I started at Chip Shop Rod’s today. I turned up fifteen minutes late, not really a great way to begin a new job. Next-door boy was having a shitimus maximus, or maybe he was just tugging one off again in the bathroom because I didn’t hear any victory splashes? Either way, I didn’t get chance to have a shower so I had to go into work with hair that could have rivalled the grease in the chip pans. At least I blended in. As I left the house I realised that my legs could have probably done with a shave too, they were way past the point of acceptable spiky, couple of week's growth kinda' hair. Then again, I don't really see the point in grooming myself since the whole me and Chris fiasco ended, but saying that, I have managed to build myself up enough to get back to brushing my teeth once every day.
Anyway, when I finally turned up at the shop, Rod wasn't particularly impressed with my time keeping skills. He said that even Fat Maria had managed waddle in on time. I thought that was a bit mean to be honest, and I didnt really expect such a comment to be made by the creator of my creative workspace. Although, I think I was actually just more annoyed about being compared to someone that has the formally accepted first name of 'Fat'. He told me that as a result of my lateness I would have to wear the company mascot as my punishment. He led me into the back of the shop, where I had been before, and there it hung in a glass cabinet: the real-life, human chip suit. Rod explained that “This is Rod's Fish Bars' most prized possession. When you wear it, you wear it like you mean it.” I wondered how you could mean to be a chip. He added “Oh, and be careful with it. I paid a good twenty-quid for that from 'Dirty Dick's Discount Centre...it's one of a kind”. I'm sure it is one of a kind, it's fucking ridiculous.
After Rod's suit speech, I pointed out to him that the costume, was in fact, only half a chip, rather than a whole one. “That's why we've got these”, he said as he handed me a huge pair of yellow lycra underpants. I suspected that they were once worn like they-were-meant by Maria. I gave them a quick once over to see if they'd been washed since she'd last donned them. I wish that I hadn't. So, off I went to get changed into the suit of dread, and remembered my legs. My hair-carpeted legs... After dressing, Rod showed me around, how to use all of the equipment, and gave me a 'definitive guide' to the food that his shop offered, which consisted mainly of fish and chips, and fish and chips with stuff on it. After that the afternoon went fairly fast, well as fast as it possibly can when you're a hairy piece of cooked potato.
No one came in for food for a few hours in the afternoon, but eventually a lad popped his head round the door. He was short, and skinny with scruffy hair. He came over to the counter and asked me for chips, beans and curry sauce, the £2.99 deal. I told him that the deal only included one side, and you couldn't mix them. The same foolish mistake I'd made just a week ago, but I feel like I've come so far since that. He said that he didn't think it was very good customer service, and I replied that I was dressed as his bloody dinner, so what more customer service did he want. He agreed that I'd made a good point and opted for beans. He thanked me, and handed me his money, and left the shop. About half an hour later, as I was eating my staff discounted battered sausage, I noticed that the boy was still hanging about outside the window, every few minutes he peeped through the glass, then ran around behind a wall to hide. He continued to do this for another half an hour or so, so I stepped outside, and asked him what the hell he thought he was doing. He said that his name was Matt and he had been wondering whether to ask me on a date. I told him that lurking around outside where I worked like a weird potential rapey person, was probably not the best way to go about it.
He continued to ask if I would like to go out for a drink sometime, I wasn’t exactly sure if he was even old enough to drink but considering the state I looked, I thought he must have actually been quite a nice guy. Not that I'm in the position to turn anybody down at the moment, legal or not. If I stick by my old motto 'If it's long, it's not wrong', then I'm sure it will be all right. I gave him my number written down on a serviette and walked back inside, asking him if he would please fuck off now because he was ruining my professionalism.
At the end of my shift I closed the shop door, pulled the shutters and got down on my knees to scrub the grease from the floor. I asked Rod if I could put my normal clothes back on as it is particularly hard to bend down when you're housed in 3ft of solid foam chippiness. He outright refused stating that I had to wear it for the whole shift. As I was scrubbing away, Rod came back behind the counter and watched me clean up. He sort of swaggered over, I'm not sure if he was trying to be cool or he just had a limp. He put one arm across my back, I could smell his breath as he breathed on my neck, it definitely smelled like curry sauce. Helping himself to the products no doubt, no way to run a business in my eyes, mate. He then placed his other hand on my lycra clad arse cheek, which in surprise, made me jump- knocking a fish from the serving grill, onto the floor. “That'll come out of your wages Ruth... unless you can find some other form of repayment...”. He trailed off, and I knew what he was after. I made my decision on the cost of the fish but I struggled to see if what I'd knocked of was battered, or breaded. Battered or breaded...battered or breaded....BREADED. Bastard. Breaded would cost me a whole hour's worth of my wages.
My decision was made and he pulled me up off the floor and leaned me back against the cooled chip fryer, and kissed me. My first day and I'd managed to become a victim of deep-fried frolicking with my middle-aged boss. Brilliant. I could feel him pressing against the front of the suit with his hands, searching for my goods. He'd have to search deeper than that though, the mini potato fritters from Menu A are bigger than my tits. I really hoped he wouldn’t use any battered sausage puns.
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