Super Market Crime Operation

Me and a friend were talking about our disgraceful CVs. My first ever job was helping to dismantle trucks for 2 weeks. My second job has much more Blog material, however if you don't want a spiel about school and the starting of my second job, skip ahead to the section entitled The Dairy. It's slightly shorter. I think. I wont be upset.

My second Job

I got a job in a super market years ago. Lots of years ago. I'm not going to go and complain about this in any kind of obvious way, like that I wasn't treated with respect or even that I wasn't paid properly. I didn't know the meaning of respect and I bought a load of useless shite when I was 17, so we wont linger in any "My So Called Life" kinda way. (On a side note, in the "Wanna See Which Celebrity You Look Most Like Because You're Bored On Myspace Picture Analysis Thingie", I was likened 90% to Claire Danes of MSCL and a load of Asian actresses. Thank you internet, you cockboat)

YADA\ My interview for the super market was awkward. It ended up like my entrance exam for Secondary School. I would end up in the middle class. Not too clever, not too smart, under-radar flying, low profile keeping, jack of all trades - master of none. Suits me. I'm an observer. Balls, I'm good at art. I'll keep it basic though, don't wanna end up in any award situations or special after school projects. YADA. Although I never let it show, school was hell. Even though I ducked most of the drama and bullshit, I hated trying to fill my brain with nonsense that my real brain was laughing at. Equations, Oxbow Lakes, Dutch wars and the French word for Party (I think it's "Boom" but that might be slang or just plain false information - My teacher looked like John Malkovich and was insane.) /YADA

And what was like middle class in terms of my position in the Super Market?
Well between the shop floor and the payroll offices was the STOCK ROOM . The girl told me : "Paul you will be working with Bernard in the stock room". I automatically imagined me and Bernard in brown coats passing out boxes from a small room. Two stools, one newspaper, I was a MAN now... or something.

No way. This place was HUGE! Floor to ceiling ketchup and toilet roll. Mr. Bernard Finglas had his own office and there was 12 lads working in the stock room and one of them could eat a whole big chicken on his lunch break. I saw it, it was horrible. I could probably do that now for a bet but we were 17, like. I'd say he's dead now. I soon got mouthy with the wrong shop floor managers who would frequent the Stock Room to hurry us up and also...my pet name for Mister Finglas has gotten back to him through a loudmouth saying it too... eh.. loud. Burn Hard Finger Ass. Although Bernard liked the cut of my gib, I was soon moved to the Dairy which was the mini stock room in a FRIDGE. Not quite the Frozen Foods room, which was an actual Freezer, occupied by poor, frail, freakish zombies with no souls and empty stares.

Now I was in the middle OF the middle.

-----The Halfway Mark , You have completed 50% of this blog entry ---

The Dairy
The story of my first day in the Dairy is where this blog entry will end. I have wiped the mind numbing experiences of the year which followed from my thoughts.

I was unloading milk from a pallet when two lads closed the door of the Dairy over. Older lads. Just the three of us in the fridge. Three lads in a fridge. One of them was staring at me. I knew the other lad from the stock room days (fourteen days, not quite the ERA I make it sound) I knew (presumed) ..(? still presume) that Kerry was the heaviest of all butters. If I swing a box of that at the taller fella... I might avoid boy rape. The small one muttered to the fella that I kinda knew "Will he rat on us?".... ????

- Nah he wont..
- He looks like he might rat
- He wont rat, he started Burn Hard Finger Ass, sure - Paul put down that butter for a sec and cm'ere.

Bollox I will.

Were gonna trust you, d'ya want to help us?

The rapey suspicion kinda went away and I knew they were up to something much less worrying but more exiting for me.

I wondered if they were stashing money from the tills. Maybe one of the girls gives them a few quid here and there hidden in he returns basket ... and they divvy it up at the end of the day???
Were they stashing lost wallets there??
Jazz mags? (I'm seventeen here, I'm not talking about the music kind) It's something good I know it is. Older lads are into mad shit. Mad older shit.

One of them held the door open a bit and told me to "Keep Sketch" while the smaller fella ran into the corner and slid a box out from behind the CrackerBarrels. I was confused by this as I was staring at them and they then asked if I knew what keeping sketch meant. I turned away to see if anyone was about. They were mumbling. They were up to something class!

One of the old shop floor ladies walked by the door. I said hello. She said "You must be freezing" She always said that and it annoyed me because her and her mates came in early to steal our fridge jackets to wear on the floor where it wasn't even that cold. She turned the corner and I then turned and finally got to see what kinda class things the class older lads were up to.



!

...

?


SAPS.

Ya know what?, ... fuck that and fuck them...... The smaller lad was eating a CheeseString and the other lad was just sitting there watching that lad eat the newly opened, stolen Cheesestring. They were giggling. Like a couple of cheese stealing, cheese eating, cheese watching little dopes. There was no class older lad scheme with money, wallets or pornography. I felt like a gimp holding the door.

A few weeks later a fella in the Deli was done for selling choice cuts on the cheap to his neighbours I think. Cops involved and all. He had been doing it for ages! He hated the place!

...

I was hanging with the fuckin' Cheesestring bandits.