat for the barbeque's.

'Yeah...' I gazed into the sun. 'Bernard said he'll ring me back...'
'Who?' Steve asked.
'Bernard...from the museum. He's on holiday in Greece.'
'I want a holiday. Been looking on teletext every night.'
'Why don't you try the internet?'
'The what?'
'You know...just Google holidays?'
'Google Holidays?'
'Yeah...'

Steve stared at me. I gazed back, shielding my eyes from the sun.

'There are holidays...' I said slowly. 'On the internet.'
'Is that on the computer?'
'Yeah...on the internet.'
'We didn't have the interweb at our Poly-tech, you know. We had to graft. On our own. Blood, sweat and tears.'
'What did you study?' I asked.
'...Art and Design.'

The only blood came from a nasty paper-cut, presumably.

'They have them in library's, too.' I tried.
'Oh, right.' Steve nodded. 'I went in there last Thursday. Needed a slash.'

I was about to tell him more about where to find cheap holidays when I man walked up to his car in front of us. He bleeped the boot open and threw in a couple of instant barbecue boxes.

'I know him.' I whispered to Steve.
'Oh yeah?'
'Yeah, went to school with him.'

He was wearing those khaki odd length pants, a vest top and overly large sunglasses. He was about to jump into his car when he looked up at us. There were a few moments of awkward smiles and nodding, when Steve piped up.

'All right, mate.'
'Yeah. Cheers.' He said coolly.

Before he sat in the car his eyes shot over to me.

'Dylan? Dylan James?'
'All right, mate.' I repeated Steve's greeting.
'I can't believe it. How long has it been?!'

He whisked over to me and gave me a warm and strong handshake, smiling with all the positivity of a Beach Boys song.

'Years. Years and years.'

When the handshake came to an end, I suddenly was aware of Steve's presence.

'Oh, Steve this is...'

Bang. There is was. The moment I realised I had absolutely no idea what this man's name was. We'd been through it all, as I can remember. Sports Days. Parent's Evenings. School Plays. The lot. And now, more than ten years on, I hadn't the faintest. Back than I could have probably told you his shoe size and favourite Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. Now. Nothing.

'...a friend of mine from primary.'

I had to talk again to block out any confirmation of his name if Steve would ask.

'We got up to all sorts, didn't we?' I said to him.
'Oh, yeah. Remember that time we hid in the bushes to get out of P.E?'
'Do I remember it? The nettles stung for about a bloody week!'

We both laughed. This was getting rather convincing. I was proud of myself.

'We'll have to meet up someday. Catch up.' He smiled.

Of course I agreed. That's what you do, isn't it? You meet anyone from your past, love them or hate them, you'll agree to see them again.

'Brilliant. Give us your number.' I said.

I got out my phone and pressed a few buttons. He read out his number as I typed it in, his eyes focussed on the screen. The flashing bar moved down to the 'Name' entry. I cleared my throat and thought for a moment. I could just press OK and have the number in my phone, with no name attached to it. An anonymous row of numbers. But seconds has elapsed, even Steve couldn't help me. I angled the phone towards my chest and typed words that I could remember.

'What have you wrote?' He bent the phone back whilst giggling. '...Primary School?'

Anyone would do the same! If you don't know someone's name you think of name so you'll recognise who your numbers are. That's why a mate of my Dad's who built us our shed is called 'Shed Man'. Surely he can't be offended by it.

'Oh my God.' My old school friend took off his glasses. 'You don't remember my name, do you?'
'Yeah, course. It's just this bloody thing.' I tapped my phone. 'It's new. Can't find the right button.'

I began to sweat. Steve just smiled.

'Well...you want to start with that one.'

He pointed at the buttons. In the direction of either to R or the T. I couldn't quite tell. I just had to guess, slowly pressing the T button and looking up at him to make sure.

'That right?' I said softly.

He glared at me, put his sunglasses back on and marched to his car.

'Nice one.' Steve laughed, the distant revving engine distorting his voice.

Things couldn't have gotten worse. Oh, apart from Sharon wanting me in her office just seconds later.

End of part one.

The Ugly Youth (Part Three)

2011-04-19T03:41:00.000-07:00

I strolled down Harold Street, the long, tree-lined lane that split the town in two and turned onto the side street where the museum was stood. I had my iPod on shuffle, skipping the ones I didn't fancy every time they started up. The building looked so familiar to me, too familiar. As if I'd been going there everyday for years. A quick rush of dread dawned over me as I thought of the last time I was here. So much anticipation and excitement, only to be quashed by a teenager in flip-flops. Why wear flip-flops anyway? It's not even the summer yet. And have you noticed, the only people who insist on wearing flip-flops can't be bothered to walk properly. They scuttle around, making the rubber tap the ground with every step. Pick your feet up, you idiot!

Anyway, the flip-flops were only part of my dis-liking for Jason. He was taking the piss out of Bernard, his employer. By not working when he should be. He writes a blog about his musical tastes, which is all Maroon Five and all those groups from the hit parade. He drinks milkshakes even though he's an adult and, possibly even worse, took the piss out of my Facebook page. That was the final nail in the coffin.

I stepped into the museum, nodded warmly to the woman at reception in the pink cardigan and walked straight into the computer room. It was empty, which I was happy about and began making room for the overhead projector, set up a main computer for Jason to teach his lesson and rolled down the projection screen. My phone buzzed.

'Allison, hi!'
'Afternoon. I rang earlier...'
'Oh, yeah. Had my iPod on.'
'Shuffle?'
'Yeah.'
'Cool. My mum and the class are on their way.'

Brilliant. What was even more brilliant was the fact that Allison miss-timed her call thanks to my iPod, because as soon as I pushed the button to end the call, the full school class wandered into the room, followed by a beaming woman. Allison's mum. Or Mrs Krueger, as the children called her.

'Dylan, nice to meet you. Thank you for arranging this.'

Janet was a smiley woman, with kind eyes that made you comfortable in her presence. She was dressed smartly in pastel colours, ushering the children to take their seats with pleasant chirps. It's an odd way to meet your girlfriends mother, but I fully recommend it. I made the kids some juice as they logged on to the computers, a row of small students in bright red jumpers. Unlike most children I see, they were all silent and polite, like how you imagine children in the olden days used to be. Only you swap the abacus's with top of the range monitors that were five hundred quid a time.

Jason soon arrived, clutching a phone, keys and a bottle of water. His face dropped, just like I imagined it would.

'What's...going on? Hi Dylan.'
'Hey, we're just setting up for your lesson.' I smiled, handing one of the small people a cup of orange.
'My lesson?'
'Yeah, you know...the lesson you've prepared. I told you about it yesterday...on Facebook.'
'But you're not my friend on Facebook.'

There's a reason for that, dick head.

'Really?' I asked. 'Ah, well. They're ready when you are.'

Jason swallowed hard, took his place at the back of the room and logged on. The screen faded up quickly with that annoying 'Welcome Back!' noise, displaying a desktop full of minimized windows. In the two seconds he had them all visible, I could see he was halfway through an episode of '24', chatting to three friends, writing his blog and had began a Google search for local mountain bike shops. There started four agonisingly pleasurable minutes of Jason clicking away, the silence only filled by the hum of the monitors in the room. Then something amazing happened. He clicked onto his chat window and typed these words.

'Got to go, teaching a lesson to a bunch of rems.'

I know this because his screen was projected behind him, onto the screen for the room to see. Thankfully none of the kids read it. But Janet did.

'What was that?' Janet said, staying in her seat.
'What?' Jason looked up.
'What did you just type?'
'I was just setting up the programme.'
'No you weren't. It came up on the screen.'

Jason paused as his face scrunched up, trying to figure out what she was saying. Janet pointed behind him, making him turn slowly. This was brilliant because I didn't have to do anything. This was all unfolding without out any work. I could just sit back, maybe start a game of solitaire, check my e-mails. But I didn't. I just sat next to Janet and witnessed my revenge.

'Oh,. I was just saying goodbye to a friend. Well, she's not a friend. We went out for a bit...'

What a self-absorbed prick.

'What an odd way to say goodbye to a friend.'
'She's not really a friend.'
'I don't care.' Janet said abruptly. 'Can I speak to your manager, please?'
'Yes.' Jason said, clambering out of his seat and heading for the door.

Janet peered around the room, making sure none of her children had seen what Jason had written. Luckily not, they were all busy playing with the programme I opened for them, matching pictures of science apparatus with their names.

'I'm sorry about that, Janet. I'll start for him.'

I know what you're thinking, Jason didn't have a lesson planned and neither do you. Well, I did. I opened up a new programme, Janet told the kids to pay attention and I began, slowly reading out my notes and talking light-heartedly about simple ideas. I asked the children to talk about what they use in their bedrooms that may require electrical current, meanwhile Jason and a rather confused Bernard appeared in the door-frame. Jason was about to walk right it, but Bernard stopped him, letting me finish my lesson and Jason finish sweating in his flip-flops.

'

The Ugly Youth (Part Two)

2011-04-18T10:17:00.000-07:00

'Found you...'

'What are you doing?' I said, quickly sitting down.
'You work at the supermarket? Just down the road?'
'Yeah, a bit.' I defended myself.
'Fuck me. Pushing trolleys?'

I knew I shouldn't have put that on my page. Why couldn't I have just said 'Services'?

'So what?'

Jason just laughed and called the other lads over to his computer. I headed for the staff room.

'Bernard, I've just realised, I have to pick a friend up from the airport.'

'Oh, do you drive?'

'No...'

I hadn't thought of that. I should have known not to try and bullshit a scientist.

'Oh, OK. Well, did you enjoy your stay?'

I was about to answer, when I heard Jason and the gang erupt in another roar of laughter.

'Erm...yeah.' I squalked, a beed of sweat making it's way down my forehead.
'Well, I'm glad. I'll give you a ring in the morning and we can discuss your shifts.'

That was the best and worst thing I'd ever heard. This lovely man, halfway through his crossword and third cup of tea, asking me to come and work with him. Yet on the other hand, through the hallway, a scoffing pack of dogs, laughing and joking at the expence of my Facebook page. They've got no grace. They're probably flicking through my photo albums, tittering at every site of my smiling face. Oh God, Grandad Joe's Birthday Party 2006. God, please don't let them view Grandad Joe's Birthday Party 2006. The night I kissed Aunt Meredith and was caught of camera by my cousin. Another round of jeers came from the computer room. I smiled at Bernard and scuttled out of the building. Fleeing from my taunters. That bloody Grandad Joe's Birthday Party 2006 photo album! I knew I should have deleted that bastard!

'So how was it? Tell me everything!'

Allison had an annoying way of making everything sound exciting. Why do I have to tell her everything about yesterday? I don't have to. Girlfriends can't make you do everything. That only happens when you're married, according to my Dad. We were up in the canteen, the day after my quick exit at the Science Museum.

'It was good.' I said, shrugging and smiling at the same time.
'Yeah...' She nodded, urging me to say more.

I just sat there and sipped my Coca Cola, I'd have bought a Diet Coke but after yesterday, I deserved it.

'What did you get up to?'
'Just had a look around. Nice building.'

I'm sure she wasn't interested in the state of the building, but if she had have been, I'd have gone further to delay any more information. I'd have printed out blueprints and notes from constuction workers, enough detail to make her interested in the creation and architecture of the building. She paused a bit longer, which made me give in and tell her a bit more.

'I worked in the computer room with a few lads. They...we....' I grinned .'...have school classes in three times a week.'
'Oh, cool. You could have my mum's class. They're primary school level.'

At first I just smiled politely and had another sip of my can. A generic reaction to a suggestion. But after a few moments, a plan began to grow in my head. Dare I say it, a cunning plan. Allison's Mum's primary school class coming to the Science Museum. Then, in front of Bernard, Jason and all those guys would have to work. It's so simple. In the morning I made a phone call. It needed to be short notice.

'Bernard?'
'Dylan, how are things?'
'Good. Good.'
'I was going to drop you an e-mail...'
'I know, but I have an idea for today.'
'Go on...'
'A friend of mine has a primary school class. They'd love to come to the museum.'
'Oh great, when are they available?' He asked.
'Today. Around three.'

Bernard checked over his diary and after a few seconds I heard the phone click around as he held it back to his ear.

'Three is great, Dylan.'
'Great. Oh, and I've told Jason and the guys about it. They know what they're doing.'
'Really? How did you get in touch with them?' He asked.
'Facebook.'

Yeah, Bernard. Facebook. I definitely spoke to him on Facebook. Right after I deleted Grandad Joe's Birthday Party 2006 photo album. That fucking Grandad Joe's Birthday Party 2006 photo album! Today I will get my revenge!

End of part two.

The Ugly Youth (Part One)

2011-04-12T07:08:00.000-07:00

The museum is a relatively unnoticeable building if you're wandering around town. But if you know where it is and are heading for it, standing right outside is kind of intimidating. It looks like the cross between a massive bank and a downsized library. I turned up around twenty minutes early for my day with Bernard, staring open mouthed at its huge windows and smooth brown bricks with a golden plaque above the archway. I always arrive early for things. Simply because I hate it when people are late. Normally I would walk around the corner, maybe buy a drink from the off license and pretend to look at my text messages. But today I walked straight in there, introduced myself confidently to the nice old woman in the pink cardigan behind the desk and sat down in the air conditioned foyer.

