It started even before I got to work. I got off the bus and was heading through the car park towards the factory entrance. Alan and Tony were getting out of Alan’s car just ahead of me. Tony saw me, nudged Alan and nodded his head in my direction. Alan was carrying a plastic shopping bag. He quickly unzipped his jacket and hid the bag inside. They said something to each other and sniggered, then waited for me at the foot of the steps, as other workers passed by them and went in.

"Morning, lads," I greeted them, as casually as possible. We walked inside together.

Alan did most of the talking, as usual. "Alright, Patrick. And how are you this morning? Last day at work, eh? Bet you can’t wait for five o’clock – freedom! You must feel sorry for the rest of us, having to spend another ten, twenty, thirty years in this shithole."

I ignored him as we clocked on and headed to the locker room.

"What’s up, College Boy? You’re quiet this morning," said Tony.

The locker room was filling up. We changed into our uniforms – dark blue overalls.

"I’m just so heartbroken at having to leave, obviously. Such a lovely place and such lovely people. So many dear, dear friends." I said this loud enough so that everyone could hear.

I watched Alan as he transferred the bag that was inside his jacket into his locker. As he shut his locker he turned to the room. "Well, of course we’re all very happy for Patrick as he goes off to start his new life at university. I’m sure you’ll get a good send-off from everyone!" There were nods, smiles and knowing looks from the other lads.

"I’m touched." I put on my white cap and left the room.

"You will be!" Alan called out after me.

I’d never felt that I fitted in here. I only got the job in the first place because one of the personnel girls lived next door. The plan was to work here for a year and save up while re-taking my A Levels, before going to University. That year had gone exactly to plan, and now I was off. When the others found out that I was only here for the short-term, and even worse that I would be leaving to become a university student, this just made me even more of an outsider. Everyone else that started here saw it as a long-term job, a proper career. They resented the fact that I was only passing through, moving on to higher things. It didn’t matter to them that it was only the local Metropolitan University that I was going to, and that I would still be living at my Mum and Dad’s. They thought that I felt I was too good for them. Alan and Tony were the worst, because we worked together on the same production line.

That was where I headed. The smell of that place still got to me. Vinegar. The sheer concentration and intensity of that smell. Not the smell you get on your chips, but an overpowering pungency. When I first started there, I thought I wouldn’t be able to take it, but soon enough I learnt to live with it. There was the incredible noise at well, the whirring and humming of the machinery and the clinking of the jars and bottles, but that was nothing in comparison with that stink.

When we were all in place, the line started running. At the far end, Tony loaded up all the empty bottles by hand. One by one, the bottles were automatically filled with piping hot, freshly brewed vinegar from the floor below. That morning, we were starting with the small, table-sized bottles, before moving on to the larger, catering sized refill bottles. The bottles would have their labels slapped on them and be packed together in cardboard trays by the machine, before coming down to me and Alan at our end of the line. Our job was to manually lift each pack and stack them onto wooden pallets. When each pallet was filled, a forklift truck would take them away.

We took turns grabbing a pack of bottles off the line, quickly getting into a rhythm. The bottles were red hot. I had been issued with some protective gloves when I first arrived, but they didn’t last long. They had quickly worn out and got holes at the end of the fingers, causing me to get blisters. I had got tired of asking for new gloves and just decided to get used to the pain instead. Even with new gloves, the heat would pass through the material and get to my fingertips. By now, my skin had hardened up and I just got on with it.

It was heavy work as well. The smaller-sized bottles weren’t so bad, but the larger sizes took some lifting when you were doing it for hours on end. For the first few weeks my arms were like jelly but now I looked like I was a regular at the gym.

As it was so noisy, it was impossible to have a conversation with anyone. Communication – not including the dirty looks I would get from Alan – was only necessary when we had to shout to the foreman to stop the run because of a broken bottle or the labels going on upside down or something like that. Quite often, to break the monotony, Alan would signal to Tony to knock over a couple of empty bottles at his end, so that the line would jam and have to be stopped briefly.

Shortly before 11 o’clock, the line was stopped so that the labels could be changed from one supermarket own-brand to another. This meant we could get down to the canteen early for the mid-morning break and beat the queue for the bacon rolls. Unusually, Alan and Tony didn’t come down with me, but vanished off somewhere.

I got a bacon roll and a hot mug of tea from Marie in the canteen. "It’s your last day isn’t it, Patrick? Here you are, love, have a sausage in there as well", she said, winking.

One of the lads from the line next to mine, Stewart, joined the queue behind me. "How you doing, Patrick? Not having any eggs this morning?" He turned to the food on display. "I think I’ll have a couple of eggs, before they all go. Something tells me that eggs will be very popular today, eh Patrick." He laughed. "I like my eggs fried but I hear you like yours scrambled, is that right?"

I knew exactly what he was getting at. I’d heard about what happens here to people on their last day, but I’d never seen it myself. I’d been kidding myself that nothing would happen to me, but now I wasn’t so sure. I’d already seen Alan with that bag. What was in there if it wasn’t eggs or flour? Would they really pelt me with eggs, cover me with flour and then throw me in the shower, or was that all mind games, trying to put the fear in me? I mulled this over as I sat in the canteen, alone at one of the smaller tables.

At the end of the break, back upstairs to the line. There was still no sign of Alan and Tony. Stan the foreman was waiting to start up when they finally appeared, out of breath.

"Where’ve you two been?" asked Stan.

"Just popped out to do a quick bit of shopping," explained Alan.

Stan was unimpressed. "You know you’re not allowed out until dinner time, lads, and you can’t just disappear out the back and not clock off. Health and Safety and all that."

"Sorry Stan, but we really needed to. You know. Emergency supplies were needed for later." Alan turned to me. "It’s a special day today, isn’t it Patrick?"

Stan walked off towards the control panel. "I know nothing about this, okay lads?" He tapped the side of his nose. As the line started up, he walked back past me, shouting in my ear, "God help you, Patrick son, God help you."

The rest of the morning passed quietly. We got on with our work. Nothing more was said.

As the dinner hour got nearer, I finally made my mind up.

At 1 o’clock, the line was shut off and we went downstairs to the locker room. Alan and Tony were discussing their eating plans. "Coming to the chippy, Tone? I fancy pudding, chips and gravy today. And how about a pickled egg as well. Do you like eggs, Tone?"

"I love eggs me, Alan. But I hear young Patrick loves eggs even more. Ha!"

I finished putting my work gear in my locker. Alan came over and peered into it. "Do you keep a towel in there, Patrick? I’d recommend it. You never know when it might come in handy."

Alan and Tony headed out of the locker room, laughing and looking pleased with themselves. I waited for them to leave. I emptied all of my stuff from the locker and put it in my shoulder bag. I left my work clothes inside the locker. I locked the door but left the key in the lock. I clocked off and left the building.

Rather than going along with all the other workers towards the local parade of shops, I took the narrow path round the back of the factory, towards the canal. I climbed over the low wooden fence, down the grassy slope and on to the canal towpath. I was heading along the canal in the general direction of home. My walking pace quickened. I could smell the factory behind me. The smell was following me on the wind.

END