Sky Hooks Page 2

  After a while working there it became obvious that a good skive for both warehouse and office staff was going to the bog all the time. Alan called the bogs the piss-stones. There were four cubicles in a row and they were nearly always occupied. You could always hear someone reading a paper. I’d sit there in the mornings with my head leaning on the side of the cubicle, looking at my phone and wishing my life away.

  Morning break time was a ten, and we’d sit in a row in a variety of ramshackle chairs. Later I saw a picture of one of them on Google. It was a Brno chair designed by Mies van der Rohe of the Bauhaus design school. An elegant design of tubular steel. The chairs faced the clock on the wall that was above the foreman’s desk with all his pigeon holes and the obligatory topless calendar and the telephone that rang on and off all day. The break was only supposed to be for fifteen minutes but if we could keep Alan talking we got to sit down for longer. Rennie said the world record was fifty minutes, or ten to eleven and that he’d been talking about his daughter’s wedding that day. Another good topic was United. But he played along with it sometimes because he wanted a longer break too and when he turned around and looked at the clock, feigning surprise and calling us cheeky bastards it was all part of the act. The story with Alan was that he was hen-pecked at home and that’s why he could be such a little Hitler at work sometimes. If you got an order wrong, say put the wrong diameter of pipe on a wagon or bagged up the wrong kind of nipples, he shouted at you in front of everyone. That was his style of management. I already didn’t give a fuck and after that treatment I cared even less.

  There was a stock take where we worked a twelve hour shift from eight in the evening until eight in the morning. It happened to be on my birthday. Obviously I didn’t tell anyone.

  ‘Knackered already,’ I said to Rennie, as the clock ticked past midnight.

  ‘Knackered? Already?’

  ‘Yeah. Knackered.’

  ‘Another six hours yet, son.’

  ‘Why do they have that massive clock there?’

  ‘So you can see how slow the time passes.’

  ‘It doesn’t move that clock.’

  ‘Don’t look at it then.’

  ‘Then I look at my watch.’

  ‘It’s double time anyway.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Got to grab it while you can.’

  ‘Grab what?’

  ‘You’re a bright lad aren’t you? What are you doing working here?’

  ‘I could say the same.’

  ‘I’m too old to get a job anywhere else.’

  ‘Give over. How long have you been here?’

  ‘Forty years.’

  ‘Forty years. Jesus. I suppose you’re on a good whack by now.’

  ‘That’s right. It would cost them too much to get rid of me. That’s why I’m not worried when Bourney comes out every month and talking about laying people off. Ignore that bollocks.’

  ‘I work hard anyway.’

  ‘Is that why you’ve got dirt on your arse?’

  ‘Have I?’ I said, getting up and feigning amazement. ‘I never realized.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you better watch it. It has been noted.’

  ‘It’s a joke this place. You work your arse off. And then even if you just stop for a minute someone walks out of the office and it looks like you aren’t doing anything. You could have been working for an hour without stopping and then when you do stop one of the people out of the office comes out.’

  ‘Alright, son,’ he said, smiling. ‘Look, the thing to do is work smart, not hard.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Just think about it. There’s people here that do fuck all, but they make it look like they’re grafters. I’m not naming any names. But watch how people leap into action when someone turns up. The best thing is to always have a sweeping brush in your hand. Soon as anyone turns up you start sweeping the floor. Your trouble is that you’re always flying around on them pump trucks. I mean, look at Chris. He never gets off that stacker truck and he’s always on his phone. You should be that stacker, not him. The other day he’d dropped his cigs and he was trying to pick them up on the forks. He never gets off it. Sits on his arse all day and yet everyone thinks he’s a grafter. Even that Daniel knows the score.’

  ‘Can you drive the stacker?’

  ‘Course I can drive it. But they’ve never put me in for the licence. You need a licence these days. Health and Safety. We’re supposed to wear hardhats in here you know, but nobody bothers. And steel toe caps.’

  Rennie ate his sandwiches. I finished my coffee and got up.

  ‘Get us one while you’re in there. Milk and extra sugar,’ he said.

  I came out of the office and passed the coffee to Rennie.

  ‘Cheers, son.’

  ‘How many of them do you have every day?’

  ‘Free isn’t it?’

  ‘But how many do you have?’

  ‘I’ve never counted.’

  ‘They are okay except for the bit at the bottom.’

  ‘You want to stir it with a pen. Here,’ he said, passing me the biro, ‘no, not that end.’

  ‘Too fucking dark in here,’ I said, stirring my coffee and then passing the pen back to Rennie, before taking a newspaper from off the desk.

  ‘Have you done with that?’

  ‘I’ve only just picked it up.’

  ‘I’ll have it when you’ve done with it.’

  ‘You’re a mithering old sod.’

  ‘Just get it read.’

  Rennie sipped his coffee, listening and waiting, occasionally looking across at me as I read through the job section in the Manchester Evening News.

  ‘Are you reading that cover to cover?’

  ‘I’m looking at the job section.’

  ‘Anything good?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh shame. Here you are then. Give us the paper.’