I hadn't thought about anything else but this day all weekend. The thought of me working in this place, with Bernard and his old Science friends. Old men in tweed suits, that's what I imagined all weekend. I get on with old people, I know a lot about Sciences...this job was for me. Allison believed it too, buying my a new tie for the occasion. Add that to my standard wedding/funeral/christening grey suit and I was looking good, feeling confident and ready for the day.

Bernard met me with a warm smile, asked me if I found the place OK and offered me a cup of tea.

'Yes, please.'
'Sugar?' He asked.
'No, I'm sweet enough.' I smiled.

He chuckled as if he was going to use that line the future and led me into the staff room.

'Basically we have four main rooms. The lab room, which we use for lessons when the school children come in. We have around three classes a week. Are you experienced with working with children?'

Of course I am, I helped to get a trapped toddler's leg out of a trolley last week.

'I little bit.' nodded.
'Good. The computer room, where all colleagues work most of the time.'
'Oh, right. Do they know how to use them?'

Bernard lowered his furry eyebrows at me and peered through his glasses. It seemed like a good question to me, old people in tweed can't use the internet. That's a scientific fact. He's a scientist. He should know.

'Yes...' He strained in confusion.
'Oh...good.' I nodded.

We sipped our tea in the staff room on the comfy chairs. He went through all the admin stuff, including my salary, which I was pleased with, and soon we were on our way to the computer room. It was there that I realised why Bernard's reaction to my question was so odd. The computer room was a vast row of monitors, all humming the same high pitched tone within the peach coloured walls. Sat in the chairs were six or seven lads all around the same age, a few years younger than me.

'Oh, do you have college students in too?' I asked.
'No, no. These are our colleagues.'

Jason was first up to greet me, in ripped jeans, a half grown beard and flip-flops. I hated him instantly.

'Dylan, Jason. Nice to see you.' He shook my hand softly.
'Jason has been here the longest so you'll spend the day with him. I'll report back at 4pm.'

I nodded and looked at Jason, who was chewing violently.

'OK, i'll leave you two to it.'

Bernard walked out of the room, leaving Jason to show me to the computer next to him.

'Give me a sec, bro. I'm just finishing my blog.'
'OK.'

A 'Sec' turned into twenty five minutes. In that time he finished his blog about the new iPad, sent three e-mails and finished a phone conversation with someone called 'Carnage'.

'Right. What do you need to know?' he looked at me.
'I don't know. Bernard asked me hear to spend the day. You know, to get to know the place.'
'Oh, right. That old fart.' He sighed.

I was offended for him. Jason logged into his YouTube account while I panned the room. These people were meant to be working, when all I could see were a group of 20 year olds messing about on computers. They were taking the piss. Getting paid for doing nothing. Well, if you count looking at cats in peril nothing.

'Check this out, Damien. Cat stuck in a window...' Jason chuckled. 'Fucking brilliant.'
'So, when do you start work?' I asked, cutting through the room of belly laughs.
'Well, we have a class of sixth formers in this afternoon.' He said, turning down to volume of the 'Cat vs Window' video. 'Bernard wants us to teach them about Science in the workplace. You know, how things work and all that shit.'
'Oh, right...'
'But Damien's trying to download the new episode of Lost so it may go out the window. Damo!' He shouted across the room. 'Has it finished downloading yet?'
'No, 57 percent!' Damo shouted back.
'Typical. Do you watch Lost?'
'No.'

Jason scoffed.

'Do you know what it's about?'
'Clue's in the title.' I said softly.

An hour passed by. I logged on to my computer using the default registration and perused the system. Programme after programme of Science modules for anyone to dig into. And good ones as well. Science for the elderly, disabled, hard of hearing, primary school children, you name it. It was such a pity it was not getting used. I looked around the room again, these guys were enjoying themselves. On a good wage, wearing their own clothes. I could be one of these guys. Sure I didn't like them very much, but I don't like most people when I first meet them. Just imagine, working here full time. Engaging with the young people of today. So what it's not fully about Science? Kids don't like Science. We all know what they do like are illegally downloaded American import Dramas and videos of animals in pain. These guys were winning me around. Jason took off his expensive looking headphones and looked at me.

'I'm going to go grab a milkshake, you want one?'
'Er...yeah, sure.' I smiled.
'Cool.'

Jason trotted out of the room, his flip-flops making that annoying sound as he passed. I took my empty cup back to the office where Bernard was sat, reading a stack of notepapers.

'Dylan, how are you getting on?' He spoke whilst still reading.
'Good. Good. Jason seems like a nice lad.'

Pretentious dick, more like.

'Oh yeah, hard worker too. He got a bunch of 2nd years making heat lamps yesterday.'
'Really? Did you sit in with them.'
'No, I was in a meeting. He told me.'

Maybe 'Making heat lamps' was slang for 'Drinking milkshakes.' I bet the only science Jason has experienced is putting sweets into a bottle of Coke and watching it shoot out of the top. I wandered back into the computer room where Jason was sat, slurping his drink and staring at a Facebook page. It was only when I got closer I realised it was my Facebook page.

'Found you...'
'What are you doing?' I said, quickly sitting down.
'You work at the supermarket? Just down the road?'
'Yeah, a bit.' I defended myself.
'Fuck me. Pushing trolleys?'

I knew I shouldn't have put that on my page. Why couldn't I have just said 'Services'?

'So what?'

Jason just laughed and called the other lads over to his computer.

I'd kill for an old man in tweed right now.

End of part one.

Jack To The Future

2011-04-08T00:58:00.000-07:00

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.

Tit's a Wonderful Life (Part Two)

2011-04-01T07:45:00.000-07:00

I slowly watched Bernard jot down words into his leather file, whilst Tommy and Steve giggled to each other and discussed how big the woman's tits where. I doubt Bernard was interested in how big they were. He was wearing a brown jacket with leather elbow pads stitched to it, people like that aren't interested in tits.

'Tommy. Steve. There's a few trolleys down the side of the Carphone Warehouse, if you fancy a walk.' I said.
'Do you fancy it, Tommy?'
'Aye, can do.'

We all smiled to each other as Steve and Tommy wandered off.

'So, are you in charge, then?'

I could have been honest, but really, no-one out here was in charge. In my opinion, it's anyone's game.

'Yeah, kind of. But I don't like to enforce any kind of hierarchy.' I smiled.

Glad I used that word. He looked like he knew was it meant, I hope I remembered what it meant.

'It's best to keep everyone equal, but yeah...I'm in charge.' I said proudly.

This was going well, until I saw Sharon charging over to us. He eyes dead set on mine.

'This is Sharon.' I introduced her as she thundered towards us.

Then I realised I hadn't informed Sharon of Bernard's visit, and instantly realised why she was walking at us.

'Sharon.' Bernard smiled again. 'Nice to meet you.'
'Who is this?' She said blankly.

A few moments lapsed before Sharon started again.

'I have been watching you for half an hour. And this man has been on your back every second!'

Bernard looked at me and grinned. I panicked again.

'I don't know, Sharon. He's just asking me questions. Costa Coffee, mate?' I turned to my potential employer. 'It's just down there.' I pointed behind him.

Sharon wouldn't have been happy if she had found out. It's not the done thing to invite the man you want a job off to your current place of work. It's like shitting on your own doorstep. Sharon looked him up and down and carried on her investigation.

'What is your business?' She spat at him.
'Museums.' He said calmly.
'They have meetings in Costa Coffee, Sharon.' I nodded.
'Meetings?' Sharon narrowed her eyes.
'Meetings. About museums.' I nodded again.
'Hmmm...'
'He just asked me where it was...so I told him.' I smiled.
'Get back to work.'
'Sharon.' Bernard help his pen up. 'Are you Dylan's manager?'

Sharon sighed.

'Unfortunately, yes.'
'How efficient is he out here?'
'Well, you're very nosy aren't you?'
'Just interested.' I shrugged.
'If you must know.' Sharon looked at him. 'He's the most efficient member of the team.'

Bingo. That's what I wanted to hear. That's what Bernard wanted to hear. It didn't matter if Sharon's comment meant nothing. Of course it didn't. Of course I'm the most efficient member of the team. That's not a compliment! It's the truth. Out of me, Alex, Tommy and Steve - I'm the best. But that's like saying Tony Hadley is the best one in Spandau Ballet. It's the best of a bad lot.

'Thank you.' Bernard smiled and noted it down in his file.
'What has Dylan's efficiency got to do with a Museum Meeting in Costa Coffee?' She tilted her head.

Good question.

'Nothing.' Bernard shrugged.

Sharon twisted quickly and walked back up to the store. Leaving me waiting for Bernard to finished writing.

'Right, I think I've seen everything.'
'Good.'
'I'm not stupid, Dylan.' He said, re-angling his glasses. 'Your work mates. The tits. Your manager. Costa Coffee.'
'What do you mean?' I backed away.

Bernard took off his glasses and paused to form his words. I knew straightaway he had seen through everything. Like he said, he wasn't stupid. My co-colleagues loved looking at tits and my manager had no idea Bernard was coming. But before Bernard could start, I heard my name from behind him.

'Dylan?'

It was Allison, all wrapped up in a long blue coat and black bobble hat. She was due to start work soon and had just gotten off the bus. Last night we spoke for hours on the phone. Phone calls seemed to last forever but they only feel ten minutes long. We'd had four dates up to now. I'd seen her DJ'ing a few times and we went to the cinema last week. Our last date found us both completely drunk, singing karaoke to old men in a tiny pub. I always sing 'I Want To Break Free.' Together, we nailed it. I told her on the phone about Bernard's visit. She told me it would run smoothly, so far, she was wrong.

'Hi, I just wanted to say...' She said with a glint in her eye. 'Thank you for helping me yesterday.'

Bernard looked at Allison. Allison looked at me. Me head nearly exploded from confusion.

'Oh...no problem.' I said.
'My mum says thank you too. You were so good with her wheelchair.' She nodded.
'What did he do?' Bernard asked her.
'Oh, I always come shopping every week with my mum. Dylan's the only one who can help. He's so great with my mum. Laughing and joking with her. Which is what she needs at the moment...after her results.' She looked at him earnestly.

Bernard looked to the floor, then back to me.

'I just do what I can.' I shrugged.
'Well. Thank you for inviting me around, Dylan. You obviously are special to some people. I'll be in touch tomorrow.' He shook my hand warmly and headed back to the train station.

I waited for him to disappear around the corner until I gave Allison a huge hug. I know he was smart, but anyone what have bought that.

Tit's a Wonderful Life (Part One)

2011-04-01T02:54:00.000-07:00

It was another Saturday morning and Steve was ushering us all together for our weekly meeting, huddled around a litter strewn trolley bay to discuss things. Meetings are usually pretty professional, you might think. But last week's topics included a review of three XBOX games and a heavy discussion on who would clean up dog shit. Steve was about to start, tapping his biro onto his little notepad, when a middle-aged looking woman in a red dress slipped out of her soft top car and headed towards the store. Alex, Tommy and I looked at Steve to start the meeting. Steve stared at the woman.You always know when Steve has seen a woman, he's subtle and completely unsubtle at the same time. He pushes his lips up to his nose and gazes at them as they walk past.

'Eye's down, mister.' I said.

'Lovely.' Steve said, licking his lips.

'Have you ever been tempted?' I asked with a smile.

'From Mary? Naa, I've got everything I want.'

Yeah, a Goth that occasionally wrestles. What more could he possibly ask for?

'Doesn't stop you looking, though, does it?' Alex said.

'Yeah, just because I've ordered doesn't mean I can't have a gander at the menu.' Steve said proudly, tucking in his shirt.

'Yeah.' Alex joined in again. 'We can all do a bit of window shopping now again.'

'Just as long as you don't go inside the shop.' Steve added.

Tommy and Alex giggled.

'Or take any items off the shelf.' Steve said.

'Yeah.'

'Or pop your debit card in the little machine.'

We all narrowed our eyes towards him.

'Or tap in your pin code.' He mumbled, staring into space.

We all exchanged glances.

'No matter how much you want it.'

'Steve?'

'Or how much of a bargain it is.'

'Steve!' I shouted.

'Yep!' Finally snapping out of it. 'Moving on. Item One. Bernard Higgins.'

Steve said the name with authority and then looked at us all.

'That's all I've got. Barnard Higgins. Who's that?' Steve asked us.

Bernard Higgins was the curator of a nearby Educational Museum where I have applied for a job. It's not really in the line of Biomedical Sciences, but It's a council funded building that works with local schools and colleges to get students thinking more about the occupation of Sciences. I applied because it was the only job I could find with the word 'Science' in it, and hoped that my Degree would get me a look in. Well, it seemed to have worked. Mr Higgins e-mailed me two days ago, expressing his interest in my experience and suchlike. I was delighted, excited and then hugely disappointed when he requested to visit me at work to 'get a more hands on feel of how you work.'

