Wednesday 9th July 2008.
Daz and I had another row this morning. On Wednesday we have a two-hour overlap from twelve until two. It’s a time for us to discuss shop issues and catch up with any cleaning or maintenance work that I need doing. It also gives me a two hour extension on when I come in to work if I need it though I haven’t been in later than twelve for weeks. This morning I got in at about ten to twelve and watched as Daz stood up from behind the counter and put on his coat.
“Morning Daz, going somewhere?” I asked sarcastically.
“Yes, sorry I’ve got to leave now because I’m expecting a delivery and the missus has got to go out shopping. We’ve got no nappies for the baby.”
Oh here we go again, I thought.
“Darren, your contracted hours are nine until two on a Wednesday, we’ve discussed this many times.”
“Yes, I know but you always let me go early if you come in at twelve.”
“And that’s been my biggest downfall with you. I’ve given you the little perk of going early and still getting paid, at my discretion. You came to expect that. I’ve always tried to be fair with you Daz, but you’ve let me down badly and from now on it’s straight by the book.”
“You bitch, you’re being unreasonable because I won’t work on that Saturday that you want to have off.”
“What did you call me?”
“You’re being a bitch, Jane, what’s it to you if I go now or in two hours? I’ve got an important parcel coming today and I’m not missing it just because of you.”
“I suggest you think about your position in this company. I will not be spoken to like that, go on, go. Get out of my sight. I’ll pay you from nine until twelve.”
He smirked at me, if there’s one thing I hate it’s being smirked at and then he said in a sing-song voice, “But Jane you have to pay me until two because my contracted hours are nine until two… you said so.”
“Get out.” I screamed this at him.
From now on he gets paid for the time he has spent in the shop and not a minute more. I cannot work with Darren any longer. For weeks now the minute he walks into the shop he tells me when he’s going to leave and it’s just one excuse or domestic ‘emergency’ after another.
I needed to calm down so that I could regain some modicum of control before I spoke to Linda to ask again if I had grounds to sack him. Before I rang her I locked the shop door and nipped for a pee. I always lock the door when I go to the loo because I hate the thought of a customer coming in while I’m indisposed. I do this even if I’m only going to be thirty seconds. However I’ve fallen into a terrible habit and I’ve done the same thing four times now. I go to the loo and when I come back I continue with what I was doing before I went and forget to unlock the front door so that customers can get in. On one occasion I didn’t realise I’d done it until I hadn’t had a customer for over an hour.
This time luckily for me it had only been a few minutes. I was sitting writing on my laptop oblivious to the fact that to all intents and purposes the shop was shut when I heard somebody rattling the door hard. I muttered an “Oh shit, not again,” and ran to open it.
A blonde highlighted, ‘suit’ of about thirty stood on the doorstep. I must have looked as guilty as hell.
“Jane?” he asked holding out his hand. “I thought you were shut, not good when I’ve travelled up from London. I’m Sandy Thomas and I’m Tom’s right hand man, so to speak. I’ve just come up today to have a look around your shop and have a little chat with you.”
Oh my God, I’d been warned by Diane months ago about Tom’s terrier and boot licker. This man is Tom’s ‘eyes and ears on the shop floor’. In other words he’s a spy from head office come to look for trouble. I’m surprised he even introduced himself; he normally poses as a difficult mystery shopper initially.
I was in a blind panic. Daz had left early and was supposed to be here and the one-day that Sandy arrives the bloody shop is locked with me inside it for no good reason. I explained that I’d just nipped to the loo and always lock the door in case shoplifters come in and help themselves to stock. What if he’d been standing outside for some time before he actually tried the door? How long could it have been at most? Ten, fifteen minutes perhaps. What if he’d been while I was actually in the back room and had tried the door while I was on the loo? He might have wandered off for a few minutes and come back to find the shop still locked up I could have kicked myself for my carelessness and early onset senility.
He came, he looked, he asked questions. I made him a brew and we chatted. I didn’t like him. He’s arrogant and self-opinionated. He was very quick to tell me what I should do to improve my shop. That’s his job, it’s what he’s paid for but I don’t take to criticism well. He came across as a real know-it-all bighead. When he’d done and we had a lull in customers. He jumped in with, “Right your turn, what pisses you off. Come on no holds barred. I want to know what’s going well, of course I do, but my job is more concerned with what isn’t going so well so that we can make improvements.”
I told him about my two recent problems, under stocking and Daz. He promised me that the first one was already sorted and wouldn’t be allowed to slip back again. As to the problem with Darren he said that he was going to pass my concerns directly onto Tom. He told me that with an attitude like his, we don’t need him in the company. Daz is already on file at head office as having threatened us with litigation and Citizen’s Advice Bureaux more than once. They know that he has the potential to be trouble. Sandy said that he’s dealt with his type before. He doesn’t want to be here but won’t resign because he can’t sign on. He’s waiting for me to sack him. When I do he’ll get full benefits but will also go down the route of unfair dismissal to try and screw a few more quid out of the company. He said that people like Daz can be dangerous and to get rid if him everything has to be spot on and legal. He told me that the more ‘evidence’ I have to fight with the better and to mark every single misdemeanour down in the work diary.
