-26

i remember theft.
there had been a spate of thefts at the warehouse, a number of expensive limited edition hardcover books had gone missing.
while a big song and dance was made of the stolen books when the culprit was revealed to management they went out of their way to cock-up catching him in the act (they had to apologise to him) but they also made those who had pointed him to to appear to be the villains of the piece. needless to say they never got much help in these sorts of matters again (which might have been the reason why one of our warehouses did a roaring trade in cheap cash-in hand product.
but that isn’t what this is about.
well not directly.
one of the managers was spin. spin saw himself as a man’s man, and he probably was except for the time when he dressed like an urban cowboy, albeit a fey one, or when his girlfriend dressed him as if he were the first reserve for boyzone.
spin was a clever chap. he was a funny chap (though never quite as funny as he thought – but then he did think he was the funniest man alive). spin was a man with a firm sense of right and wrong. he was also a man with anger management issues.
the warehouse was a busy working environment. lots of hustle and bustle. people moving here and there, stuff being moved all over the place. workers in the warehouse had three precious items: their tape-guns, their stanley knife and their pens.
pens would go missing almost faster than you could get new ones.
on this particular day (it was a nice bright day outside) spin was marking up pages to indicate where boxes should be put when they came off the next delivery van. the radio was either playing capital or one of the lads had it on some dodgy channel playing house music (youff eh!). all was well with the world.
then a verbal explosion. a shout. a howl. a roar. spin enraged.
where the fuck was the marker pen he was using.
which cunt had stolen his marker pen?
give it back.
pretty much everyone just looked at him with a ‘what are you talking about’ expression on our faces and we just got on with the jobs we were doing.
it is hard to tell what infuriated him more – the missing marker pen or the fact none of us cared.
whatever it was before you could say ‘that’s entertainment’ spin was standing astride the bench demanding that we all listen to him. a curious mash-up of bolshevik rebel rousers stoking the flames of revolution and a john barrowman clone about to do a lounge version of ‘ymca’.
he shouted. he proclaimed. he declaimed. he was vim and vigour. he was thunder and lightning. he was sound and fury. he told us we were all thieving bastards. he told us that we were scum. he told us that unless we gave him back his pen he would sack us all. he was in full flight. no stopping him. he was a colossus (if a colossus looked like they were about to burst into songs from the elton john songbook). he swore. he cursed. his voice loud and proud. he was in smoting mood.
the warehouse had come to a standstill. hushed. the only sound that of the impassioned rantings of spin. he went on and on. we were all fascinated by the performance. no one coming forward with the missing pen.
spin getting ready to burst a blood vessel.
spin ready to take names.
and voila there in his back pocket is the missing marker pen.
i thank you.
with a wry smile and a ‘let that be a warning to you’ look spin hops down from the bench and gets on with his work.
we shake our heads and get back to work.
just another day in the warehouse.