Well, I had no idea business could work in such a way. Apparently it is a new council initiative, helping to receive a better understanding of how future employees carry out their work. Which is basically shorthand for 'We've had a lot of idiots piss us about, so we need evidence that you can do an honest day's work.' But, you can't put that on a councils website, can you?

'He's a bloke...' I said quickly. 'Coming to see me today. He want's me for a job or whatever.' I tried to say as casually as possible.

The three of them stared at me.

'No big deal.' I shrugged.

I waited for the onslaught of questions ad piss taking, but Steve looked down and carried on with the agenda.

'Item two. The dog shit.'

And the meeting went on smoothly, ending with Tommy flouncing to the store to get the shit picker from the store room. Steve and Alex walked off talking about a new film and I took a few trolleys up to the top. As I got past the pelican crossing, a man in a suit was looking at me, whilst holding a leather bound file. I looked away for a second and then looked back, but he was still looking at me. I looked behind me but no one was around. I looked back at him to find he was slowly nodding and walking towards me.

'Dylan?' He asked me with a deep, aged voice.

Oh shit, it wasn't Bernard. He's early. He can't be early. I haven't prepared. I had preparations. A full A4 sheet of answers to possible questions. He looked at me through he thick glasses and grinned warmly, but instead of greeting him properly, all the answers to possible questions ran through my head.

'Biomedical Sciences.' I said quickly in a rush of panic.
'I'm sorry?' He grinned again.
'Oh, sorry. Dylan.' I held out my hand.
'Nice to meet you.'
'Nice to...yeah...you're early, aren't you?' I said, wiping the sweat off my forehead.
'Yeah, well. The train got here a little earlier than anticipated.'

Bernard chuckled sweetly after each sentence, carefully re-angling his glasses. As soon as I met him, I instantly knew he was the kind of respected old gentleman that could say large words without looking pretentious.

'Now I'm only with you for an hour.' He started, opening his smart leather file. 'But I want to find out is what you provide to the workforce, your responsibilities and just find out a little bit about your co-workers.'
'Really? Do you need to?' I titled my head. 'They're pretty boring.' I shrugged.

I provide very little to the workforce because there isn't much to provide. I don't have many responsibilities and quite frankly, that's why I took the job in the first place. I'm fine with that. He can find out about that, I can just bullshit him with fake duties. But meeting my co-workers. No. That's not going to happen.

I was pretty impressed with myself, If I'm honest. I stretched out a full forty minutes on my responsibilities and duties. A slow walk around the car park, pointing out certain trolley bays and adding a few pointless but time-consuming anecdotes.

'And...can you believe it...' I mocked a laugh and slapped my thigh. 'It was a pasta sauce jar...all over the floor!'
'Ho, ho...' He chuckled softly. 'You told me that same story ten minutes ago, Dylan.'
'Did I? Sorry, it's just a great story.'
'It is. So, where are your co-colleagues?' He said, looking around.
'Erm...' I squealed.

I cringed with anger and panic as I saw Steve bounding towards me. His row of trolleys bumped into Bernard's leg.

'Oh, sorry mate.' Steve mumbled. 'Hey, Dylan. Check out that one up there.' He nodded in front of us.

The three of us looked forward to see the woman ahead of us.

'Tits on that.' Steve winked.
'Bernard. Steve. Steve. Bernard.' I said, clenching my eyes shut.
'Oh, it's Bernard whats-his-face.'
'Higgins.' I said.

Bernard held out a hand for Steve slap it.

'Hey, Dylan. You told him the pasta sauce story yet?'
'Yes, he has.' Bernard peered through his glasses again.
'Brilliant.' Steve smiled and reminisced.

Tommy rushed over seconds later.

'Steve. Did you see the tits?' He said enthusiastically.
'Oh, aye. Juicy.'

I looked at Bernard, who was slowly writing in his file. It didn't look good, unless he was making a note of the juiciness of the tits. Which I seriously doubted.

End of part one.

The Bowl Nine Yards (Part Two)

2011-03-25T07:17:00.000-07:00

'It's just you.' I said, my face turning red with every second.
'Yes.' Allison faked a smile. 'And you. And Steve.'
'Allison.' Steve smiled.

Steve squeezed himself into the other side of the booth and picked up a menu. I just stood still, I couldn't think of anything to say or do. Allison slid out of the booth and told me she was off for another drink.

'That's funny.' Steve said. 'She's still got half of her orange juice left.'

Yeah, she wasn't happy. I met her back at the bar.

'I'm so sorry, Allison.' I tried.
'For what? Can I get an orange juice please?' She said to the man serving. 'What do you and Steve want?' She sighed.
'I'll get these.'

I stumbled around in my pocket for my wallet, fully aware of my increasing red face and her increasing annoyance.

'I'll tell him to go. If it's just you and me.'
'That's the idea of a date.' She rolled her eyes.

Why can't things like this be made clear beforehand? You and me are going on a date. A night with a possible chance of romantic future depending how we get on. Why does it have to revolve around vague text messages and awkward little smiles? Cavemen and women never did that, and look at how much they got done!

'I just...I thought you were going to bring friends. Alex told me that bowling is a friendly thing to do.'
'Oh, so we're friends, then?' She asked.
'Well, yeah, i'd like to think so, but...no, no. We're more than that. Or else...I'd like to think...'
'Dylan.'
'Yeah?' I said quickly.
'Let's just enjoy the night.'

She handed me my half pint of lager and headed back over to our booth. When I arrived back there Steve and Allison were sipping their drinks and chatting away. Not such a bad idea after all, was it Allison?

'So what's with the glove then?' Allison asked Steve. 'Are you a Michael Jackson fan?'
'God no. Well, I've got Off The Wall on twelve inch, but who hasn't? Anyway, he had a silver glove.'
'So why do you wear it?'
'Grip.'

Steve picked up his pint of bitter with the glove, to show off the grip of the glove. He knows how to impress a girl. I didn't know how to feel. I didn't how it was going. Surely she was mad about me bringing Steve on our date, but look at her! Chatting away about grippy gloves and smiling. Normal girls would blank both of us and spend the rest of the night texting people on her phone.

'Shall we head over to the alley?' I suggested.
'Sure. Game on!' Steve shouted.

Allison headed outside first, which gave me chance to stop Steve before he got through the door.

'Steve.'
'Yeah, mate? What size are you?' He said, looking down at my feet. 'I want the ones with velcro on them.'
'Maybe we should call it a night.'
'What? You've got an alley booked.'
'I know, but...Allison, she...'

This was awful. I didn't want Steve to pull that face again, like a cat who's been slapped in the face. It was like I was splitting up with him.

'What's up?' He shrugged.
'Three's a crowd, you know.'
'Well, you shouldn't have invited her!'

Steve slapped me on the back and headed to the bowling alley. Safe in the knowledge that I was trying to get rid of Allison to be with him.

Mega Bowling used to be a cinema until they had a fire a few years ago. Some idiot set fire to a toilet roll in the men's toilets. The police caught him a week later, he said he did because they wouldn't give him his money back after watching Big Momma's House 2. Natural reaction, in my opinion.

'Size, sir?' The bloke asked me.
'Eleven's please. What lane are we on?'
'Six.'
'Is five free?'
'Yes, do you want to switch to it?
'No, I want to book that lane too.'

A few minutes later we ready to bowl, armed with a fresh round of drinks and those shoes that make you look like a twat.

'Right, Steve. You're on that lane. We're on here.' I pointed at both lanes, side by side.
'Why? Couldn't you get one lane? How are we meant to play each other?'

I know it sounds pretty lame, but at the time I thought it was a great idea. Me and Allison. Alone and on a romantic date on one bowling lane. Four yards away, Steve. On his one with his little glove. Allison smiled as if I knew what I was up to, programmed our names and threw a ball down the lane. Half a hour later we were still bowling. Steve took his time on his lane, making sure his glove was properly fixed to his hand and re-attaching his velcro shoes every two minutes. Me and Allison had finished our game and sat on the plastic chairs with our drinks.

'I'm sorry again. For bringing him.' I looked down.

I could feel her smiling at me. It felt good.

'It's OK. He's a laugh.'
'It's just...I like you a lot and I didn't want to come on my own if you were bringing your friends.'
'I see. Friendship politics.' She nodded and looked into the middle distance.

There was a few moments of silence filled by the distance clacks of arcade games and rolling bowling balls.

'I like you too.' She looked at me. 'In that way, just to make sure.'

Thank God for that. We both smiled at each other and sipped our drinks again, before looking up a Steve throwing his final bowling ball. He needed a strike to beat...himself...and through everything at it, revealing his hairy arse crack in the process.

How romantic.

The Bowl Nine Yards (Part One)

2011-03-24T09:09:00.000-07:00

So the date was set for tomorrow night. A quick drink in Almonds bar and then next door for a few rounds of bowling. Good old ten pin bowling. A perfect neutral place for casual dates. 'We're going bowling' I think. 'Just a quick game of bowling. Nothing special.' When really, we're going bowling! Bow-ling. A nice long game of relaxed yet slightly competitive game of bowling. I pity those who think too much about things like this.

It was a bright sunny day. A few charity collectors were wandering around outside, shaking their buckets and smiling broadly. Inside the foyer stood a large stand advertising a brand new brand of cheese. On the stand were a small bowl of complimentary segments for customers. Well, customers and colleagues.

'Dylan.' Sharon barked from behind me. 'Alex. What are you doing?'
'Trying the cheese. It's lovely, you want some?'
'These are testers. For customers. Customers who may go inside and buy our new cheese.'
'I might buy our new cheese. Once I finish.' Alex said.
'Really?'
'No, have you seen the price!' He chuckled.

Sharon chucked us out into the fresh March day.

'So hows the wedding planning going?'
'Oh good.' Alex smiled. 'Only a few months away. Planning an awesome stag do.'
'Great.'
'Speaking of weddings. How's it going with you and Allison?'
'Oh, good.' I tried to keep my excitement in. 'Going bowling tomorrow.'
'Ah, you just being friends then?'
'No...' I thrust my head back as I looked at him. 'Why?'
'It's just bowling, you know...bit of a friendly thing.'
'Not really. I'm paying for them. As a treat. Might even buy her a drink.'
'Oh right...' He winced.

It worried me that Alex's angle on bowling. I wondered if I could spruce it up a bit. Maybe ring up the place and ask to add love hearts to our lane, or even play romantic songs. But I was thinking too much. I knew I was thinking too much when I sat down with Tommy on my break.

'Tommy, has Allison ever been bowling before?'
'Erm...I dunno...probably. Why?'
'With friends or...on a date?'
'I don't know. She's been for a birthday I think. Aren't you going with her tomorrow?'
'Yeah, I just wanted to know If she's ever been before.'
'Oh I get it...' Tommy said, putting his cheese sandwich down. 'You're wondering whether she's any good at bowling. I think she won when she went on her birthday, so you better be good.'
'Right...' I smiled.

This was useless. Maybe Allison and I were going to bowling as friends. Maybe Steve would help.

'If she has invited others to come, then it's not a date.' He said. 'And I've got a glove you could wear. Professional and everything, got it off the market. You can grip really well.'
'No, no. It's fine.'
'Are you sure. I've beaten Mary three times in a row...'
'No.'
'Would have been four times but I had a bad back. She didn't believe me.'

Useless. But he was right about inviting others. She probably had invited others. She went on her birthday, that was with others. You don't go to bowling on your birthday on your own. I wouldn't. Well, not again. I just couldn't call myself a winner at the end of it. Just to be on the safe side I invited Alex. But he was busy. I invited Tommy. Me, Allison and her brother Tommy and a lovely fun night of bowling. But he didn't want to come. So I invited Steve, who was over the moon.

'Cool, I'll bring my glove!'
'Brilliant.' I said, trying to draw out an inch of excitement from a glove.

Friday night came around. I spent most of the day trying to figure out the atmosphere of the night. The easy thing to have done was to text her, but no-one does easy things anymore. Allison did text me, though. Saying you was looking forward to the night and that we're going to have a great time. We're? We? Me and Allison we? or Allison, me and our friends me? I wasn't taking any chances. I met Steve at outside Almonds bar at 7pm and headed inside. I was glad to see he wasn't in full roadie gear this time, but he did insist on wearing his bowling glove, two hours before we were due on the lane.

'Allison!' I shouted
'Dylan...and Steve.' She gleamed back at us.

Allison was sat in one of the side booths with the comfy seats, sipping an orange juice.

'So, you're friends running late, are they?'
'No...'

I looked around. No other drinks were on the table.

'It's just me.' She looked at me.

Shit.

End of part one.

The Long Piss Goodnight

2011-03-21T05:59:00.000-07:00

'Which one's Shelia again?'
'Grey hair. Glasses.' Steve tried to put her face to the name for me.
'No...'
'Her husband's the caretaker.'

I wasn't getting it.

'She pissed herself at the Christmas do.'
'Oh, Shelia. Yeah. Why is she leaving?'
'Retiring, we think. There's a collection going around. So far i've tried to avoid it.' Steve squirmed.
'Why?' Alex asked.
'Are you kidding? We've had six retirements since January, I've given enough.'
'Fair point.' Tommy backed him up.
'Anyway, they get enough, old people. Shopping carts. Free eye tests. Bus passes.

