@ JOB SATISFACTION

# By Andrew Campbell 1994


=                            November 1990

 I was sixteen and to everybody - including myself - just a shy and 
inexperienced little girl. 
 I worked a three-hour evening shift from five till eight, monday to
friday, on the checkouts you know? Shit job, shit pay, but I wanted to
show my Mum I could earn money... she thought she had to serve on me
day in, day out, and that I'd have to live off her spending money all
my life. When I got the job at the store she couldn't nag me, couldn't
accuse me of being a lazy bitch; I was out there doing things for
people, earning money... know what I mean?
 I'd been there about two weeks, no more - earned less than a hundred
pounds I reckon - when I realised nobody really paid any attention to 
me; customers never smiled, none of the staff said hello... I didn't 
get it, didn't understand what I was doing wrong.
 My boss was called Brian Norman, one fuck of a big bloke with a sort
of square-shaped head and a weird face. He told me this, told me that,
taught me how to use the checkouts properly, that kind of shit and he
also told me about the alarms...
 I always finished my shift when the store closed. Always. Brian was 
the one who locked the place up, usually. Places as big and valuable
as B&Q have these weird number-pads that need special codes to switch
them on and off, know what I mean? Once the alarm was set, Brian would
run out of the store and lock up as quick as he could. "Because," he
told me once, "if anything or anybody moves so much as an inch when
that alarm is on, the sensors will get them, detect their movement,
and then the biggest, loudest sirens in the country will go off and 
all the police in the world - even the Army - will come and check this
place out."
 The Army, for fucks sake! I can't believe I took that motherfucker's
words so seriously, but I did, shit yes. That job was so precious to
me I took everything about it seriously.
 One night I was fucking about with my locker because some fuckstain 
had jammed chewing gum in the keyhole, when all of a sudden I heard 
the alarm beeping away down on the shop floor. I managed to wrench my
locker open, grab my coat and bag, run down stairs but I was too late;
everyone had gone. The alarm was getting faster, faster, and I knew
when it stopped if I so much as wobbled my tits the sirens would go,
the lights would flash, the police and the Army would come, and I'd be
taken away to God knows where.
 Whilst the alarm kept on beeping, I knew I was safe, but it could
stop any second, I thought. I panicked. Ran for the main doors, stared
out into the blackness. I guess I should make you understand the whole
fucking store was pitch dark; they never left any lights on. Never. I
pounded on those doors like a fucking maniac, whacked them as hard as
I could. I even started yelling for help, Christ I was so scared. In
the end Brian Norman appeared at the other side; his face was a weird
bluish-colour in the moonlight, and I screamed and ran back from the
doors after seeing it.
 "STAY STILL!!" he shouted to me furiously, and I did. I froze like a
statue and stopped breathing. Only the beeping of the alarm could be 
heard; beep, beep, beep, beep.... then nothing. Silence. I knew from 
that moment on if I was to move, those sensors would get me; sirens
would scream... the police and the Army would come.
 Outside, Brian just stared at me. I started crying and shivering and 
saying, "Please get me out Mr Norman!" like some kind of weedy infant.
Any normal, sane Department Manager would have sympathized with my 
fear, opened up, switched off the alarm and maybe given me a cup of
coffee to calm me down, but shit no; Brian Norman just grinned.
 "You're a pathetic, weedy little thing aren't you?" he shouted to me
- shouting only so I could hear him through the thick glass of the 
main doors. "always the quietest, always unaware of things going on 
around you... always the last one out of the store." I tried to 
protest, but Brian shrieked at me: "STAY STILL!" as though I'd be shot
if I tried to move. I was terrified, absolutely fucking terrified, not
just of the sensors, but of this man... my own boss.
 "It'll take me a while to get permission to open the store again," he
told me. "I'll have to phone the manager. Stay absolutely still whilst
I do it. Understand? Do you?" I said I understood, told him to please
hurry up.
 He grinned again, then fucked off. I was alone in the dark, silent
hardware store, unable to move an inch, scared out of my fucking mind.
Seconds passed. Sweat rolled off my back, tears sped down my face - a
million itches begged for attention. Seconds became minutes, my body 
became wet, not just damp. Outside through the main doors I could see 
only blackness... a few stars twinkled occasionally, but that was all.
