A Very Foggy Christmas
certain. I thought Tom would try and separate them, especially when Thin Lizzie’s blouse got ripped, but he murmured, “No, no, this is dynamite” and filmed it on his smartphone, saying he was looking forward to “playing with it later”. He was obviously a very talented editor as well as a great director; so many strings to his bow!
I sat in a folding chair at the side of the hall on my own for most of the evening, except when I was called upon to play the twister. Tom said he wanted to inject some realism, so I had to rush round the hall as everyone screamed in horror and ran away from me. It wasn’t quite what I’d been expecting from my first lead role rehearsal, and my bottom ached from the hard chair, but still, I had to realise things were different when you were elevated to the main character. Mum said it was more about stage presence, not how many lines someone had. That was after she’d come to watch me play a rock in The Lion King.
I looked through the post for a letter from Dad, but there wasn’t anything. I had a letter from the bank increasing my overdraft to £1200 and one from Barclaycard increasing my limit to £3000, even though I’ve never used my card. I shouldn’t need either now I had my Sunday job; hopefully, Joe will get round to paying me soon.
I was on the Saturday rota again this week and arrived at work to find Kate in a frenzy, ripping up reams of paper and stuffing the bits into the confidential waste bins. “Having a clear out, Kate?” I asked as I passed.
“Bloody auditors are due in next week,” she replied, tearing a page of statistics in half. “Those nosy bastards aren’t going to find anything incriminating on me, not after I’ve thrown everything out, anyway.” She looked up at me. “Have you got any holiday left to take, Morten?”
“Oh yes, I’ve a few days left; I’m saving them up for my performances, you see, so I can thoroughly prepare for my role as-”
“But don’t you need to prepare well in advance? Why don’t you take your days next week? Please?”
“W-ell, I suppose I could do-”
“Great!” Kate turned back to her ripping, looking a bit happier. How lucky we were to have such a caring manager! Tim was already at his desk, untangling his headset. “Alright Fogster?” he said. “Windolene isn’t in today so Anal Alan’s in charge; he said to tell you that the random word of the day is ‘cunnilingus’.”
“Gosh, that’s a bit of a tongue-twister, isn’t it? What does it mean?”
“It’s a type of compensation, you know, we give it to someone when our performance hasn’t been good enough. Alan said to use it with as many customers as possible and whoever says it the most gets half a day’s holiday.”
Wow! That was one of the really great things about working at Perypils; the incentives were amazing. We often played the random word of the day game amongst ourselves but that was usually just for our own amusement. I was really going to go for it! I logged into my turret, smiling at Derek as he arrived, a huge plaster still covering his nose. My headset peeped in my ear, telling me a customer was just about to come through. “Good morning! Thank you for calling Perypils complaints, I mean, concerns. My name is Morten. Can I have your policy number please?”
“I do have a name you know, I’m not just a bloody number!” Oh dear, the poor woman sounded a little stressed; I used my most soothing voice.
“Yes, of course. Can I take your name, then?”
“It’s Maxine Stewart.”
“Thank you. Is it ok if I call you Maxine, Maxine?”
“No it is not! You people are a total disgrace. Six weeks I’ve been waiting for you to settle my claim - six weeks! I mean, what the hell is taking you so long? I’ve been a loyal customer for nine years, paid my premiums month in month out, but when I actually need something from you, I get the shittiest service imaginable! All these calls are costing me a bloody fortune.”
“Oh dear, Mrs Stewart, I am sorry about that. But I am able to offer you some cunnilingus.”
“What?”
“I’d like to give you cunnilingus.” Silence. “Are you still there, Mrs Stewart?”
I couldn’t actually hear her reply because she shrieked it so loudly I was temporarily deafened. I whipped my headset off and held it a couple of feet away from me, waiting until the screams subsided and my turret told me Mrs Stewart had hung up. Not a good start to the morning, but I did so want to win the half day’s holiday. The flashing red screen above my head told me there were forty-seven in the queue, so I plugged straight back in, determined to satisfy the next customer.
Go Nuts
I arrived at Smokey Joe’s and turned on the lights, the heating and the coffee machine. Then made a start on the leftover washing-up from Saturday. Joe used to have a top-of-the-range dishwasher but he’d lost it on a game of Go Fish with the guys from Loch Fyne. Unusually, there was no sign of Joe this morning so I opened up, praying nobody came in for hot food until he’d arrived.
