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Great Writing - Home > Extended > English Slacker chapter twenty-six
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Extended Work
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| English Slacker chapter twenty-six | |
| By chrismorton | ||||
| 26 June 2008 | ||||
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I walked back in and carried on with strawberries. Already the display was looking like shit again. Totally stripped (yeah it was a buy-one-get-one-free-thing). I put out the rest of the strawberries on my L-shape, which was only a couple of cases, and went out the back for more. Bradby was unloading boards in the warehouse when I got in there. I started to tell him that I’d just seen Duncan and about the beach party but yeah, I was only as far as, “Hey, Duncan was here just now,” when he sort of cut me short, asking me, “Are the strawberries filled up yet?” And I looked at him, kinda disbelievingly I guess (‘cause obviously seeing Duncan was far more important than fucking strawberries), but then thought, “Whatever,” and just said how it was, “Fucking impossible,” to keep the display looking good and described how the customers were, “Like vultures,” hoping he’d laugh at least. But he didn’t laugh and still looking serious he asked me how many cases of strawberries we had left and I said, “I’m just going in for some more now,” and he said, “We’ve got shit loads of golden delicious,” and, “See if you can get some of them on the front table too.” I went in the chiller, cursing Bradby under my breath, grabbed the rest of the strawberries, threw them on my L-shape, took three cases of golden delicious off a stack that was towered up almost touching the roof of the chiller and pushed my L-shape out again. As I passed Bradby he said, “Sorry mate, bit of a tough morning today,” and I turned around and looked at him standing there with his shirt hanging out and hair all messed up and he was sweating and that and looking kinda, I dunno, like almost… pathetic I guess. And I really wanted to tell him what a twat he looked, or at least was starting to become. But all I could say was, “Yeah, don’t worry about it,” and he smiled and I smiled too (which was a fake smile) and he turned around and carried on unloading the board he was working on: All like satisfied that he’d made me feel better or something. So anyway, I was out on the shop floor for ages next ‘cause The Terminator had found me putting the golden delicious out and had said for me to make it into a proper display and find a new place for the strawberries on the side counter, and after that Hitler had come and found me, asking me why produce was in, “Such a state,” and had asked me to, “Do a dress down and quality check.” Then as I was doing that The Terminator came back and, after asking me why I hadn’t finished the golden delicious display, told me that I was, “On second lunch,” and that there were four L-shapes loaded up in the chiller that were, “Ready to go out now,” and that I was to keep produce running until everyone got back. So there I was, working on the department by myself for an hour, putting up with all the customer queries and complaints about, “Are there any more…?” and, “Do you have any…?” and, “Why aren’t there any…?” and, “Where’s your manager?” while trying to put out the four L-shapes (I only managed two) and keep it all looking nice. Kinda stressful to say the least; but I didn’t really care. Second lunch was shit as usual (no one goes second lunch). I ended up having to sit with the trolley guy who was telling me all about how the government was trying to turn Skipton into a nuclear waste dump and how he’d seen a programme about it on TV the night before. Because of seeing Duncan in the morning I guess, and also ‘cause of the trolley guy doing my head in, I went for a fag outside rather than in the smoking room. It was still hot out, although there was a slight breeze which made it pretty comfortable. I remember thinking as I stood there smoking my cigarette about how much a whole day of my life was really worth. Like how the only reason I wasn’t out in the sun was ‘cause of the forty quid I was earning on my shift. And like how it was impossible to put a price on a day of someone’s life and what the hell was I doing there putting out fucking fruit and vegetables when I could be out in the sun with Duncan? But after my fag I looked at my watch and it was two-fifty which meant I only had two hours left, and I was still owed a tea break, and I figured it could’ve been worse. I mean, at least I still had a beach party to go to later.
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