We shook hands when he left and I was glad to see the back of him. Half an hour ago I had Tom on the phone. He said that Sandy was highly impressed with both my shop and me. He said that I was doing a great job and gave me a glowing report, which in turn keeps Tom happy so it’s all good.
Col rang at about half past three today. Marty has had an accident on his moped. Apparently he was flying like an idiot down some twisty country lanes and hit cow muck. His back wheel flew from underneath him and he lost control of his bike. He isn’t badly hurt but was very shaken. The road he came off on is horrendous; it’s a single-track lane with twists all the way along it. I’ve told him not to ride his bike on the lanes because all the joy boys fly up and down there and if he meets something that’s fast and powerful head on round those bends he’s dead meat. If something had been coming the other way I could have been visiting my son in hospital rather than writing this, worse I might have been preparing quartered sandwiches for a wake.
Apart from the fact that he could have killed himself the other thing that’s upset me is that Marty couldn’t come and tell me himself. He had to get Col to ring me and break the news. Marty has damaged his bike, but it’ll fix, he has a few cuts and bruises and that’s the extent of the damage … but he’s too scared of my reaction to come and talk to me.
Yes, I’d have gone mad with him. I’d have hopped from one foot to the other and been very vocal. I’d probably have called him an idiot a lot and thrown a bit of a tantrum, but he knows it’s only hot air with me. Why can’t my son talk to me? He tells me nothing about his life. If he’s courting I have to hear it from Col or our Lisa. My son had a bike accident, okay it was only minor, but Col said that it badly frightened Marty. The accident happened at nine thirty, I never heard about it until three thirty, which speaks volumes to me about our relationship.
My friend and ex lodger, Mac, is back on the scene and sniffing around. He’s been to the shop the last three days running. He’s asked to borrow money on all three occasions and on the first day I bought him twenty cigs because he didn’t have any, the second day I gave him a fiver to get something to eat. Today I was hard and didn’t give him anything. On Monday he asked to borrow four hundred pounds to pay his overdue rent … not a chance. He’s been shacked up with some woman for the last twelve months; I think I’ve seen him twice in that time. Now she’s kicked him out, he’s lost his job and he’s in imminent danger of losing his flat. Not my problem. I’ve bailed him out too many times to have any sympathy at all for him. I know that sounds hard but I’ve come to realise that Mac is a poor weather friend, when the sun shines and all is well with his world I never see him but once things mess up, which they do often in his life, he comes running for ‘big sis, Jane’ well no more. Last time I let him doss on my sofa for a night or two he stayed for three months and took over the entire household until Russ and I were forced to live in our bedroom.
I was talking to my mate, Mandy who runs the karaoke about the possibility of getting a new part-timer. She instantly volunteered herself for the job. I love Mandy to bits, I would do anything that I could to help her … but, I’d rather stick pins in my eyes than have her working for me. Mandy is a darling but her mouth and her good friend, Jack Daniels, are her two greatest enemies. She currently runs the karaoke night and operates for a taxi firm through the day. I’ve heard rumours that she’s been known to take a bottle of wine into work with her if she’s hung over from the night before to top her up and stop the hangover kicking in. That’s no good to me. I dread to think what would come out of her mouth to some of my customers. No, no, no, she’s a great mate but is not and never will be my new assistant. I’ve even heard her use the ‘C’ word about three times when she gets really irate (usually with Danny, her husband) and any mouth that can utter that ugly word, isn’t going to get installed behind my counter, thank you very much. I think there are only three words in the English language that I can say that I’d never use. The first and worst is the ‘N’ word, the second and ugliest the ‘C’ word and the third the ‘T’ word. I don’t think I’ve ever used either of the last two in my writing, unless to re-count what somebody has said and then only the lat one, though I have used the ‘N’ word if I want to make a strong point or if I believe a character calls for it. I’m not an attractive person the last thing I want to have is an ugly mouth too. I’m not proud to say that on occasions I can swear up a green fog, but it’s not very often and I do have words that I will not visit.
I get my licence back on the fifth of August. Well I’ve already got the actual piece of paper, it came yesterday, but I’m legally allowed to drive again, after my speeding ban, from the fifth of August. Speed cameras are the worst invention ever let loose on the world. We never had this problem twenty-five years ago when I started driving, hence the reason I managed to keep a clean driving licence for so long and why it got so horribly dirty so very suddenly. I was going to buy myself one of those sat-nav thingies that warns you of approaching speed cameras … but that isn’t going to help me to learn self-control, is it? From the fifth of next month I’m going to do something that I’ve never done in my life before and regularly check my speedo. I’m going to learn which speed applies to which piece of road and I’m going to try very, very hard to maintain that speed and no more. Amen.
In celebration of my new clean licence I have bought myself a car. I was hoping that Russ would come in on it with me and go halves as he did with the last one. However we were badly ripped off and lost a lot of money with that one, so he’s having nothing to do with it again. So this car like every other old banger in the past except the last one, which wasn’t supposed to be an old heap but turned out to be one of the worst I’ve ever had, this baby is all mine. I don’t blame Russ for the way he feels at all, but no doubt he’ll be happy to ask me to take him here, there and everywhere. All I need now is insurance. I have no idea how much that will set me back after my ban.
Lisa gets married on Saturday. The weather has been awful all week; I do hope it’s nice for her.