 Minutes became hours... the silence was filled by screaming voices 
inside my head; voices of pain telling me my legs were going to 
collapse... voices of anger making me feel guilty for being such a 
slow, worthless bitch... and voices of reality, perhaps the most 
terrifying, whispering to me that Brian Norman was never coming back, 
that I was going to stand here all night... unable to sleep... unable 
to move...
 But Brian did return. It must have been two, maybe three hours later.
I started crying again when his face appeared at the doors, this time
my tears were of relief, utter, total relief. I heard him jangle keys,
unlock the heavy doors, and as soon as he punched in the code and told
me the store was secure, I collapsed in a sweaty heap.
 The next thing I remember is being sat in the manager's office, still
in the dark, but with Brian looking at me. He wasn't grinning anymore,
but frowning... frowning a lot.
 "Store manager says I have to search you." he told me. "Store manager
says I can't let you go home until I've made sure you haven't stolen
anything." I tried to plead with him that I was not a thief and would
never think about trying to steal from the store, that this whole
fucking mess was an accident, just a fucking accident, but he took no
notice... wouldn't accept those excuses. "Empty your bag," he 
demanded, and I did as he said. "Empty your coat," came next, which I 
didn't mind either, but then he said, "Take off your clothes," and I 
felt my blood turn to ice. I stared at his face for a while, thinking 
he might suddenly grin and say 'I'm only joking sweetheart, lets get 
you home' but he didn't alter his serious expression and he didn't let
on that he was joking. I knew I wasn't going to see my mum at all that
night unless I removed my clothes for him.
 So I did. I took them all off, apart from my bra and knickers, but  
he even demanded those too, so I complied, not without breaking down 
into tears again.
 He told me to turn around. Told me to lean over against the chair I'd
been sitting on. I asked him what for, he said just do it, so I did. I
did exactly as he told me.
 A few moments later he came up behind me and... I don't remember much
of it, just feeling hot, dizzy and sick, and hearing Brian moaning and
whispering to himself. I remember being too weak in mind and body to
be able to resist him, to even be aware of what he was doing.
 When he'd finished what he wanted to do, he told me to stand up 
properly and get dressed. I did as he said, then he led me to the 
outside doors again and told me not to tell anyone what had happened 
tonight. He said I'd be fired if I ever spoke a word, so I promised I 
wouldn't. He touched my cheek, frowned, then shouted, "Get out of here
you weedy bitch," very loudly, and I ran for it. Ran like crazy, out
of the store, out of the carpark, into town. I waited almost an hour 
at a bus-stop before coming to the conclusion there must be no buses 
running at such a late hour. I ended up walking home.
 It must have been after two o'clock when I got in, and as soon as I 
set foot in the door my mum, who of course had been waiting up for me 
all this time, started screaming like a madwoman. Remembering the
promise Brian had demanded I keep, I lied to my mum, said I'd got on
the wrong bus, gotten myself lost. She said I was a stupid, clumsy
bitch and sent me upstairs immediately; no supper. In my bedroom I
just collapsed on my bed and cried and cried and cried...

 I woke up early in the morning, staring up at the ceiling, sheets on
the floor, my hands between my legs. I was another person in the same 
body, a person who wasn't going to cry anymore, wasn't going to let 
people push me about... and most certainly wasn't going to let Brian 
Norman get away with what he'd done to me. I stayed in bed until four
o'clock in the evening, just thinking... transforming myself I suppose
you could say.
 I always hurried in to work when I was late but now I found I just
didn't care anymore. Everything seemed so simple and in focus. No
longer did I feel odd, silly or stupid... I felt big, strong and in
total control of myself, know what I mean? 
 I strolled in at ten past five, much to the anger of Harry Black, who
happened to be the duty manager that day. He knew how easily I was
manipulated, so made sure I was given a full lecture. Big fucker he 
was, but rather old and clumsy. He shouted into my blank face that I 
should come in at least ten minutes early to get a fresh start and 
prepare my float (the drawers of cash they put in tills, you know?) 
and I withstood his bawling until he told me I was dismissed. Then, I 
stood up and said, "Fuck yourself." quite loudly and calmly.
 His face kind of sank and his eyes widened. I could have laughed - I
wanted to laugh - but I kept my expression as solid as a rock. His 
wrinkled hand reached up and pointed to my nose, almost touched it.
 "I-I beg..." he whispered furiously. "I beg your PARDON?!"
 I leaned forward a bit and said even louder, "Fuck off." Then turned
around and walked out of his office. A guy called Daniel Wick bumped 
my shoulder as I passed him in the corridor that lead to the lockers. 
