Books and their Covers

With the cold light highlighting his every flaw, he continued to
walk down the meticulously polished floor. He felt very vulnerable and
alone, although he was undoubtedly being watched and scrutinised. He
reached the door and knocked tentatively. No reply. As he leaned
forward to repeat the action, the door swung open.
"You'll 'ave to be louder than that to make any impression 'ere,"
blared the secretary. "Lucky for you there's a discount on my brand of
ear-drops, I do get terrible waxy build-up- can't hear a thing usually,
especially when the humidity's like it is today-something to do with
the wax being, er&;#8230;well you've seen the advert I'm sure-all
those scientists can't be wron-"
"Eileen." A voice came through on the intercom. "Eileen has the 7:35
arrived yet? If so, please send him through, will you?"
The sound of the intercom only seemed to echo what 'the 7:35' could
hear almost perfectly through the paper-thin walls.
"Umm&;#8230;I think that's me," he ventured.
"Martin&;#8230;?"
"Martin what?"
"Martin&;#8230;Tiddly."
Eileen looked up to see a face which clearly had been subject to enough
playground tauntings to last a lifetime and suppressed her smirk.
Martin of course had predicted the reaction and unlike Eileen was
unable to stop his embarrassment, his already acne-red face turning
redder by the second. He followed her point towards the door and
entered.

*

Although it was only twenty-five to eight, Marjorie was already busying
herself with pointless domestic chores. This included polishing the
'special' cutlery which had never seen the light of day, except, of
course, when she'd polished it twenty minutes ago. The opening of a new
supermarket never failed to excite her. With the first-ever branch of
'Q' opening in direct competition with the already firmly established
'WAITINROWS', she had an intense grin which would not leave her elderly
face till later that day.
"Bye dear, I'll be going now," she called to her husband as she closed
the door on the cosy little bungalow. Her tartan trolley made two
parallel lines on the perfectly manicured lawn. She breathed in the
sweet smell of the flowers and smiled a devilish smile.

*

An unnaturally white smile welcomed Martin. It's owner stood up from
behind his desk and held out an orange tanned hand.
'Welcome Martin. I'm Steve Veneer your deputy manager. Now before you
start there's a few questions I'd like to ask.'
Mr Veneer released Martin's clammy hand and ran his own through the
meticulous hair upon his 48-year old head. Martin looked uneasily for a
chair to no avail. He moved to put his hands comfortably in his pockets
but didn't want to appear rude so just continued to rub the ends of his
jacket nervously.
'What importance do you place on image Martin?' Mr Veneer leaned back
in his mock-leather chair to capture the full awkwardness of this
gangly youth before him.
'Well&;#8230;um&;#8230; I suppose it's not all that important, in
general&;#8230; you know&;#8230;um&;#8230; it's what's inside
that counts n'all that stuff&;#8230;'
Martin watched the plucked eyebrow rise up in disapproval.
'Do you really believe that Martin? Is that what your mummy told you?
Don't judge a book by its cover?'
Martin unsure as to whether he should be answering these questions
remained silent.
'Because I'll tell you, it's a load of rubbish. Maybe you shouldn't
judge a book by its cover, but everyone does, don't they? Nobody in
their right mind is going to buy a scrappy, torn second-hand book over
a lovely, gleaming, new hardback are they?'
Martin again kept silent, but nodded in unsure agreement.
'Take me Martin. Although I may have been published years ago,' Mr
Veneer said, smiling contentedly at his ability to keep up the analogy-
however loosely, 'I have kept myself in mint condition, as good as the
day I came off the press.'
Martin looked at the lines running from the corners of his eyes and
reciprocated the fake smile.
'Image is the key Martin. Present yourself well and you can have it
all. A big house, a nice car; everything.'
'But there should be something inside though, shouldn't there? you
know,' Martin smiled weakly, 'the 'story'?'
'They only ever disappoint people, Martin.'
Mr Veneer unconsciously sighed. Realising, he checked the sigh and
stood up.
'Right. I think that's enough chit-chat for one day, don't you?' He
passed Martin's new uniform over to him.
'Congratulations you are now an employee of 'Q'. Enjoy your first day
and if you have any questions do not hesitate to ask myself or any
other member of staff.'
Martin took the uniform and despite the numerable number of questions
in his head he refrained from asking Mr Veneer who was concentrating
very hard on an spot on his desk which seemed to Martin to be
empty.