  ‘How can I read it? You keep looking at me the whole time.’

  ‘So have you done then?’

  ‘For fuck’s sake. Here. Take the fucking paper.’

  ‘Thanks very much.’

  ‘Mithering old sod.’

  ‘Can you be quiet? I’m trying to read here.’

  ‘Oh right. You’ve finished your sandwiches have you? You made enough noise with them.’

  Rennie leaned his head away. Turning back around, he held his false teeth out right under my nose.

  ‘Oh for fuck’s sake. You dirty old bastard.’

  Rennie was laughing his head off and moving the teeth in a biting motion.

  ‘Forty years of drinking coffee out of machines will do that to your gnashers.’

  I threw the rest of my cup across the warehouse floor.

  ‘Terrible waste that.’

  I sat there trying not to look at the clock. Rennie read the paper.

  ‘How long have you been married, Rennie?’

  ‘Too long.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘Err...well it was in the 80s so, a while.’

  ‘Thirty years?’

  ‘Close to that.’

  ‘What’s she called?’

  ‘You’re a nosey sod aren’t you?’

  ‘Just making conversation.’

  ‘Kath.’

  ‘Kath?’

  ‘Can’t you just shut the fuck up for five minutes and stop asking for my life story?’

  ‘Obviously touched a nerve.’

  ‘Look, just give it a rest.’

  ‘What did you have on your sandwiches?’

  ‘Stand at ease.’

  ‘Stand at ease?’

  ‘Cheese.’

  ‘Cheese? Weren’t they a bit dry?’

  ‘I like cheese.’

  ‘No worri
es.’

  On the radio, Elvis’s version of ‘Follow that Dream’ came on.

  ‘Turn this up.’

  I turned up the radio.

  ‘You’ve got to follow that dream wherever that dream may lead...’

  ‘Go on Rennie!’

  Chris and Barry came round the corner and sat in the empty chairs.

  ‘Go on Rennie, lad! Belt it out. He used to be a singer you know. Club singer.’

  Rennie stopped singing.

  ‘What have you stopped for? Beautiful that, Rennie. Now turn that radio down, for fuck’s sake. Get us a coffee Baz, while you’re in there. Shithead, you still awake?’

  ‘Just about.’

  ‘Have you cleaned that oil off your arse yet?’

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘Lazy fucker. Here Rennie, what’s the Bobby Moore? Are we finishing at eight or what?’

  ‘Yes, we always finish at eight, every year. And every year you always ask me when we’re going to finish. Where’s Alan anyway?’

  ‘Haven’t seen him.’

  Barry came out with two coffees.

  ‘Ere Baz, is Alan in there?’

  ‘Of course he is. Sat with Alison isn’t he.’

  ‘Something going on there, Baz.’

  ‘Nah, not Alan.’

  ‘Might be playing away.’

  ‘More chance of him going with one of them pros outside.’

  ‘That’s Bourney isn’t it?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Who’s Bourney?’

  ‘Fucking hell, you don’t know who Bourney is? He’s the guy who takes us in the office every month and tells us we are all going on the rock n roll.’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  ‘Anyway Baz, how’s the glass back?’

  ‘Got to be careful. Might happen to you one day. See if you laugh then.’

  ‘Glass back?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s got a glass back. That’s why he’s on the Pat and Mick all the time.’

  ‘All the time? How do you work that one out?’

  ‘Alright Baz, I’m only having a laugh.’

  ‘You’ll see. One day you’ll get it. Working here it’s only a matter of time.’

  ‘Alright, mate, I’m only pulling your pants down.’

  Alan the foreman turned up.

  ‘Hey, hey, hey, what the fucking hell is this? What does that clock say?’

  ‘Alright, Al. Here when was the last time you went to O.T.?’

  ‘Fuck off. I’m not falling for that one again. Get off your arses.’

  We were in another part of the dimly lit warehouse. Freight trains passed through Platform 14 at Piccadilly Station. I sat with Rennie on top of wooden storage units, counting fittings into boxes.

  ‘Rennie, do you really count them all?’

  ‘I’m counting. Shut up.’

  I counted the fittings into the box, dropping them in one by one. Then I wrote a number on a piece of card, and put the label into the box.

  ‘You didn’t count all them.’

  ‘Look, you count the ones with a few in, and then when there’s loads just make an educated guess.’

  ‘So I’ve been counting all these thousand of nipples for nothing?’

  ‘Really? Look, nobody is going to check them. But don’t say I said.’

  I counted more fittings, taking one at a time out of a straw sack and dropping them into the cardboard box....eight hundred and twenty three, eight hundred and twenty four, eight hundred and twenty five. Then I wrote the total on a piece of white card again and put the card in the box.

  ‘There must be more to life than this, Rennie. Counting running nipples into boxes.’

  ‘Yeah, course there is. You’ve got C.T. Nipples next.’

  ‘C.T.?’

  ‘Close taper.’

  ‘What’s the difference?’

  ‘Who cares? Ours is not to reason why. Ours is to count how many and write it on the bloody card.’

  ‘Double time anyway.’

  ‘Very true, son. I probably pay more in tax than you get paid.’