 Instead of ignoring him, I stopped and said, "Watch where you're 
going sheep fucker." and his reaction was as I had predicted; he came
at me angrilly, his fist held high. He'd done the same thing before
when I'd accidently dropped some cardboard in the warehouse when he'd
been sweeping up but I didn't cower away from him like I had done
then. He towered over me, face red, teeth showing.
 "Apologise now, bitch," he demanded. "Nobody ever says anything like
that to me. Ever. Now say you're sorry, that you didn't mean it and 
you'll never do it again."
 I lifted a biro into his field of vision and said quietly, "Do you 
want it in writing?" then before he could answer, I jabbed the point 
of it under his chin. No, I didn't jab it - I rammed it, keeping hold,
making sure it came up and out of his mouth. When I saw the bloodied
tip wiggling below his tongue, I wrenched it out again. He collapsed 
and began to swim around in a pool of his own blood.
 I watched him for a few moments, my right hand warm and dripping, 
then I coughed deeply - gathering flem in the back of my throat - and 
spat on the repulsive bastard.
 By the time I got upstairs I was pretty sure I would lose my job
today. I'd got blood all over my hands and blouse but I couldn't be
arsed to wash it off; I didn't find it horrible or disturbing. I even
thought of tasting it would you believe? Didn't though.
 Just as I was about to open my locker, in crashed Betty Willis, a 
revolting checkout operator who was as loud as she was fat. She was
munching crisps and trying to tell me something at the same time. I 
listened to her for about ten seconds, then yelled "I can't tell a 
fucking word you're saying you stupid fat cow" and there was a really 
sudden, peaceful - almost majestic - silence.
 I think she burst into tears, I can't really remember, but she left 
the cloakroom in a rush anyway. Whilst I put on my B&Q uniform (which 
was actually just a dull tee-shirt and a filthy red apron with 'Clare'
smacked on it in huge, white letters - as if anyone cared) I heard 
screaming downstairs. Some one must have discovered the mess I thought
and carried on dressing.
 I opened the cloakroom door to face Harry Black's finger again. His 
expression was one of sheer fury. He said, "Downstairs! NOW!" but then
shrieked when I grabbed his finger and twisted it until it snapped.
 When he was down on the floor, I booted him in the ribs as hard as I
could, then in the head. For the first time in my life I felt trully
satisfied with own doings. He tried to beg for mercy but I ignored
him; my foot collided with his gaping mouth and he was mute.
 Dead, I hoped.
 When I got back down onto the shop floor I realised what I was here 
to do today. I had a mission, a lethal, destructive mission and I was 
not going to leave this place without completing it.
 The heat-radiating lights shone down on me from the huge and complex 
roof of the store as I walked steadily down the main aisle. The voice 
of some television presenter rambled on about a new brand of paint 
before being replaced by a painfully repetitive pop-music track.
 Promotional products sat neatly arranged at the end of every gondola.
Clusters of evening shoppers stood motionless and gossiping. Children 
stopped playing their games to watch me - a girl with drying blood on 
her hands and a sly smile scarring her face... yes, only the children 
seemed to see me; I felt invisible to all but their innocent eyes.
 Time seemed to slow down as I walked into the warehouse. There was no
beeping siren to be heard, indicating the fork-lift truck was out of 
use at the moment. Gigantic shelves packed with over-stock and special
customer deliveries towered me at either side like twisted monuments 
in an alien chapel. Entrails of dust-coated shrink-wrapping snaked 
across the floor, caught in a gentle open-space breeze. 
 At the bottom end of the warehouse stood an old rusty baler, a filthy
racking system crammed full of faulty/damaged goods and the balding,
middle-aged warehouse manager - Geremy Richards who was filling in a
form of some kind. He glanced up, saw me approaching and said, "Hello 
young lady. Now where's your hat, huh?"
 According to health and safety regulations you're always supposed to 
wear a plastic hat in the warehouse because of all the precariously 
balanced heavy items. Obviously being cautioned for not wearing a
protective item was the least of my troubles that day.
 I walked right up to the man and said, "I need a light."
 He finished scribbling, examined his work for a few moments, then 
looked up at me and blinked. "Eh? A light? What for?"
 "It's for Brian Norman," I said and grinned. "He's dying for a smoke.
Sent me to get it."
 Richards sighed and started rumaging around in his trouser pockets. 
"Well, you ought to start sayin' no when he asks you little favours
like this. You'll end up everybody's mug." he found his lighter and
gave it to me. "There you go, my darlin'."
