Saturday, 29 October 2011

Every Little Helps

British-Money copy        So I’m starting a new job today. My last employer heard me singing a personalised version of ‘Too sexy for my shirt’ and realised it was true, I WAS too sexy for that shirt, too sexy for that hair net, too sexy it hurt……but they were too chicken to admit it and fired me before I could do my little turn on the catwalk. My new boss is a nice guy, in fact very nice…suspiciously so. He gets me glasses of water, gives me an extra 15 minutes on my break, he even gives me newspapers to read while I work. I start to wonder how far I can push this nice-ness, I mean, I have a phone bill that needs paying…… My thoughts are disturbed as my boss, Mike, approaches me to check how I’m getting along. “How are you getting along?” he asks. “No sweat” I respond, wiping the sweat from my forehead so I present myself as a truthful man. “Good good…” Mike says. He stares at me with a ‘let’s bond’ look on his face……eww no not THAT type!! He didn't have ropes or handcuffs!!  “Sooo, what you doing with your hair?” he asks “you gonna get dreadlocks?”. I picture myself with dreadlocks, shaking my head so hard I can hear Willow Smith squeak with delight. I’m pleased that my glasses prevent me from whipping myself in the eye……Mike looks on…he’s probably wondering why I haven’t responded yet……and why I started randomly shaking my head about. “I’m not sure what I’m doing with it really…just letting it grow” I explain. “Cant afford to get it cut” Mike jokes before letting out a sharp laugh that he seems embarrassed slipped out. “Yea exactly” I say participatingly, laughing along. “It’s ok mate” he says with a sudden dire change of tone. “It’s…ok…” he repeats, now unable to look me in the eye. I look at him reviewing what he had just said and detecting the sympathy in his voice. He looks at me, in the same way you would look at a wide eyed puppy born with a missing leg, hopping around playing with a ball.
He walks away, leaving me standing there more confused than a tea biscuit next to a cup of coffee. Hang on!! I think, did Mike think I was being serious!? Does he actually think I can’t afford a haircut!? Does he actually think I have let it grow for over 2 years because I couldn’t afford to let someone take a pair of clippers, scissors, or a weed wacker to it!? Haircuts are like £8, EIGHT POUNDS!!! Hell, I could probably get it cut, washed & dyed electric yellow for £18…or even cheaper if I went to that guy down the road with the gimpy arm!! Maybe he thinks this is why I got this job!! That I have been saving up coppers I find in between sofas and in the washing machine for 2 years trying to raise enough money to get my hair cut. God, I OWN A PAIR OF CLIPPERS!! I COULD CUT MY OWN HAIR!! I COULD CUT HIS HAIR IF I WANTED TO!! I want to hold up my debit card and wave it at him like it was undeniable proof that I have money…like only the cream of the crop can attain a debit card, however the evil forces that be made me forget my wallet at home. Stupid evil forces, probably toasting now with glasses of chocolate flavoured milk and victory cookies, and looking all smug. I look over to where Mike is now standing, only to catch him again looking over at me with pity. Looking at me like I’m walking on the posh side of Bluewater with a ‘Topman’ Sale bag. Like my version of Christmas is going to random building receptions and saying I’ve lost a box that has ‘Lost Property’ written on it!! ‘CUT IT OUT MIKE!!’ I want to say but he’d probably think I was begging him to cut my hair!!
I finish my shift with Bob Marley playing through my earphones, and every so often throwing around my imaginary dreadlocks. I leave and walk to the my bus stop only to find I have no change for the bus. I sigh, because that’s what people do in situations like this……I’m not sure why, if I had my way people would shout out “GOLLY!!”. After a few more sighs I walk to the closest cashpoint, which is about as close as earth is to the sun!! I eventually reach the cashpoint, developing lovely sweat patches on my t-shirt. As i reach into my pocket I then remember I have left my wallet at home. “YOU PLUM!!!” I scream to myself. I turn around and head back getting slightly lost on the way and cursing myself for not leaving a trail of breadcrumbs behind me. I get back to my workplace, at which point my t-shirt is more sweat than cotton. I see my co-worker Steve and rush towards him. “STEVE!!” I say, abstrusely delighted, as though the last time I saw him he was running past with a bomb strapped to his chest. “Do you have two pounds I could borrow?” I plead doing my best puppy dog eyes but probably looking more like a baby walrus. He has a quick fumble in his pocket then hands me a shiny £2 coin. My eyes light up like I had swallowed a glow worm who had swallowed a tiny torch. I’m ecstatic!! “YOU’RE A LIFE SAVER!!” I exclaim, half hugging him before remembering how sweaty I was. HA!! TAKE THAT EVIL FORCES!! TRYING TO MAKE ME WALK HOME!!! NO CELEBRATION COOKIES FOR YOU TODAY!! GO BACK TO THE EVIL PITS OF WHICH YOU EMERGED FROM!! GO FORTH AND TELL YOUR SIGNIFICANT OTHER THAT YOU FAILED AT LIFE TODAY!! TELL YOUR CHILDREN THAT THEIR FATHER IS ON THE VERGE OF REDUNDANCY!!! TELL YOUR NEIGHBOURS THAT YOU DO NOT EXHIBIT THE QUALITIES OF THOSE IN YOUR NEIGHBOURHOOD!!! AND SLEEP UPON THE BATHROOM FLOOR FOR BEDS ARE ONLY FOR THE DESERVING!!!  Still jubilant and full of smiles I lower the £2 coin from the air. Somewhere during my excitement I had raised it to the sky and hailed it as my king. I thank Steve and turn to leave only to see Mike standing behind me, looking at the coin. He flashes me a proud smile, almost teary eyed and pats me on the back as if to say ‘You hang on in there mate, things will get better’. I acknowledge his non-verbalised encouragement with a hesitant nod and walk off. GOLLY!!

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