  ‘Tax. What do we pay tax for? I don’t get it. When you get your wages it’s never what you thought you’d get.’

  ‘I’d be out on Deansgate tonight if I wasn’t doing this.’

  ‘Only once a year son, you’ve got to grab the double time.’

  ‘Have you ever been out on Deansgate?’

  ‘I went there years ago. Can’t remember getting home. Get yourself a girlfriend, lad.’

  ‘I’m not the settling down type me. I’d rather just have a laugh.’

  ‘So do you chat them up?’

  ‘No, not really. I let my mates do all the talking, and when I can see the girl getting bored I go over there. Always works. Let them do all the talking. Go back to there’s usually. You know the other week I was in bed with this bird and I saw something moving about under the covers. She had her little baby in the bed! I shit myself.’ It was a lie. It had happened to Scoie not me. I was useless with women.

  ‘You enjoy yourself, lad.’

  ‘I will. I could murder a pint now.’

  ‘Yeah well. Be getting light soon. There’s another train going past.’

  ‘Have we got to count all these along here?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘I’m not fucking counting all these. I can’t be arsed,’ I said, and lay back on top of the lockers. Just then Alan came down the aisle.

  ‘Flaming Nora! I’m not paying you fucking double time to sleep, lad.’

  ‘Oh sorry, Al. Thought we were on break time.’

  ‘You’ve only just had your lunch you shiftless sod. And you went five minutes over on that. Don’t think nobody noticed.’

  ‘We didn’t. We got up at 4.’

  ‘Ah yes, but you are supposed to be ready to work by 4, now get your fucking arse in gear. This has got to be all done this weekend. Rennie, you should know better. You better sort this lad out. I think he sits down to piss.’

  ‘He’s not used to it, Al, is he?’

  ‘Well there’s plenty more lads out there would bite my hand off for this job. You don’t pull your weight you’ll be down the road, sunshine. Never give a sucker an even break, that’s my motto. And don’t keep going up to those piss stones either.’

  ‘I’m counting now, aren’t I?’

  ‘Well no fucking guesswork. I’ll be checking some of these that you’ve done. And if they’re out you’ll be hanging by your bollocks, lad,’ he said, before going back inside the warm office.

  ‘I told you to keep your eye out for him,’ said Rennie. ‘He’ll be grassing you up to Bourney now.’

  ‘Who does he think he’s talking to like that?’

  ‘He’s the foreman isn’t he. Little Hitler he is.’

  ‘Little fucking turd, more like.’

  It was break time again. We sat down in the chairs and were joined by Chris and Barry.

  ‘Hey, Baz, I was off the wardrobe last night. Dangling from the chandeliers.’

  ‘When the big day, big lad?’

  ‘Not for a while yet, Baz.’

  ‘You getting married then, Chris?’

  ‘Hey, Baz, nothing gets past this lad does it? Yep, getting married. More or less married now. I live there already. The Fir Tree in Reddish. She’ll get the pub when her old queen retires. I get to drink all night and then it’s just up the dancers with her. Happy days. Go to O.T. with her old man and my old fella. We’re all reds. Happy days. Yep, drink on a stick my Mrs. Bet you haven’t even popped your cherry have you?’

  ‘Ladies man, me.’

  ‘Oh aye?’

  ‘Out on Deansgate every week.’

  ‘Have you heard this lad?’ he said, looking around at Barry and
Ronnie, who sat there drinking coffee. ‘We used to go out in Ashton. What a dump. Full of fanny though. You ever go out in Ashton, Baz?’

  ‘Ashton on Mersey?’

  ‘Barry, Barry...Ashton-Under-Lyne.’

  ‘I’m happy with my Sheila.’

  ‘How’s your Mrs, Rennie?’

  ‘Alright I suppose.’

  ‘ “Alright, I suppose”. Fucking hell the old romantic over here. Looking forward to payday, Rennie?’

  ‘Oh aye.’

  ‘Every pay day he goes out on the lash. We’re lucky to see him the day after aren’t we, Baz?’

  ‘He shouldn’t get away with it if you ask me. I have time off with my back and they grill me for it every time.’

  ‘Oh come on, glass back.’

  ‘Not funny, Chris.’

  ‘Yeah, Rennie likes his ale. Where is it you go?’

  ‘Connie Club. Can get a pint in there until 4 in the morning.’

  ‘We know. You fucking stink of it when you come in. I could get pissed off your breath. They won’t let him in the office.’

  ‘Once a month, that’s all it is. Not like you, four or five pints every night.’

  ‘Well it is social for me. For you it is just getting pissed.’

  ‘Yeah but who drinks more?’

  ‘Yeah but I never get pissed. That’s the difference.’

  ‘That’s the problem with drinking in this country. It’s alright to drink a bottle of wine every night and go to the pub every night, just so long as you don’t get pissed. Bet my liver’s in better nick than yours.’

  ‘Yeah but I don’t wake up in some gutter on a Droylsden back street.’

  ‘We’re laughing with City there now. Ten minutes on the tram.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right there, Rennie,’ I said.