I looked at Steve.

'Don't look at me like that, Dylan. Shelia's house is massive.'
'Just give what you can.' I suggested.
'Bollocks! She's got enough. What has she ever done for anyone else?'
She runs a girl guiding troupe.' Said Alex. 'And she helps out at the homeless shelter.'
'I'm giving 50p.' Tommy smiled.

I have to admit, giving 50p maybe worse than giving nothing. At least Steve was sticking to his principals. 50p is tight. That's tighter than my Nan and she haggles in charity shops.

'Only because it's got a polo stuck to one side of it.' Tommy added.

How special. 50p and a dusty old polo. Calm down, Tommy. She's not Mother Teresa. I had to up the game.

'Well I'm giving two quid. That's the average, looking at that form.'
'There's a form?' Steve shouted. 'Jesus, she's retiring not doing a charity fun run for div kids!'

Steve scanned the piece of paper, squinting at it without his reading glasses on.

'Two quid. Two quid. Three quid. A fiver?!'
'Generous.' Tommy raised his ginger eyebrows.
'I thought retiring meant you stopped earning cash! She's getting more than I do in a month here!' Steve protested.

Alex pulled out the card Sharon had given him for us all to sign. It was unapologetically pink, A4 size with a huge frowning animated face on the front of it. But the huge frowning animated face wasn't the worst thing about it. The worst thing about it was the title of the card.

'Sorry for your loss?' I asked.
'So?'
'Sorry for your loss is a card for a funeral!'
'So what?' Steve shrugged. 'It's still a card.'

He was right. And what made it worse was the fact that the card was almost filled with signatures and messages from colleagues.

'Didn't they have any Happy Retirement ones?'
'Sharon said this one was the cheapest A4 one we had.' Tommy said.

Brilliant. Now we're giving a card to a retiring woman that basically says 'Sorry someone has died.'

'She'll be happy with that.' Steve looked at the card.
'Steve.' I fought back. 'How would you like it if someone give you this when you retire?'
'Ha ha...if I'm still here when I retire...ha ha...shoot me!'

Steve laughed, but there's nearly a 100% chance he will be.

'Let's see.' Tommy opened the card. 'Happy Retirement Shelia.' He read. 'Oh, I was going to write that.' He frowned.
'I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you wrote that too.'
'I've just put "Good luck, Alex."' Alex said.

Oh great, she's gone from being in mourning to getting ready for a job interview.

'What? It's better than what Steve's put!'
'What did you put?' I turned to him.
'Steve.'
'Steve!' I shouted.
'What? I've signed it haven't I? I might not be giving her any money but I'm not an animal!'

The canteen was covered with all the usual celebratory aperatus. Balloons, banners and primary coloured table cloths with fizzy drinks on them. A retirement is an odd thing and can be taken in different ways. Our ex-greeter spent his last day smiling and flirting with all the middle aged checkout women, whereas Sandra off the kiosk shouted at everyone ended up on the floor, crying in the milk aisle. But Shelia took the former, smiling in the middle table with managers surrounding her. Baskets, flowers and pretty white gift bags filled the table. All the porters were made to attend, so Alex, Tommy, Steve and I took our seats at the far table and tucked into the free sausage rolls.

'Ladies and gentleman.' Sharon stood and clinked her glass. 'Welcome to Shelia's retirement party. She is far too shy and get up herself and thank everyone, so from her, thank you. Thank you for your kind messages in the card and thank you for your donations.'

Sharon knelt down and picked up the small bucket of coins along with a piece of paper.

'I have the names of the donators here and Shelia would like to thank them all. So thank you to...Gordon Mersy. Helen Chapel.'

Steve turned to us with a panic in his eyes.

'What is she doing?' Steve asked me.
'Reading the names of the donators.'
'Why?'

Sharon kept going.

'Roger Dreardon. Carol Little. Emma Freer.'
'Sharon!' Steve stood up. 'I don't think that's appropriate.'

The whole room turned and looked at Steve.

'And why's that?' Sharon asked.
'Because...because we've all given generously and I don't think anyone needs to be singled out.'

Several colleagues told Steve to shut up as Sharon kept going.

'Dylan James. Tommy Krueger...'

Sharon scanned the width of the paper.

'50p!'

The whole room mumbled to each other. A few pointed over to Tommy and after a few seconds, all eyes were on Tommy's sweating ginger face.

'It was all I had!' Tommy stood up. 'Steve didn't give anything!'

All eyes shot over to Steve.

'What?' Steve raised his arms. 'At least I didn't piss myself at the Christmas party!'

All eyes shot back over to Tommy.

'No!' Steve shouted. 'Shelia! Shelia pissed herself at the Christmas party!'

All eyes shot over to Shelia. Who started to cry.

Happy Retirement Shelia.

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

2011-03-18T03:01:00.000-07:00

You know when you're thinking about something, something that needs you're full attention but someone or something is taking a part away from you? That's what Alex was doing when I was trying to think about Steve and how I made him feel. It was true, I did use him to get to Allison at the nightclub, I did go to the pub with him so I could secretly celebrate the date we'd arranged. But there was no malice involved. Besides, he likes going out. Mary likes him going out. So if I want him to go out to save my social embarrassment, where's the harm? Well, the harm was here at work. He hadn't spoken to me all weekend. So when tuesday morning came around, I thought I'd try to prepare my most sincerest apology for when he arrived in work. But Alex and his talking was in the way.

'We finally got together, the parents, to celebrate the wedding.'
'Oh, right...' I mumbled.
'Round at our flat, it was. We put table cloths over the tables and everything. Made it proper posh.'
'Posh?'
'We had After Eights.'

Ah, the After Eight. I heard it was the Queen's favourite after meal treat. Prince Phillip prefers the Cream Egg.

'Mine and Fran's parents seem to be getting on well...'

What's going on? Six months ago you were lucky to get a cough out of Alex, now he's blabbering on about parent's and wedding's non-stop. It's like he's actually turned into an adult, all thank's to an Argos engagement ring.

'What's wrong, Dylan? You seem quite distracted.'

You can't tell the truth the people anymore, it's just unpleasant.

'Me? Naa, mate. Just a bit tired.'
'Steve told me you're with Allison off checkouts?'

That sounded good, but wasn't right.

'Steve told you that? No, we're just friends, for now.'
'I see...'
'What else did Steve tell you about me and Allison?'
'Nothing much.' He shrugged. 'He looked pretty pissed off, though...'
'Really?'
'Yeah, but then it was a Sunday morning, so what d'you expect?' He chuckled.

I would have appreciated Alex's light-hearted banter any other day, but not today. Before I knew it, Steve had clocked in and was marching over to me, his eyes dead set on mine. Was this it? Was this the way I was going to die? Battered in a car park on a wet afternoon? He can't be that angry, really. If I was him I wouldn't be angry, i'd be more pissed off, as Alex said. But as Steve grew closer, his face wasn't a look of anger, it was panic.

'Dylan, come here!' He tried to whisper.
'What?'
'Come here.'

I walked a few steps and met him by the trolley bay. He was sweating, his eyes still fixated on mine.

'No one has passed on anything...to you? Have they?'
'What?'

No assault? No name calling? Not even a nipple twist?

'Something involving me...and Mary...nothing? Over the last day or so?'
'I'm not following, Steve...'
'A picture.' He moved inches from my face, clenching every muscle in his body.
'No...no, I haven't. What picture?'

Steve looked around a bit whilst getting our his phone. He pressed a few buttons anxiously and shoved it back into his pocket.

'Listen, we're mates, yeah?'

That was good to hear.

'I hope so.' I smiled.
'Good, so if you hear anything about a picture, call me, e-mail me, fax, whatever...'
'Fax?'
'Whatever. Let me know.'

Steve turned back to the store.

'Hang on, what picture.'
'There is a very private picture going around this store. Of me and Mary. Very private.'

On one hand I was relieved that Steve's anger towards me had been thrown out of the window. It just seemed a bit odd that it was chucked out by what clearly was a rather compromising picture of him and Mary. I hadn't seen any picture and I think it goes without saying I wouldn't want to see it. But with my relief in full swing, I wandered over to Alex and joined in on his cheery light-hearted banter.

'Has he spoken to you to?' I asked.
'Yeah, he was sweating like a whats-it in a thingy.'
'I know.'

That's the actual saying, by the way. I felt it was my obligation to help Steve out. I was still feeling guilty and even though he had other pressing matters on his mind, I still treated him wrongly and no weird little picture of him and his girlfriend would change that. So I decided to ask around with all the subtlety of a grizzly bear.

'Danny...'

Danny was at his security podium. I didn't like Danny. He makes that awful throaty noise that people do on buses and scratches his balls too much for my liking. But he was a security colleague. Steve wanted something securing.

'Yes, Dyl.' He glanced up at me.
'An.'
'Ah?'
'Dyl-an.'
'Right.'
'A friend of mine is looking for something that he's lost.'
'Check the lost and found.'

This wasn't a forgotten umbrella or a shoe. This was a picture of a couple. I didn't want to think of the picture for too long, I wanted to keep my breakfast down.

'Have you heard anything?' I tilted my head.
'About a picture? That belongs to your friend?'
'Yes.'
'What kind of picture?'
'Just a picture.'

I needed to be vague. It was all I knew.

'Of what?'
'A friend.'
'Go on...'
'And another...friend...'

Danny rolled his eyes.

'Oh, I see. A friend?'

He looked at me with lowered eyebrows, insinuating something horrible.

'It's not me! I'm not the friend.'
'OK.' He smiled.
'But if you hear anything...'
'I'll let you know.'

Out of the other five people I asked after that, nearly all of them presumed the same thing as Danny. It was only Sharon who didn't, but that was only because she told me to get out of his office before I could explain what I was looking for.

Allison was at the checkouts, chatting to an old couple about the price of bread.

'Afternoon.'
'Oh, hey you!' She gleamed.
'You haven't heard anything about a picture, have you?'
'A picture?' She said, with one eye on her scanner.
'Yeah, apparently there's a picture going around.'
'Of who?'

I couldn't say it was of a friend, I didn't want Allison thinking the same as Danny.

'Steve. A picture of Steve.'
'Erm...I saw him rushing out earlier, he had a picture.'
'Really?'
'Yeah.'
'Great.' I moved off.
'Hang on, we still on for next week? Pay day?'
'Sure.' I grinned.

What a day. Steve has forgotten about being angry because of a sick and sordid picture, and I've secured a night with Allison. Steve was bent over in his car when I got down to the car park.

'Steve! Is all OK now?'
'Yeah, dude.' He said with his back to me. 'I've got it. Luckily it was handed in to Anne in the offices. She can't see a thing without her glasses.'
'Great.'
'Do you want to see it?' He asked, his arse pointed at me.
'Sorry?'
'The picture...you want to see it?'

Did I? I didn't think so. I mean, I was intrigued, that's natural.

'Erm...if...if you want. It's only certain people who can't.'

Oh, God. I felt like part of a cult. They are going to invite me round and feed me nibbles in the nude. Steve stood up and thrust the picture in front of me. At first I didn't know what it was. I had to move away from it to get it into focus. At first I saw two white faces, pace from the flash of the camera, one on top of the other. I recognized Steve, the higher face. And then Mary, the lower. I would have been shocked but they both were fully dressed.

'What the hell...'
'It's me and Mary.' Steve looked at the picture himself.
'I know, but...what are you doing?'
'The Scary Stretch.'

Oh, they've given them weird names. Oh, god...

'The what?'
'Mary's new wrestling move.
'That's the picture?'
'Yeah?' Steve seemed offended. 'I don't want this getting around, do I? It took Mary two weeks to perfect this move, we wouldn't want other wrestlers finding out do we.'
'Wrestling? I thought it would be like...porn or something...you know...'
'What?'
'You were really panicked about it!'
'One of the cleaners is the Womens Hardcore Champion. This would be gold to her.' He nodded to the picture.

Steve looked at the picture before looking back at me.

'Porn, Dylan?'
'Yeah, you know...a picture of you and Mary...'
'Dude...you're sick.'

Pubstitute

2011-03-07T06:16:00.000-08:00

I was excited. I was so excited. Allison and I had a conversation. Allison and I had quite a large conversation. But that was only part of my excitement. I happened to quite cleverly time my lunch break so I could have it with her. We sat and watched the world go by out of the window, a man illegally park in a disabled bay, kids throwing jelly babies at each other. You know, the usual. She asked me about me and how I got to work at the supermarket, about my degree which I'm doing very little with. Most people tend to criticise or even worse, look down on me when I talk about my degree, but she just smiled and thought it was cool. Maybe it was because she didn't know what Biomedical Sciences were. I don't blame her, it's been so long since I've studied it, even I find it hard to remember.

Anyway, there was an inevitable lull in the conversation after ten minutes or so, and the topic moved onto the weekends activities. I looked up and pretended to think of the dates and what i'd be doing. I think she bought it, actually. When all I could think of was that I had nothing planned for the evenings and desparetly hoping it would involve her.

'Nothing. Not much money at the moment.' I smiled.
'Naa, me neither.'