 I fingered the item gently, lovingly. "Thankyou Mr Richards. You 
don't know how much this means to me."
 "No problem," He sniggered, eyed me up, then carried on with his 
work. I walked over to the baler, opened the hatch and took out a 
piece of flattened card.
 On my third strike the lighter produced a good, solid flame and
within seconds I was looking at the key to this evil store's downfall.
 I held the flaming piece of card inside the baler for a few moments, 
then procceeded to set fire to boxes and packages at random on my way 
out of the warehouse. By the time I was back on the shop floor, the 
fire alarm had been sounded.
 I progressed down the central aisle towards the checkouts, stopping
occasionally to set fire to the products on promotion... some of them
burned slowly and neatly, whilst others shot up in flames and began to
snap and crackle. Smoke, dark and deadly, swirled across the roof in
hellish clouds, darkening the whole store and choking the music 
speakers.
 Both staff and customers were hysterical when I reached the last 
gondola, just before the checkouts. It contained drill-bits, sand 
paper, cutting discs and gas cannisters for blow-lamps. I tossed away 
the blackened piece of cardboard and replaced it with several gas
cannisters. When I heard Brian Norman shouting people to hurry, a
huge, cheerful grin spread across my face.
 The last B&Q store to burn down had been completely destroyed in less
than four minutes. Realising I had very little time to accomplish my 
mission I ran down the hardware aisle, tore a protective face-mask out
of its package and put it on. When a solid wall of churning black 
smoke came silently drifting down the store heading right for me, I 
realised I had acted wisely and just in time, too.
 I ran from the enclosing menace as fast as I could. The noise of the 
flames had suddenly become horrendously loud... the whole store was 
dark, hot and flickering orange. Metallic squeals, ear-splitting bangs
and the sound of sirens mingled... I felt as though I'd summoned a 
fire demon from the very deepest depths of hell.
 I saw Brian Norman running for an open fire-exit beside the manager's
office, lowered my face-mask and yelled, "MR NORMAN! HELP MEE!". He
stopped, looked around wildly, saw me stood there with my hands by my
sides. "MR NORMAN PLEASE HELP ME!" I screamed, even though I wasn't 
scared at all. I had open access to that same fire-exit but HE didn't
know that. He couldn't see as well as I could from that side of the 
checkouts. There were too many obstructions - abandoned bags, trolleys
full of sizzling purchases - blocking his vision.
 "Clare! Run!" he bellowed, bending at the knees, squinting to try and
make out my situation. "Come on! Hurry! Get OUT!" 
 I shook my head quickly. "I'm too SCARED Mr Norman!"
 He cursed and came scuttling across one of the tills towards me, 
coughing and spluttering. I watched him, lowering my face mask and
narrowing my eyes... I had him now. He was mine.
 "Come on!" he exclaimed when he'd clambered over everything in his 
path. He had black smears down both cheeks and his hair was wet. 
"We've got to hurry! Face mask... good girl! Clever girl! Now come 
on!" he grabbed my shoulders. I reacted instantly and booted him as 
hard as I could in the shins. He screamed much better than I thought 
and collapsed, almost dragging me down with him. Once he was on the
floor, I kicked him and kicked him and kicked him... each time I
bashed my shoe into his body we both cried out - a chaotic, tangled
sound of pain and triumph.
 When he was bleeding like hell and unable to fight back, I crouched
down, ripped open the zipper on his trousers and stuffed one of the
gas-cannisters down there. The other, I crammed up his jumper. He
couldn't react; the skin on one side of his face was torn away in the
patten of the sole of my shoe. He simply moaned and gargled and and
coughed up thick, steaming blood.
 As soon as I'd finished with him, I ran for those fire-doors. They 
were wide open and bright white... like the gates of heaven. Behind me
the whole roof thundered and cracked and sent fireballs scorching down
over the floor.
 Seconds before escape, I turned and looked back. A vision of Satan's 
world raged in front of my eyes... orangy-black fire that seemed to 
shriek and bawl... swirling black airships with demonic faces that 
swam through the air and laughed with insane pleasure... and the 
distant wail of a tortured man before an explosion of charred limbs 
and fizzled clothing...
 Grinning, yet with tears down my cheeks, I pelted through the fire-
exit. A handsome-looking fireman came sprinting towards me, a thick 
blanket held apart to take me... 
 And I ran.
 I ran away from him.