I tried to make myself a cappuccino, but the coffee machine had not fully woken up and squirted a pale, lukewarm liquid into my cup. I pressed the grinder and watched a small dark mound beginning to form as I hummed ‘Another Rock n’ Roll Christmas’. You didn’t see much of Gary Glitter these days; I wonder what he’s been up to? Probably sliding gracefully into old age with a loving wife at his side.
A sharp tap on my arm made me jump and I swung round to find a frozen-faced woman standing at the counter. Her eyes looked angry and she mouthed something at me. “Sorry, what was that?”
“I SAID, TURN THAT BLOODY THING OFF!”
“Oh yes, sorry.” I flicked the grinder off and picked up my pad to take her order. She had a little girl with her and I smiled at both of them. “What can I get you?”
“I want some sandwiches to take away; do you think you can manage that, or do we have to stand here all day? What fillings do you have?”
“We have ham, cheese, tuna-”
“Smoked salmon?”
“Er, no-”
“Typical. You’ve got prawns, I hope? I’ll have four rounds of prawn and mayonnaise.”
“On brown or white?”
“On brown, of course! Who on earth eats white bread these days? Do we look like monsters?”
“Well, not really-”
“Would you like a cake to take to the gymkhana, Fifi darling? Yes, of course you would. Are these gluten free?”
“Um, I think they may have a little bit of glute in them-”
“What about nuts?”
“I’m not sure, but we do have almond croissants - would you like one of those?”
“I don’t want something with nuts, you buffoon, I want to avoid them! Fifi suffers a terrible allergic reaction to nuts, they could kill her. Are these cupcakes nut-free?”
I wasn’t sure! The little girl gazed up at me with big hopeful eyes. “Shall I bite into one and see?” I offered.
“Oh, for goodness sake! Don’t you people know what goes into your own products? Just get me the sandwiches; I’ll have to stop at Waitrose for some cake.”
I departed to the kitchen as the little girl let out a wail of disappointment. Joe still hadn’t turned up so I took a granary loaf and cut off some slices. How much was four rounds? It must be four slices. I searched for prawns and eventually located a packet in the freezer. Were you supposed to defrost them first? I read the back of the packet but couldn’t see anything, so I Googled ‘how to defrost prawns’ on my phone. The most popular answer was to leave them in the fridge overnight, but I didn’t have time for that so I read on. The second answer was to pour hot water over them so I flicked the kettle on as I buttered the bread (just around the edge of the slices as I’d seen Joe do) and picked out a bit of bread that looked like it could have a nut in it. I popped some frozen prawns into a bowl and poured boiling water over them, but as some still looked a little frosty, I put them into the microwave for a couple of minutes, just to be on the safe side.
A man’s voice shouted: “Is anyone serving out here?”
&nb
sp; “Just coming!” I called back, tearing the lid off the tub of mayonnaise and willing the microwave to ping. I did a double take as I removed the prawns; they were tiny! I’d had prawn cocktail at a wedding once, and those prawns had been all fat and juicy - these looked like curly pink pubes. Was that right? I scooped them out of the water with a slotted spoon and dumped them onto the bread, adding several generous scoops of mayonnaise. I put the sandwiches into a brown bag and took them out to the woman, who snatched the bag from me and huffed and puffed as I worked the till, her impatience making me nervous and fumbly. There were three other people waiting to be served and they were all staring at me as they shifted from foot to foot. Where on earth was Joe? He was usually here well before me; I’d often arrive to find him with his head down on one of the tables, stealing a quick power nap before another busy day in the kitchen.
“Full English, please.”
“Would you like a pomme de terre croquette with that? It’s a pound extra.”
“Do you mean a hash brown?”
“Yes.”
“Go on then.”
I took the gentleman’s money and then the two ladies behind him also asked for cooked breakfasts. What was I going to do? I’d never cooked a meal for anyone before, but Joe would be most unhappy if I turned customers away. I started back towards the kitchen when a piercing scream rang out. One of the ladies was clutching her friend and pointing with a trembling hand behind the sofa: “Oh my God, oh my God!”
“It