He closed the door and looked up to see the secretary in exactly the
same position as he had left Mr Veneer. Trying to move her eyes away
from the desk he mumbled,
'Excuse me&;#8230;.um&;#8230;.I'm not sure what I'm supposed to
be doing exactly&;#8230;for my job, that is.'
'Look at your badge,' she answered without moving her gaze. Martin
looked.
'Martin.'
'Below that, stupid.'
'Oh&;#8230;Purchase Vehicle Recovery Specialist'
'You're collecting trolleys.'

*

The building rose out of the ground like a cathedral. This was
probably due to it previously being one, before the site location
consultants at 'Q' head-office decided that whoever said 'shopping is
the new religion' should be taken literally. Marjorie would find it
hard to disagree. It must be the most beautiful super-market ever and
with 'ample parking for over 1500 vehicles' it was bound to be
successful. And more importantly very busy. To Marjorie's delight it
was very busy indeed. This would have infuriated most Saturday
afternoon shoppers all so enthusiastic to have arguments in the most
public place possible about whether they can afford New Luxury Andrex
or not. But not Marjorie, she positively prayed for a day like this.
All she needed now was for a little thunderstorm and it'd be perfect.
Sure enough the first specks of what was to be a deluge began to fall
upon the supermarket. Marjorie tightened her headscarf as she passed
through the newly installed automatic doors, humming to the sound of
the tastefully selected 'Come All Ye Faithful.'

*

Martin turned his head to the sky and grumbled. He then turned his head
to what was infront of him and grumbled some more. 22 'purchase
vehicles' waiting to be escorted back to the entrance and out of the
pouring rain. He wouldn't have minded as much but, due to the 'purchase
vehicles' in fact being just regular shopping trolleys, they were
typically ignorant of Martin's efforts to steer them in any direction
that seemed logical. This of course meant that any push in the
supermarket's direction would lead them to be instantaneously attracted
to nearest car that looked expensive enough to cause Martin to
hyperventilate. When they finally took notice, and began to move away
from the brand new Mercedes-Benz, they would move at such a rate that
Martin had no control whatsoever. After two near misses on his last
run, Martin was determined to prove he could do it, to himself and his
supervisor. It was the supervisor who was the cause of the most
frustration. He seemed to be in complete control when demonstrating to
Martin how it should be done, the trolleys obeying every slight
movement of his hands. Effortlessly he would cajole them into the bay
at his own speed and leisure, stopping at will to help the single mum
with split bags. This was it; this time. And so Martin set off;
slightly quicker than he wanted to.

*

She looked left. Married couple arguing about whether they can afford
powder and conditioner. Simple answer but she didn't have time to extol
the virtues of Daz. Looked right. A potential toddler tantrum, perfect.
Marjorie passed her withered hand over the lamb looking for one just
the right size and found it. As the toddler exploded in a fit of
frustration, Marjorie snatched the meat and placed it in her inside
pocket. She walked by the checkout feeling the same burst of adrenaline
as the teenager five ft in front of her. You can always spot another.
The store detectives began to move in. Closer and closer. Marjorie
quickened her step. The detectives pounced.

*

Martin was determined not to crash. This, however, seemed the only way
he was going to stop. The bay was thankfully insight though and
hopefully he was going to just damage a few trolleys, always preferable
to a few customers. He was going to make it, a few more metres. Nothing
was going to get in the way. Except of course for a little
granny.
'SHIT!' Martin stopped in horror. Marjorie tumbled to the floor. If it
was not for her tartan trolley she may have broken something.
'Madam! Oh jesus..i'm sorry, really I am..' Martin was cut off by one
of the detectives.
'Don't worry lad. You've just stopped a shoplifter.' Martin
froze.
'She's not&;#8230;not a shoplifter,' he swallowed, 'she's my
grandmother.'
Marjorie smiled apologetically, 'one and the same I'm afraid
Martin.'

As the detectives went back to release the teenager, whose only crime
was looking shifty, they discussed how to never judge a book by it's
cover.