Another bit of silence filled by sips of our cans of fanta.

'But hey!' She flinched. 'We get paid next Friday, we could go out!'

And there it was. An excited burst of emotion centred around a monthly wage. We offered suggestions to each other. Cinemas. A meal out. I think at some point I even suggested go-carting. Thankfully she ignored it. It's just been so long since I've wanted to do something with a girl. And it gets even trickier when the actual terms of the relationship aren't specified. I mean, we weren't actually going out together. But we where planning on going out together to do something. Things would be so much easier If people discussed these subjects openly. The excitement was keeping me going.

That's why I was excited. Me and Allison. On pay day. Going out. It only took us half an hour to come up with that. Quite vague, I'll admit. But it was a start.

When I came down from our shared break was trying to hide my joy. I gazed into the post-rain sunlight, scratched the back of my head and made my way down to Steve at the far trolley bay. He was hard at work, sending a stiff text message to his mate about an XBOX game delivery.

'I sent the money nine days ago, Dylan! PayPal and everything! And i'm not going down to the post office to get it, it's a bloody shithole down there. And there's no free places to park!'
'And they say doctors have it tough...' I grinned.
'Anyway, what's up with you?' He asked, finally looking at me through squinted eyes.
'What?'
'You were walking quite...merrily just then...'
'Merrily?'
'Yeah...in a good mood, are we?'

I didn't want to tell him about me and Allison's date-that-might-not-actually-be-a-date, Steve doesn't do congratulating very well. When I told him my Uncle was out of hospital last year, all he said was 'Thank God for that, that hospital stinks of shit.'

'No, not really...well...fancy going to the pub tonight?'

Steve's eyes lit up. In fact, Steve's face lit up. He suddenly forgot about his angry text message and stared at me.

'What? Do you mean that?'
'Yeah...Why wouldn't I? Like you said, we had fun at the club the other night.'
'Yeah...yeah we did.'

Steve stuck out his chest and smiled broadly. I know he doesn't do congratulating well, but I had no idea he didn't do excitement well too.

'Tommy!' Steve shouted, his chest still puffed out.
'What are you doing?'
'Asking Tommy if he wants to go. You know, the whole gang!'
'Hang on, we're not a gang.' I said, trying not to speak so loud. 'He's underage.'
'I'll buy him a small cola.'

So the celebratory night was set. Me. A forty odd year old loudmouth and my future girlfriend's ginger brother. Fucking brilliant.

'Corr...this place brings back memories...' Steve sighed.

Do people say 'corr' any more? Anyway, The Potters Is an oddly shaped pub just next to the train station, next to a closed down tattoo parlour and a gents hairdressers. As you walked in, you could walk all the way around the bar in a complete circle, so God knows where you're head will be after you've had a few drinks. I was up for such an experience. I was out on a Friday night (well 6pm, Steve had to pick Mary up from wrestling practice at 9pm) with two lads, celebrating a possible date with a girl.

'You been here before?' Tommy asked Steve.
'Yeah, used to come all the time.'

I ordered a round and met them in the corner.

'Yeah...' Steve continued. 'Course back then it was called The Spinning Jenny. Lovely place, served real ale. I remember one night. It was Stiggy's birthday...'

Steve did a little santa chuckle, waiting for me and Tommy to react. But we just looked at each other.

'What. A. Night.' He grinned. 'I was Spinning Jenny at the end of it.'
'Oh yeah?' Tommy tried.
'Yeah, lovely girl. She was in a wheelchair.'

Me and Tommy shared another look.

'Probably still is...thinking about it.'

Steve put a dampener on the start of my big night by bringing up the disability of someone he doesn't even know anymore. I thought i'd move the conversation on.

'So, Tommy...what have you been up to?'
'Nothing.' He shrugged, slurping his small cola from a yellow straw. 'Oh, I did complete 'Prisoner' on the XBOX last night, though.'
'What level?' Steve leaned in.
'Four.'
'Nice one. Fully armored?'
'AK's. Grenades. Backed up hyper-drive.'
'Dude!' Steve bellowed. 'What system?'
'Oh, the BS6..'
'Lads! Lads! Can we stop talking about this, please?' I butted in.
'Why?' Steve asked.
'Because it's my night and I want to enjoy it.'
'What do you mean it's your night?'

Oh shit. Blown my cover.

'What?' I blinked.
'It's your night?'
'Yeah, well...' I struggled.
'Is this about Allison?' Tommy asked.
'Who?' Steve asked.
'Might be.' I shrugged.
'Allison.' Tommy told Steve.
'Who's Allison?' Steve asked me. Or Tommy.
'My sister.'
'His sister.' I nodded to Tommy.
'What about her?' Steve asked.
'I might be...you know...going out with her...for a drink...next week.'

Steve stared at me.

'Oh...Allison. Check outs? Short hair?'
'Yeah.'
'Yep.' Tommy confirmed it.

Another spell of silence.

'Isn't she a lesbian?' Steve asked.
'No!' I said.

I looked at Tommy.

'Is she?'
'No.' He confirmed it.

Thank God.

'Well...congrats dude.' Steve held up his bitter.
'Cheers.'
'So, you might be going out with her? You two get chatting over a check out and now you might be going out with each other?'
'So?' I shrugged.
'Well, you did go and watch her play at Spence's too.' Tommy said.

Yet another spell of silence. This time longer and full of thought.

'Is that why we went to Spence's?' Steve leaned back.
'What? No.'
'To see her?'
'Allison.' Tommy confirmed it.
'Shut it, you.' I told Tommy.
'And is that why we're here? To celebrate you going out with her?'
'Might be going out with her.'
'For fucks sake, Tommy!' I blurted.
'I'm off!'

Steve sprung off his stool, grabbed his leather coat and rushed out the door. A few regulars at the bar turned and stared at me, the silence filled by Tommy slurping the last of his cola. Steve found out that I was using him to get closer to Allison. Not really a night to celebrate. Tommy put his empty glass on the table.

'Can I have another one?'

A Lot Mic Love

2011-03-03T03:19:00.000-08:00

'How was you're night with Steve?' Mary asked with a glint in her eye.
'It was all right.' I shrugged.

It's a normal question, I know. But when it's only 9 O'clock in the morning and the 4th time you've been asked, it tends to grate on you. Yes, I did have a good night with Steve, I tell people. I told the Jane the receptionist when I walked up the stairs to clock in. I told the pregnant Grocery Manager who hadn't spoken a word to me since I started. And I even told the old cleaning woman who asked me the same question, and I didn't even know she spoke English.

Yes, I did have a good time with Steve at the club. But any clear minded person would know I went with him because I didn't want to go on my own. If I chose to consider him a friend I would argue that's what friends are for. It's not because you like them or want to chat to them, it's because you can't stand the sheer embarrassment of social occasions on your own. That's universally acknowledged. Well, that's what I hoped. But Mary was smiling and proud of the fact that me and Steve where somehow friends, buddies and chums because I dragged him to a grotty club to chat to a girl I like.

'Steve said he really enjoyed it. Asked when you were going again.'
'Not sure.' I shrugged again.

Steve wants to go to Spence's again? If I was him I'd be calling it a 'dick infested, crap music based shithole.' But, no.

'I didn't think I was really his thing.' I said.
'Steve? No, he loved it. He loves a good night out every once and a while. Plus, it gets him out of the flat. Sometimes I think it's just me going out and doing things.'

So, now I'm Steve's 'going out' pal, now am I? That's just brilliant. All I wanted to do was go and spend a few hours with Allison outside of work. Now I've gained greasy, old man-date who looks like he fell off a Metallica tour bus. At 12 noon Steve came down to start his shift. I avoided him when he pulled up in his skoda, chatted to Mary and walked up to the store, but when he came down he was looking pleasantly relaxed. I couldn't avoid him for the whole day, that would be cruel and unnecessary. So I wandered over when the time was right, casually picking my nails.

'All right, Steve.'
'Afternoon, Dylan.'

Dylan? He called me Dylan. Not Student. I tried to ignore the heavy cloud of conversation above my head, the one that told me to talk about our 'night out'. But it was nothing. It was a night out, just a couple of hours.

'What did you do last night, then?' I asked.
'Went watching Mary.'
'Oh yeah?'
'Yeah, at the town hall. Beat Killer Jill in a ladder match.'

And I just played twister with my eight year old cousin. Seems boring now.
Op

'Told her all about our night out, too.' He smiled.

Oh, bollocks. That only took a few seconds.

'Good night, wasn't it.' I said coolly.
'Yeah, cracking.'
'I would have thought it wouldn't have been your kind of thing?'
'My kind of thing? A night club? Oh yeah, I told you...I'm rock and roll.'

Oh yeah, that's why he spent most of the night looking for accessable fire doors that didn't break health and safety regulations.

'You want to do it again sometime?'
O
I made a face. God knows what It looked like. I just stretched my face out in several different directions and looked away.

'Erm...yeah...could do...'

If I was Steve and a girl said that to me, I would cut my losses. But Steve grinned and walked off, happy in the knowledge that there would be a man-date in the near future. Sharon called me up into her office a few minutes later, calling one of her minions off the shop floor and pass on the message. I sat down at her desk as she finished one of her long cigarettes.

'Afternoon, Sharon.' I said, after clearing my throat.
'Dylan, how was your evening with Steve?'
O
Oh, for fucks sake!

'It was all right.' I shrugged, making them cramp up a little. I haven't shrugged that much in years.
'Dylan, I need you to do me a little favour.'
'OK.'
'Do you know how to get into the plant room, next to our personnel offices?'
'Yes.'
'Well, go in there and turn down Glen The Greeter's microphone.'
'OK...why?' I asked.
'Just a little knob on the right of the panel.'
'OK, but why?' I asked again.
'It's labelled 'Microphone'.
'Why, Sharon?'
'Because that's the knob that controls the microphone.'
'No, why am I turning it down?'
'Well, Glen's been a little...odd, of late. We think he's going through a divorce. And what with only third in The Weakest Link last year, we think it's got on top of him a little.'
'I haven't noticed.' I shrugged.
'He called all customers pillocks over the microphone.'
'Oh...'
'Luckily it wasn't turned up that much so not many people heard. But it gave me the idea of turning it down all the way. It keeps everyone happy.'

Sharon was right. Glen wouldn't notice. He could still hear his own voice and customers aren't labelled pillocks. It's a win win situation. I got to the personnel offices, opened the heavy door and stepped inside the whirring, massively over heated plant room. I turned down the knob that was labelled 'Microphone' and made my way outside.

O
'I've heard of a good club on Beckett's Street.' Steve squawked at me when I got back down.
'Oh yeah...'
'Yeah, cheap drinks too.'

I honestly didn't think it would come to this. Why can't he go back to being a boring, piss taking old man who occasionally lies about having been a roadie? Is that too much to ask? I seem to have re-captured his glory days of 'doing things' all in one night. People get paid for stuff like that, or at least get their own column in a magazine.

'What do you say then? Saturday night?'
'Maybe...'

The actual end of that sentence was 'Maybe if you suddenly become 20 years younger and Allison was in the same club.' But I just left the word hanging in the air, those three little dots whizzing around Steve head. He was about to ask about question when the walkie talkie hissed through to us. It was Sharon, screeching at me to get upstairs.

'Glen's probably gone off on one again...'
'Oh, poor Glen. He came third in The Weakest Link.' Steve frowned.
'And his wife left him.'

Steve shrugged, I ran upstairs.

'What did you do!' Sharon shouted at me when I got to reception.
'What?'
'You turned down the wrong microphone! You turned down the receptionist's microphone!'
'Oh...sorry...what's happened?'
'Jane's collapsed. We needed a First Aider! We couldn't get one because the mic was turned down!'

Sharon was angry, and if Jane was still on the floor and not in the canteen having a sit down she'd have been angry and panicking. Two things that, when combined, turns her voice into a Scottish ball of fury.

'Sorry...I'm sorry, Sharon.'

She huffed violently and stamped back into the office, shouting at me with her back turned. Steve opened the door behind me.

'What's happened?' He asked.
'Jane's collapsed.'
'Oh...Hey, Dylan. That club on Beckett's Street is open tonight. You fancy it?'

Kill me now.

Two Men In A Club (Part Two)

2011-02-19T16:30:00.000-08:00

'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)

2011-02-15T13:35:00.000-08:00

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

2011-02-11T02:55:00.000-08:00

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

2011-02-09T09:48:00.000-08:00

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)

2011-02-07T04:58:00.000-08:00

'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)

2011-02-04T03:42:00.000-08:00

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.

Whole Lotto Love

2011-01-26T01:34:00.000-08:00

'Happy birthday, Steve!'

'Yeah, cheers mate.'

Steve sighed and rubbed his head like he'd been told happy birthday for 475^th time today. He shut the door of his skoda and fiddled around in his boot for his coat and Iron Maiden hat. People reach an age when they don't get that excited about their birthday. They have a full night's sleep before and don't ask for anything. They get on with the day like it's any other, only with a few empty cards and gift vouchers to keep them company.

'Same birthday as Eddie Van Halen.' I tried.

