As soon as I started my shift l knew he was going to be a right pain in the arse. He has one job; drive a car to me, get out of the car, so I can jump in the car and park it up. But he drives up, opens the door and just sits there; waiting to engage in conversation. A conversation based around his sainted Opinion. Or he wants to listen to Pop Master on Radio 2.
Until he exits the car I’m his captive audience.
‘Why are you wearing your own coat? The company should provide you with a coat?’
‘It’s okay, I prefer my own coat’
‘But they should provide a coat?’
‘I’ve got a company coat. But I prefer my own’
‘You’re mad, wearing your own coat! I’d never wear my own coat’
‘Actually, Pete gave me this coat. Loads of pockets’
‘What do you want all those pockets for? No-one needs all those pockets? Listen. It’s Pop Master. Oh, I KNOW THIS ONE. Steps or Atomic Kitten? NIGEL! STEPS OR ATOMIC KITTEN?
After three weeks back on day-shifts, everyone in the yard is now slagging him off. ‘He’s always wanting to stop and talk. Not about anything specific, just anything’.
Leslie called up and told me ‘The Pain’ once ran a Laundrette but lost the franchise because he couldn’t stop arguing with people. ‘You can’t tell him nothing’.
Now; The Viking, puffing away on his vape like a shitty low budget one-man Chinese Dragon, has started loudly calling him a ‘fucking twat’.
Everyone is scared of the Viking mainly because he looks like an uglier Joe Bugner; also because he can very easily lose it and get in your face over nothing, shouting, ‘You don’t want to fucking-well wind me up’.
It’s the Vikings’ stock phrase. Funny. He’s already proper wound himself up.
I’m not scared of the Viking though. I know a secret. He badly fucked-up his back two years ago, one good shove, he’d be bowled over like a nine-pin, in-traction for months.
The pain in the arse has become a walking/talking/totem of contempt in the yard. Now, staff hang back when he’s parking-up and wait ’til he’s walked away from the car before approaching, so-as to avoid the vortex of his constant low-grade commentary. Several men gathering in a group, are now openly bitching about him when he’s just out of earshot. It’s like the Crucible, but instead of hysterical hormonal teenage girls it’s grizzled old ex military and ex-cons getting their ‘hang him high’ vibe on.
Friday afternoon. I go into the canteen to wash my cup at the end of my shift; and there he is, sat on his own, eating his packed lunch. Sarnie in a plastic container and a yogurt. ‘Same packed lunch l give my kid’, l thought.
‘Alrighty Albert?’
‘No. Not really Nige. Some of the characters working here….well, they need to learn some manners. Need to learn to… to not talk to people like that…’
He tails off.
The fucking Viking must’ve got in his face.
I look again. See him sat there. Miserable man. Looking at his ‘phone, distracted, confused, public humiliation fresh in his mind. A bollocking: witnessed by several other blokes, just gawping as the spittle covered Viking tells him to his face that he’s a ‘useless fucking twat’ no-doubt.
He’s in his mid 60’s but now suddenly looks like a little boy. Sat there. Ostracized, embarrassed with a red flush in his cheek and watery tears in his eyes.
Is this bullying? We don’t bully the most popular person or the most pompous one, but, instead pick-on the mildly annoying, the pains in the arses who, maybe, aren’t entirely au-faut with the nuances.., the annoyingly subtle shifting sands of proper functioning social interaction. Especially in an environment where everyone it seems has an axe to grind against the huge chip on both shoulders.
I’ve been complicit in the collective, slow demonizing of a mildly irritating individual. I’ve been thinking about it all weekend actually. But more importantly the pain in the arse must’ve had a proper crap and shitty weekend. No-one need take that kind of negativity home with them, especially when working a low-end basic wage (I’ll fucking say it) menial job. Mental Health comes in all-shapes and sizes.
I’m back in tomorrow. I’ll bloody well do Pop Master and listen to some daft twaddle about Covid19 & Brexit. We’ve got to look after each other. Even when the ‘other’ is a massive arse, who’s a pain in the arse. Arse.