Ah, this makes a twisted kind of sense really.
I have come to realise today that the place where I work is insane. Either there is something in the air, or maybe in the water, or maybe it's the long hours for little pay and the unforgiving, unrelenting waves of customer after unreasonable customer. Either way, each of us has developed some kind of tic or is mad in some way.
My boss, Amanda, for example. At any point in a conversation or even a sentence, she will randomly start speaking in a Jamaican accent. Today, she barked at me. And everyone else. This is not the first time.
Craig, the deputy manager, headbangs to music nobody else can hear, and looks confused when you ask him why.
Slainey will come around corners with the stock trolley faster than any person should, usually while riding the bloody thing.
Stuart named the stapler. Her name is Beatrice.*
Phil, the baker, spent a long time in a grump because someone threw away his old oven mitt (called Barry). It had a hole in it. He was displeased regardless. Ali, our newer baker, tried to comfort him, to little success.**
Alex will babble to himself and others in Romanian until he remembers we are in England and nobody speaks that language. And nor does he.
Dave will pull plastic bags off the rack and open them, going through until they're all gone, and then make a pile.
Glenys must always be on till 02. She just doesn't go on till 01. Ever. You don't want to force her to do it.
And in the midst of all this, I thought I was an island of sanity, until I caught myself trying to marry a pair of pliers called Fred to Beatrice the stapler.
I've officially lost my mind.
I didn't stop laughing for a whole ten minutes. Stuart simply shrugged at the customers. Then Slainey nearly bowled someone over with a trolley and my hysterics were forgotten.
* This is a common trait, naming things. Slainey's trolly is called Trevor.
** This is because Ali is an innocent and pure snowflake and Phil, Stuart and I have decided that in another life she was a puppy. She must be protected from the crazy.
My boss, Amanda, for example. At any point in a conversation or even a sentence, she will randomly start speaking in a Jamaican accent. Today, she barked at me. And everyone else. This is not the first time.
Craig, the deputy manager, headbangs to music nobody else can hear, and looks confused when you ask him why.
Slainey will come around corners with the stock trolley faster than any person should, usually while riding the bloody thing.
Stuart named the stapler. Her name is Beatrice.*
Phil, the baker, spent a long time in a grump because someone threw away his old oven mitt (called Barry). It had a hole in it. He was displeased regardless. Ali, our newer baker, tried to comfort him, to little success.**
Alex will babble to himself and others in Romanian until he remembers we are in England and nobody speaks that language. And nor does he.
Dave will pull plastic bags off the rack and open them, going through until they're all gone, and then make a pile.
Glenys must always be on till 02. She just doesn't go on till 01. Ever. You don't want to force her to do it.
And in the midst of all this, I thought I was an island of sanity, until I caught myself trying to marry a pair of pliers called Fred to Beatrice the stapler.
I've officially lost my mind.
I didn't stop laughing for a whole ten minutes. Stuart simply shrugged at the customers. Then Slainey nearly bowled someone over with a trolley and my hysterics were forgotten.
* This is a common trait, naming things. Slainey's trolly is called Trevor.
** This is because Ali is an innocent and pure snowflake and Phil, Stuart and I have decided that in another life she was a puppy. She must be protected from the crazy.