Thank God for Google, who I think invented it. I've no idea who Eddie Van Halen is, but I presumed a rock star with the same birthday as Steve would be a good point of conversation. Turned out it wasn't.

'Yeah...'

'...It's Axl Rose's on the 6^th of February.'

I think I was pushing it already.

'Cool.'

'And Phil Collins' on Sunday.'

Steve looked at me like I'd just killed a cat. And even worse, like I liked Phil Collins. It had been a tough couple of weeks for Steve. His girlfriend had a wrestling accident and underwent surgery, not before refusing to marry him. Not a lot of men can say that, can they? There's at least two things in that sentence that aren't quite right. Steve had tried to keep cheerful over the last few days. He visited Mary everyday, reading articles from the Metallica UK Frenzy Fan-club Magazine (or MUFF Mag, as they call it. The nurses were giving them very funny looks.) whilst feeding her grapes. He did realise why marrying her didn't sit right and that asking her was out of fear rather than love. He had remained cheerful but I guess the morning of his birthday brought it home. He didn't have that Steve-bullshitting-glint in his eye. He didn't appear to have any stories or lessons to tell. And unbelievably, he worked an hour of his shift without going into the store and pissing about to waste time.

'Looking forward to the buffet later?'

'What?' Steve stopped in his tracks. 'There's a buffet?'

'Yeah.'

His face suddenly turned animated and a little smile cracked on his face. Maybe it was the idea of free food. We all like free stuff, we all like food. Put those two together and you've got yourself a party. But ours was a buffet to celebrate Pay Day. It's done every month. Fizzy pop on the tables, glitter in the ash trays. Free sausage rolls. The essentials.

'They've put on a buffet for my birthday?'

I couldn’t say no, could I? Only a week ago his girlfriend refused to marry him in a hospital. I couldn't go lower than that.

'Yeah, if you like.'

Those words helped. 'If you like.' It's like when you ask for a Christmas present and your Mum says 'We'll see.' It's always going to turn up on Christmas morning.

'Wow...'

I think that was the first time Steve had said 'Wow' in his life. I couldn't take that away from him. The birthday buffet was on.

'There's no banners, Dylan.'

'Yeah, we thought it would be a nice and understated party, you know? Not to funky.'

'Ahh, right.'

I was doing well at this bullshitting thing. Maybe my time spent with Steve was getting to me, or maybe I didn't want to see him have a nervous breakdown in front of the scotch eggs. He sat down with a plate of food and tucked in, whilst Sharon ushered me over to the corner.

'Afternoon, Dylan.'

'Sharon.' I nodded.

'It's a big day for Steve today.'

'I know. Birthday. Same day as Eddie Van Halen.'

Sharon looked at me like I just spoke in Hebrew.

'No, Mary's coming in.'

'What?'

'She's coming in.' Sharon said, in between sips of her coffee.

'What for? To work?'

'God no. For a chat with everyone. I imagine we've got a card for her and a collection. That's what people do, isn't it?'

If anyone bothered to and remembered who she was, yes.

'OK, but we can't make it too much of a big deal.' I said.

'Why not?'

'It's Steve's birthday and he's been through a lot.'

'Don't you think Mary has?'

'Yes, yes. Of course.'

'Surgery, Dylan.'

'Wasn't life threatening or anything.' I shrugged.

'Dylan!''

'OK, sorry. But it's Steve's birthday too.'

'Have you got a collection for him?'

No, I've just pretended this Pay Day Buffet is for him. That's more than a collection. I sat down with Steve and wished him happy birthday again, placing an onion bhaji on his paper plate.

'Thanks, mate.'

'No problem.'

We sat and ate in silence. I noticed Steve looking around the canteen every so often.

'There's not a lot of people at my party, Dylan?'

'Oh no, that's the theme.' I said quickly.

'The theme?'

'The theme.'

'My party's got a theme?'

'Sure it has! Every party's got a theme. And I've based yours on... a concert after-show!'

Steve scanned the room again.

'Have you?'

'Yeah, look. All the used places on the back table, that's where the band all sat. Probably smoking crack or something...'

Or where the manager's all sat. Eating sandwiches. Half an hour ago.

'It's all messy and used... this place. The tablecloths are stained. The fizzy pop is half drunk. You've just got to pretend it's whiskey.'

I was sweating now. The perfect time for Mary to wheel herself into the room from her wheelchair.

'Hey, I've got a birthday treat for you!' I said, rubbing my hands together. 'Please welcome, drum role please! Mary!!!'

Thank God for that, I couldn't do party planning on my own. Far too stressful. Steve and Mary embraced like they'd not seen each other for weeks, even though Steve went to visit her last night with more grapes. I was right, no one was around for Mary's arrival. It was just gone half one and everyone was back at work. We sat and drank cherryade whilst Mary talked me through the surgery, but as soon as there was a crack in the conversation, Steve interrupted.

'So, where's my present?' He said, gleaming at Mary and banging his hands on the table.

'Well, it's nothing much.' Mary smiled. 'But I think it's pretty cool.'

Mary pulled out a white envelope from her pocket. Steve's face fell upon seeing the size of it.

'Oh...an envelope...'

'Well, open it....'

Steve didn't look like he could be bothered opening it, but did so after a few seconds of huffing.

'It's...it's...lottery tickets....' Steve said, pulling out a few slips of paper. 'Ten lottery tickets.'

'Ten. Lottery. Tickets.' Mary said proudly.

I had to to help Steve. There wasn't going to be a nervous breakdown on my watch.

'You do realise, Mary...there's more chance of him being hit by lightning than winning the lottery?'

How does that help?

'Dylan!'

'I've not even been hit by lightning yet, Mary.' Steve said solemnly.

'You never know. Plus, I’ve got you something else.'

'If it's ten more lottery tickets I’ll be disappointed.'

'No...here....'

Mary pulled out yet another while envelope from her other pocket.

'Another envelope?' Steve said.

'Yes, but this one is different.'

Steve fished around until he found something, then lifted it out. It was a silver key.

'Oh, is this....like a metaphor...?' Steve nodded. 'Like...a key to your heart? Because I've been given this before...'

'No, it's a real key. To my flat.'
'Oh, Mary...I don't know what to say!' Steve stood up quickly with a huge smile on his face.

'Happy birthday, Steve!'

They hugged and kissed again, like people who are in sickly love do.

'It's Eddie Van Halen's birthday too!' Steve said, with a little tear appearing from his eye.

'I bet he didn't get lottery tickets!' Mary bellowed with excitement.

No, no I don't think he did. Phil Collins probably will, though.

Dude, Where's My Star? (Part Two)

2011-01-21T07:02:00.001-08:00

'You should have bought the pink ones!'

'No, he wanted red!' I spat back. '...To emphasize his...'

'Love for the ladies, I know!' Alex replied.

'Pink would only emphasize his love for the boys. Which, I'm sure, he wouldn't appreciate.'

I wasn't really enjoying the conversation. Probably because we were arguing and probably because we were both running at quite a fast pace towards the car wash, where our star for the day, TV's Freddie Fisher was trapped.

'Hurry up, Dylan!' It's Freddie Fisher!'

'I'm going as fast as I can!'

I'm not really a runner. I waddle more than anything. We ran across the first set of cars in front of the stationary store, down the side of Pizza Hut and over the busy road. I must have twisted my ankle twice and dropped the walkie-talkie every time I heard Sharon shouting out of it. I felt a little sorry for Alex. He was really looking forward to today and quite frankly, I haven't seen him this excited since he found out how to get free porn on his phone. Now it was all going pear-shaped, with a line of at least 15 people already waiting outside the store and just a stones throw away, the man they came to see wash trapped in a car.

We got the to the car wash in a hale of wheezing and breathlessness. Alex anxiously started pressing buttons on the side of it as I stared at the black car in front of me, revving it's engine violently as the mechanics of the system whirred around it. Water was spitting out from the top, which hit the darkened windows with a splat. It was only then I realised that the car wash was going twice as quick as it would normally go, as if it was stuck on the fast forward button. The wash rollers where spinning too fast and crashing every couple of seconds into the sides of the car.

'Tell him to stop revving!'

Alex was shouting at me like his whole family was stuck in the car. The bright red emergency stop button didn't do anything. I stepped over the first roller, avoided the puddles of water and slapped on the drivers side of the window.

'Stop revving!' I shouted.

The window buzzed opened about an inch, the peek of a dark cap glistening on the top of a head.

'I'm trying to get out!'

The man sounded pretty old, with a panicked Geordie accent.

'Is this Freddie Fishman geordie?' I shouted over to Alex.

'Fisher! No!'

'He sounds Geordie!'

Alex finally looked away from the buttons and peered into the window.

'That's his driver, you idiot!'

Alex called me an idiot. A day of firsts.

'We need to get Freddie out!' I shouted at the crack in the window. 'He's got a signing!'

'No, you need to get me out!' The voice spat back.

'Forget him!' Alex shouted over. 'He's not a celebrity!'

He might be. He could be famous in his city of Newcastle. He could have invented something or been on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?. I stopped watching that as soon as someone became one.

'OK, I'll lift the roller up!'

I rushed over to the front of the car, got a hold of the soapy, soaked roller and gave it a big pull. It was considerably heavier that I imagined, which make me squawk in pain and fall backwards. The water soaking into my clothes made me heavier too, which made me fall faster onto my back. I didn't noticed at first, but Alex had given up pressing buttons and went straight for the celebrity. He yanked the back door open and jumped into the back of the car. The next few seconds were a blur, I’ll I'm honest. It was like in the film when the hero goes back into the water to do something important, and you're not sure if he'll make it back up to the surface. Time stands still. The orchestra roars behind it and suddenly a face appears in the centre of the screen. Well, that bit didn't happen. The other side door opened and Alex stepped out the other side.

'Where the fuck is he?' Alex looked over at me, soapy suds falling down his face.

The drivers side opened viscously and the driver got out, trying desperately to dodge the spurts of water hitting the car.

'I dropped him off at the store half an hour ago, you tits!'

A tit and an idiot. All in one day. That's a new low for me. The side rollers rattled back over to the car, roaring and whistling at the same time.

'Shit!' The driver shouted.

The right roller charged towards the opened doors as the driver rushed over to it. He just got the door in time to slam it shut, but he was still in the way. The roller lifted him off his feet and rose up and revolved again, dumping him back onto the floor. It was then that the car wash groaned to a halt. The last spurts of water pushed itself out of the sides, the rollers fizzed to a stop and the lights went out. Alex and I looked over to each other. I was far more wet and soapier than him, but he looked angrier. He just stood there, his breath heavy, staring at the car.

'Shall we go and meet Freddie?' I asked.

As we walked up the store, the line of people where trickling into the front doors. Sharon had seen us from the window upstairs and shot down to us, meeting us in the foyer.

'Lads, where are the red marker p...what in God's name happened to you?'

'Thanks for telling us he was already in the store!' Alex said, digging bits of soap out of his pocket.

'Car wash is a bit broke, Sharon.' I said.

'And there's a man on the floor inside it.'

'Yeah, might was to get an ambulance for him.'

'Fine. Where are the pens?'

'Problem with that, Sharon.' Alex said.

'Yeah, they only had pink.'

'And we got kicked out of the shop.'

Sharon looked to the side, trying to the put everything together in her head.

'I wanted to buy pink.' Alex said.

'No, God no.' Sharon shuddered. 'That would only emphasize his love for the boys.'

'That's what I said.'

'Well, you're going have to go over to him and tell him we have no red pens.'

'Sorry?'

'Go on.' She nodded over to him. 'Tell him.'

We sheepishly walked over to the table where Freddie Fisher was sat, his arm around a blushing young girl having their picture taken.

'Freddie.' Alex said.

'Yes, guys.'

Freddie was a tall bloke, a shiny blueberry coloured buttoned shirt on and tinted blonde hair carefully combed to a quiff.

'There's no pens.' Alex muffled.

'Sorry?'

'We've got no pens, Freddie, sir...'

Sir? I'm calling him Sir, now? He stared at us, both dripping with suds and water. His perfectly shaped chin quivered a little, as if he was about to flounce off.

'I've brought my own.' He turned away from us and greeted another girl.

'Have you?'

'Yeah, red ones.' He said, pulling out a silver tin of red marker pens from his top pocket. 'They emphasize my love for the ladies.'

'We've heard. You asked for us to buy some.'

'In case I run out.'

Alex and I turned around. There was about 20 odd people waiting in the cue quietly.

'I think you'll be fine.'

Freddie got on with his signing. There were more pictures taken that books signed, to be honest. But that's what happens these days, people would rather have a picture to pop up on the internet than read a book.

'Freddie.' I interrupted him again. 'You're driver's in the hospital.'

It turned out to be a good day, in the end. I felt rock 'n' roll about getting kicked out of my first shop and Alex got to give Freddie Fishman a lift home.

Dude, Where's My Star? (Part One)

2011-01-18T02:01:00.000-08:00

'Dylan, Dlyan!'

Alex didn't wait for me to get off the bus, he threw me off it before it got a chance to stop.

'Guess who's coming to our store...'

It was a shout more than a question, and a question so broad made my sarcasm kick in.

'Erm, Tony Robinson?'
'Who?'
'Tony Robinson. Played Baldrick in Blackadder.'
'No. He's not a celebrity.'

Depends how you define the word 'celebrity'. If it's falling out of a club at 4 in the morning with a slapper on your arm, then no. He's not. I see Tony falling out of a pub, instead.

'Freddie....Fisher.' He grinned.
'Ohhh....' I tried.
'I know.'

Freddie Fisher? Freddie? Fisher?

'What's he up to now?'
'Still on the show.' Alex replied.

The show. A TV show, I bet. How come I don't know who Freddie Fisher is? I feel so out of touch. I haven't got a Skype account or collect Subway tokens. I haven't lived, thinking about it. Now a big celebrity is coming to our store and I've no idea who he is.

'Yeah, got his autobiography out. He's doing a few signings.'
'How old is he?'
'About 24, i'd say.'

Jesus, I bet it's only 8 pages long. I wanted to come across as a cool, hip parade kind of guy, so my investigation into Freddie Fisher began.

'I love the show...' I smiled.
'Yeah, last night's episode was genius.' He giggled.

I suppose I could check the TV listings for last night, or look up all the shows that have been referred to as genius in the past. But Sharon interrupted me, crackling through the walkie-talkie at us.

'Porters, are you there?'
'Yeah, Sharon. What is it?'
'We need pens...marker pens...for Frankie whats-his-name.'
'Freddie!' Alex whaled at her through the radio.
'Freddie whats-his-name.'

Alex didn't look too pleased. He stormed off to the stationary shop for me to chase him. It turns out Freddie's 'people' had rang the store and stressed that he will only sign in red marker pens, to emphasize his love for the ladies. That sounds sweet. The kind of sweet that made me feel sick in the back of my throat.

We browsed the store, trapsing up and down the aisles. The store didn't need to be as big as it was, so it was filled out with pointless trinkets, 46 different kinds of paperweights and obsurdly overpriced DVD's.

'They don't have red marker pens.' I said, glaring at the wrack of pens and pen-based products.
'Just get blue. Or green.'
'That won't emphasize his love for the ladies.'

I can't believe I said that.

'It doesn't matter. What matters is that he's actually coming. a celebrity coming to our store.'
'Yeah, it's just like a normal person coming to the store. Only that person's in a TV show.'
'Yeah...' Alex shook his head in disbelief.

I strolled over the the counter where a girl was stood, arkwardly putting pads of paper into a bag. She handed it to a customer with no eye contact, no goodbye, just standing there with her arm outstretched, staring down at the counter. She looked terrified, as if one small gust of wind would blow her over.

'Do you have any red marker pens?' I asked politely.
'Erm...' I think she said. 'We have green ones...blue ones...'
'I know. Any red ones, though?'
'We have green ones...blue ones...' Counting them again on her fingers.
'I know.'

She didn't listen to me. Or she didn't hear me. He fuzzy black hair covered her ears. Maybe she chooses not to hear people.

'Purple ones...pink ones...'
'But no red ones? That's doesn't make sense.'

That make the bloke in the shirt and tie to her left flitch and bolt over to me.

'Excuse me? You're going to have to settle down a bit.' He said.
'I am settled down. I'm just asking for red pens.'
'We don't have any red pens. We have green ones...'
'Purple ones, pink ones, blue ones!'
'OK, sir. I'm going to have to ask you to leave.' He said bluntly, his fingers on the counter.
'Go on then!'
'Please leave.'
'Fine!'
'No, hang on!' Alex tried to intervine. 'Maybe we could buy pink ones and...'
'No!' The bloke shouted. 'Both of you, please leave.'

Kicked out of a stationary store. Banned from a stationary store. I'm so rock 'n' roll. Forget Skype accounts and Subway tokens, this is really living! Now we've no pens for a signing that's in one hour. And to make things worse...

'Porters. Porters, are you there?' Sharon squarked through the walkie-talkie again.
'Yes, Sharon.'
'He's arrived. Freddie Fishman has arrived.'
'Fisher!' Alex tried again.
'One problem.' She said. 'His car is stuck in the car wash.'

End of part one.

The Sweetest Ring (Part Two)

2011-01-12T11:28:00.000-08:00

'What?' Mary stared at Steve with a blank face.

'Will you...you know, marry me?'

That very second I was embarrassed and relieved to be sat there, watching Steve in front of me on one knee, staring up at a bedridden Mary.

'Erm....'

I wasn't expecting that. Steve wasn't expecting that. And I think it's pretty safe to say Mary wasn't expecting the whole thing.

'Mary.' Steve sighed. 'You're no picnic...'

Good start, Steve.

'But under that you're the most amazing, astounding, wonderful girl...woman that I've ever known.'

Mary pulled her head back and glared at him.

'Where have you got that from?'

'What?'

'That? That quote.'

'It's not a quote, it's how I feel.'

'It sounds familiar, doesn't it Dylan?'

Why am I always involved in engagements? At Alex and Fran's I ended up wrestling a man to the floor and now I'm getting involved in this one. But it did sound familiar.

'Yeah, it's off a film, maybe?' I suggested.

'Or a TV show?' Marry added.

'Never mind that, Mary. Will you...?'

Steve stretched out his hand a little more, making the silver of the ring glint around the bland walls of the ward. Mary stared at it and thought a moment.

'Titanic!' She shouted.

'Yeah!' I added.

'We watched it together on our first date. Jack says it to Kate Winslet!'

'Yeah, to Rose.' Steve nodded. 'It might be from that, but...it's how I feel.'

'Where did you get the ring from?' Mary pointed.

'I always have it. Just in case.'

Oh yeah, everyone does. It's a must-have for the pockets, isn't it? Just in case. Penknife. Loose change. Engagement ring. They're the big three.

'Just in case of what? Just in case you see someone you want to marry?'

'Exactly.' Steve smiled.

Steve didn't see the expression in Mary's eyes.

'Charming.'

'Thanks.' Steve shrugged with a grin.

Usually when a man wants to ask his girlfriend to marry them, they set up something extraordinary so the bride will never forget it. A balloon ride over the English countryside, a candle lit dinner with some of that expensive wine or a walk through a park in the moonlight. Something extraordinary. But I have to say, Steve had bagged himself an extraordinary moment here, choosing a hospital ward as a venue and a drugged up, injured wrestling Goth as a soon-to-be bride. That's if she says yes.

'So, will you?'

Mary stared at the ring again. Now that the ache of figuring out where the quote came from had gone, her mind was clear.

'No.' She said blankly.

'I'm sorry...what?' Steve leaned in, as if he misheard her.

I wanted to get up and walk away, leaving them in peace. But I felt like I was in one of those wildlife documentaries. If I got up and made a noise, the things I'm looking at would run off, and that's not a very good documentary. You have to learn not to disturb things like that.

'No, Steve.'

'What do you mean?'

What more did he want? Will you marry me? It only needs a yes or no answer.

'No. It's not...us.'

I instantly knew what she meant. She may be drugged up with painkillers but she was talking sense. Steve and Mary getting married didn't sit right. Not because they weren't good enough for something like that. It's just, some people don't need it in their lives, like a religion or having a cat. For some it's a mainstay and a necessity in a couple's existence. For others it's not necessary. For Mary and Steve, getting married wasn't necessary.

'Steve, I know why you're doing this. It's because you're scared. Like the time you bought the complete series of Blackadder of VHS.'

'And who's laughing now? It's gone out of stock now.' He said smugly.

'I know. I know. You don't need to do this. We don't need to do this.'

Steve and Mary hugged. Then after a few seconds, the normal required hugging time was nearing it's end. Ten seconds in and they still had their arms wrapped around each other, their faces buried in each others shoulders. I couldn't just leave, Steve was my lift back to work.

'Steve?...Mary?...'

Steve cleared his throat and let go of his girlfriend, staring into her eyes in close proximity.

'Mary...I'll never let go...'

He's done it again.

'That's from Titanic too!' Mary smiled.

'Ah, shut up! It's a great film!'

We made our way back to the car. Steve was whistling a little tune along the way.

'Why would you quote Titanic at her?'

'Listen, Dylan.' Steve said, unlocking his skoda and opening the door. 'You watch that film with a lady and you're bound to have a bit of luck. It worked for me.'

Steve asked a girl to marry him and she said no. If that's luck, I want nothing to do with it. I went home that day and watched Titanic on DVD. I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like for Steve and Mary to take over from DiCaprio and Winslet.

The Sweetest Ring (Part One)

2011-01-11T06:04:00.000-08:00

When is the last time you can say 'happy new year' to someone? No one tells you these things. Like, if you see an old friend in February, does it still count to wish them a warm 2011? Will they find it socially acceptable or just look at you like you've just killed a puppy? Again, no one tells you these things. Sharon didn't take my wishes very well, even on the 11^th day into it.

'Don't be silly, Dylan. New year was two weeks ago. And what are you doing here?'

Steve had been called up to see Sharon in her office, so I just followed him as he made an in depth point about Battlestar Gallactica. I'm not interested it whatever that is, but it wasn't busy outside and I could have done with something to do.

'Just thought I’d come up. I thought it might be something that we both could do.'

'No, it isn't. This concerns Steve and no one else.' Sharon glared at me.

'Oh, right.'

The last time Sharon wanted to see Steve on his own was on Christmas Eve, when a customer complained about getting hit by a snowball. Steve never owned up to it, but who else looks like 'he could have been in Status Quo or something.'? I traipsed off downstairs and tried to make myself useful, circling the full perimeter of the car park and picking up the odd rusty trolley. It was just when I was right at the bottom of the car park when my phone bleeped. The text message read:

'Get 2 my car now.'

It was from Steve. I rushed towards his light green skoda where he was sat inside, biting the end of his keys. He ushered me inside, his face all flustered and red.

'Get in, quick.'

'I told you, I'm not listening to another of your cousin's demo's.'

I don't care if they were nearly signed once, 'George Best Testicles' won't go anywhere and sound like a whales fighting.

'No, no. It's Mary.'

Steve backed out of the parking space, marginally missing a large car with an angry mother inside it and sped off towards the exit.

'What about her?' I said, clicking my seat belt.

'She's in hospital.'

We parked up on the vast car park, about a hundred yards from the actual building. Steve threw his spare change at me and told me to pay for a parking sticker and headed for the entrance, walking in that weird I'm-trying-my-best-to-jog-a-bit kind of way. When I got to the entrance Steve was nowhere to be seen, so I rang the bell at reception.

'Yes?'

A short haired woman of about fifty appeared at the desk.

'Yes, hello. I'm looking for Steve, he's just come in.'

'What ward is he in?' She asked plainly.

This had the potential for so many jokes, but now was not the time. There's no humour in hospitals.

'No, sorry. I'm looking for Mary. Mary Walton.'

'Not Steve?'

'Well he's here to see her too.'

'What ward is she in?'

'I don't know.'

'Well what has happened to her?'

Shit. I really must research things before going into hospitals and asking for things. Steve hadn't told me what happened to Mary, or what ward she was in. He was to busy shouting at other drivers on the road. So in a fit of panic, I just made something up.

'She's...broken her neck.'

'Right...'

The woman scanned her list. It felt like the time to add a bit more.

'And her arm. She's a wrestler, you see.' I smiled a little bit.'

'Mary Walton. She's on the C ward. Third floor.'

'Thank you.'

I don't like hospitals. Sounds obvious but some people must like them. Doctors and nurses for instance. You must like them enough to work in one all the time. Mind you, you could say that about my job. If someone said to me that I like car parks, I wouldn't like it.

I reached the third floor and pushed open the double doors. The smell of sanitiser and stale air hit me straight away as a nurse asked my to turn off my mobile phone and wash my hands. Mary was in the end bed, reading a small book with a dark cover. I slowly walked over to her and whispered hello. People always whisper in hospitals. Why do we do that? It's not as if anyone’s concentrating on anything, apart from the odd crossword.

'Dylan! Wow, nice to see you.' She smiled through glazed eyes.

Her voice was a little croaky and her face was pale, matching her smock.

'Steve's just...on his way.' I sat down. 'Car park...' I grinned, rolling my eyes.

'Ah, right.'

'So, what happened?'

'Wrestling.'

Yes! What a guess!

'Right...' I said gently, tilting my head.

'Yeah, I jumped of the top ropes and did my back in. Going to need surgery, I think.'

'So you didn't win in the end?'

'Oh, yeah. Sick Vicky got the pin.' She grinned.

'Brilliant!'

This wasn't brilliant. What's the use of having an amateur tag team wresting championship belt when you don't have to strength to lift it up?

'Did you even get to do your finishing move?'

'The Scary Bomb?'

'Yeah.'

'No.'

'Oh...'

That put a downer on things. And a downer is the last thing you want in a hospital. I realised after a few moments of silence that I didn't know her enough to have a decent conversation. She wouldn't be interested in the weather in her condition, or what I got up to at the weekend. That's the problem with ill people, they're never interested in others.

'Wonder where Steve is...' I said, looking back on my seat.

'Probably got lost in this place.'

'Yeah...'

Another conservation killed off. I tapped my foot on the floor a bit and looked around. Mary didn't look like she was in the mood for chatting. In fact, I can safely say it was the one time that I've ever considered her to be boring.

'What you reading?' I tried.

'Oh, this?' She said, picking up the little black book. 'It's about woman who have sex with animals.'

OK, she's boring any more.

'I'm sorry?'

'It's a novel. Animalize, it's called.'

'Good read?'

'Yeah, I'd say it's up there with Ozzy's biography.'

Of course it is. In fact, that's what they said on Richard and Judy's book club. 'Ozzy's biography is just as good as that one about girls sexing it up with monkeys and that.'

'What animals have sex with...'

Steve interrupted my question. Quite frankly, a question I would have loved to find out, bounding in and ignoring the Please Wash Your Hands signs and rushing over to us.

'Mary! Mary!'

'Steve, you made it.' Mary smiled.

'What's happened? The woman said was a broken neck and arm! What? What's happened?'

Steve's head looked like a ribina berry and he sat down of the bed, squashing Mary's legs.

'I'm fine, I’m fine! Steve, get off!'

'What happened to you?' I asked.

'I couldn't find the ward!'

Probably because he didn't ask. Apparently, running into hospitals and shouting 'Mary!' just doesn't work any more. He threw himself down on the plastic chair next to me and then stood up again, demanding answers.

'What happened? Was is wrestling? That Sick Vicky didn't pull a fast one on you, did she? I've never liked her!'

Steve would be the first to admit he get's caught up in the plot lines of amateur wrestling. Last week he hit a referee with his sponge finger.

'No, no. We're tag team champions. I just hurt my back. Might need surgery.'

'Oh god, surgery. That can be OK.'

'I know.' Mary replied.

Steve lent over Mary's face and dabbed her forehead with his handkerchief. He's probably seen it on those TV dramas.

'Do you want some grapes?' Steve asked.

'What?'

'Grapes? Dylan says it's the best thing for hospitals.'

He's right. I have said that in the past.

'No.'

'OK. Fluff your pillow? I can...'

'No, no. It's fine. Just sit down, Steve.'

Steve slowly sat down, took a deep breath and slid off it, putting one knee on the floor.

'Mary...'

Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue box. He pressed it open to reveal a silver ring.

'Will you marry me?'

End of part one.

Stake Me Out

2011-01-08T02:40:00.001-08:00

I've never much liked the name Jake. There was this lad at primary school called Jake who had dirty fingernails. No one went near him. Even in the playground when we played bulldog, he'd be chasing people for ages because we would run faster to get away. I remember going in his house once and it was strange. The sofa still had the plastic on it and the living room was full of pointless trinkets and pictures. It had a funny smell about it, like Jake himself.

Jake was the name of Alex's best man. 'A friend from college', Alex said. Me and Steve pretended not to be bitter about it. I tried to talk about other things, but soon enough the conversation moved onto it.

'I've never liked the name Jake.' Steve said.

'No, me neither.'

'We're his friends. We've helped him enough. Like that time he got stuck in the store room.'

'And the walk-in freezer.'

He's always getting stuck in places, thinking about it.

'And I got them two together.' I bellowed. 'Does that not deserve anything?'

'I know. And I've been his Head Porter. What does that count for?'

Nothing, really.

'Tell you what, are you free tonight?' Steve asked.

'Why?'

'How about we go over to Alex's place and...check it out.'

'Check what out?'

'You know...the situation...'

'Steve, you're going to have to be more specific.'

'Jesus....'

The pieces of information he neglected to tell me was that this Jake lad was going round to Alex's house tonight, and that we should go and...well...you know, check it out.

'That's a bit weird. It's like stalking.'

'It's not stalking. We're not going to harm him. Just, you know...checking him out.'

'Like a stakeout?'

'Yeah, a stakeout. We'll go after we finish work.'

If you tapped me on the shoulder yesterday and told me that in 24 hours time I’d be involved in a stakeout, I'd have called you a tit. A massive time-wasting tit. And we all know time-wasting tits are the worst. But sure enough we were there, sat in Steve's green skoda (not the best coloured car to be hiding in) just over the road from Alex's flat and waiting for Jake to turn up.

'Have you got any binoculars on you?' Steve asked earnestly.

'Erm...let me check...cactus...bowling pin...shit, no...no binoculars.'

'Amateur.'

'Oh, so now I'm being accused of not being a professional stalker.'

'I've told you, it's not stalking. It's checking out.'

'I think the police will see it a different way.' I said, trying to gaze into Alex and Fran's living room.
'Right, Alex said he would be turning up at seven, for wine and nibbles.'
'Nibbles?'
'I know.'

Nibbles? I already don't like this Jake lad, he just made it worse for himself.

'Right, where's the food?' Steve asked.

'Food?'

'It's a stakeout. We need food.'

'I've not got any food. We just came from work.'

'Jesus, haven't you seen Starsky and Hutch?'

'Only the film. It was a shit copy off my cousin.'

'The TV series.'

'I'm 23 year old, Steve.'

'Philistine.'

Right, so I'm not very good at stalking and don't have any appreciation for American TV shows that I've never seen. Good one.

'So what are we looking for in terms of this lad...'

'Well, I've written a few notes.'

Of course he had. If there's one thing you need before stalking someone, it's careful research. Steve got out his tattered notepad and flipped through it.

'Posture. E.g. Will he look good in a suit.'

'A fancy suit.'

'Correct. Greetings. E.g. How will he greet Alex and Fran at the door. If there's no hug I think we've got a case.'

'A case for what?'

'For one of us to be best man.'

'We never hug him.'

'That's different!' Steve snorted. 'We're colleagues. And good friends...'

'Next...'

'Last one, what they get up to inside. We've got a good view of the living room from here.'

This was turning into stalking now, but I didn't want to tell Steve. If he shouted our cover may be blown. And of course, you wouldn't suspect two men in a light green skoda, parked arbitrarily opposite a block of flats, would you?

It was getting dark and after an hour, we had yet to see anyone go in our out of the flat. We had exhausted all of our games. What You Rather...?, The A -Z Game and depressingly, Eye Spy. We were about to move onto another shit game when a tap on the window startled us both. We'd been to transfixed on thinking of a band beginning with Y that we hadn't noticed a car pull up behind us. I rolled down the window to see a young lad peering at us.

'Lads, sorry to bother you. But, is it free to park here?'

'Erm..I'm not sure...'

I was still a bit shaky from the shock, but I tried to play it cool.

'I think it is.'

'Good. I'm going in there for a few hours.'

The lad pointed at the block of flats. He seemed about Alex's age, will an attempted dark beard and hair with too much wax in it. It could have been Jake, but Steve wasn't taking any chances. He leapt out of the car and charged into the lad, banging on the car towards the back.

'What do you think you're playing at?' Steve managed to shout, through wrestle to pin the lad's arms onto the window.

'What the fuck are you doing!!?' The lad yelped.

'He's our mate! We should be the best men!'

'Steve!' I tried.

The wrestle went on for a few more seconds, then I got out of the car and tried to hold Steve back. The lad got his composure back and soon gave Steve a kick in the groin, making him reel backwards onto me with an 'ooooffff!' The lad scampered back into his car and sped off, not before shouting 'prick!' out of the window.

'What the hell did you do that for?'

'We should be best men, Dylan.' He cried, in between squeals of pain.

I dropped him onto the bit of grass next to us.

'I bet you that wasn't him.'

'Of course it was! All the signs were there. Stupid little beard, shit trendy car...he was going in there!'

'So's he.'

I pointed to the front door of the flats. A tall lad, with a bunch of flowers and a bottle of wine in his hand, buzzed the door and stepped inside. He was met by a smiling Alex and Fran as they hugged and exchanged warm pleasantries in the foyer. We sat on the grass for a few minutes and watched them inside the living room, laughing and joking likes friends do, probably helping themselves to an array of nibbles on the table.

'Come on.' Steve said. 'Let's go to the shop.'

'You want some food for the stakeout?'

'Yeah, and some ice for my bollocks.'

May The Best Man Win (Part Two)

2011-01-07T01:48:00.000-08:00

Today didn't get off to the best of starts. I was on the early shift, which is always a bad start anyway. I'm not really a morning person, so for annoying customers to be out and about at that time isn't what I want. I won't bore you with the details, but we have two types of trolleys. Small and large. Genius, isn't it? So when all the small trolleys got sent away yesterday to be cleaned, there was outrage. Most of the elders prefer a smaller trolley. They don't eat that much and can't push that much. But all I got today was something like this...

'Excuse me.'

'Yes?'

'Do you have any small trolleys?'

'No, they've all gone to be cleaned...'

'Oh...'

Cue the lost face of devastation.

'Oh, well, I’ll just get a big trolley. It won't kill me, will it?'

They waddle off with a chuckle and I walk away thinking sometimes I wish it would.

My mind was on other things, to be fair. Yesterday, Alex told Steve and I that he's choosing his best man. Suddenly I felt like I was waiting for some kind results. Playing the waiting game. My mind was flipping from 'Hey, relax. It's no big deal. It's being a best man.' to 'It's being a best man! You get to make a speech with a suit on. When are you going to have that opportunity again?' There was occasional doubt in my mind, but I can't speak for Steve.

'Bought my suit already.' He said smugly.

'Nice.'

'He'll have to make me the best man now.'

'Why?'

'Because I've bought a suit.'

'So?'

'A fancy one.'

Shit. He's bought a fancy suit. If Alex finds out he's bought a fancy suit I'm done for.

'How fancy?'

'It's grey.'

Not that fancy.

'Bit of a tail on it.'

Shit.

'Has it got a little bit of hanky stuff in the top pocket?' I asked.

Steve grinned.

'What do you think?'

'Shit.'

This was still not over. It was common knowledge that I got on with Alex more than Steve. Fran liked me, something that Steve can't say. I know that Alex's favourite sandwich is jam, his favourite colour is blue but sometimes green, depending on the seasons. And that he only buys wallets that have that little spare change flap in them. I now regret telling Steve all that because he just called me a gay boy.

I went for my breakfast at ten, brilliantly timed to when Alex was clocking in, so I met him at the bottom of the stairs.

'Alex.'

'Morning.'

'Alex. Alex. Alex.'

I was trying to be casual. Breezy. Friendly. I just sounded drunk.

'How are you doing, bro?'

'Bro?'

'Brother. Mate.'

'Oh, OK. Bit tired.'

'Yeah...'

My eyes were wide and I seemed to be nodding quite frantically. Now I sounded drunk and looked like I was on drugs.

'How's is it outside?' He asked, bleeping his card against the machine on the wall.

'Yeah, sound. Super sound!' I almost shouted, aiming the double thumbs at him.

When was the last time I gave a thumbs up to anyone? I can't remember. I was getting desperate.

'Listen, if Steve mentions anything about a suit, just ignore him.'

'A suit?'

'Yeah, says it's fancy.'

'Is it grey?'

Shit.

'It might be.'

I sat at the table closest to the window, peering down at the car park, anxiously ripping bread off my sausage sandwich. They were chatting, but from a distance it just looked like idle chit-chat. The weather, probably, or the latest XBOX game. Why can't I be interested in games like Alex? Then we could chat about them. I played five minutes of one of those war games, where you shoot everything you see. I got terrified and ended up facing the wrong way in a trench, throwing grenades at myself. The sausage sandwich was soon necked and I was back on the car park.

'That was quick, Dylan.'

'Wasn't hungry. So, what are we talking about?' I asked, slapping my hands together.

'Cod.'

Shit. I don't know my fish.

'It's a great game.' Alex added.

Hang on...cod...ah...Call Of Duty.

'Yeah, it's brilliant.' I smiled.

'Didn't know you played that stuff, Dylan?'

'Me? Oh yeah, love it. Guns and that...'

I thought I was doing OK, even though Steve and Alex were looking at me funny, so swiftly changed the subject.

'Anyway, Alex. You picked a best man yet?'

'Certainly have.' He grinned.

Me and Steve looked at each other. I looked at Steve as if Alex had already asked him, and Steve looked at me as if Alex had asked me.

'Have you...told him?' I asked.

'Yeah.'

Shit. Shitting shit shitter.

'Shit.' Steve spat at us.

'What?' Alex asked him.

'I told you I've bought a suit and everything! It's fancy, really really fancy.'

'Oh...sorry.'

Had Alex already asked me? I've been so nervous and tense I could have forgotten.

'I'm still going for Jake.'

Jake? Jake? Who the hell is Jake?'

'Jake?' Steve and I asked in unison.

'Yeah, he's my friend from college.'

'A friend?' I asked.

'From college?' Steve asked.

'Yeah.' Alex shrugged.

'Has he got a fancy suit?'

'No. But he's getting one.'

'Oh, Jake's getting one, is he?'

I'd be happy for this Jake person, but I got this couple together, surely that's more substantial than a

two year friendship and common room college bollocks.

'Does he know your favourite sandwich?' I asked.

'I'm sorry?'

'Or colour? Or even the wallet thing?'

'The...wallet thing?'

'Yeah, with the little flap thing...with the...oh forget it!'

I stormed off. Steve followed me, shouting about his fancy suit. I guess the best man won, a skinny little student called Jake. Well done Jake.