Janice changed her moods as infrequently as men changed their underwear and rather unfortunately for her and those with whom she came into regular contact with her default factory setting was glib and melancholy. Her good moods lasted as long as the traditional British summer during which time she became terrific company to keep but only for the best part of three or four days and then she was best left to herself in case coming into her orbit meant you too became infected with her sadness like a winter cold impossible to shake off.
Jack was a walking advertisement for what happens when you make bad choices in your younger days. At 66 years of age he claimed to not have the money to retire but more than one of us suspected that may well have been a lie upon having the misfortune of meeting his wife whose nagging was as incessant as the rain during the rest of British Summer time when the rare visitor called sunshine had gone for another year leaving poor old Janice once more in the depth of the doldrums. Jack was very adept at hiding his eyes behind his eyelids around half three in the afternoon which was the time when he seemed to wear his age best. Out of respect people would wake him with a loud cough or two as they walked past en route back down to work. No one ever shook him, his wife's words did that often enough for him at home, yet they always ensured that his little power naps didn't overrun. Kindness could quickly turn into resentment in these types of situations if someone thought another was getting double helpings for free. Real friendships are rarely if ever formed at work, you're just prisoners trying to survive your sentence and each time you think you're out your alarm goes off the next morning and off you toddle to serve a little more of your sentence.
Colin was built so much like a Viking that you suspected one of his poor ancestors must have ended up on her back receiving the end of an unwarranted invasion. Built like a barn door he is, magnificent long beard that looks like it's been stolen from a horse's mane, fists that could double for buckets if a fire broke out. Yet when he opens his mouth he speaks as if he was a Welsh minor. That's not to be confused with a Welsh miner for his voice is soft and effeminate and only his rugged appearance could fool you from its underlying tone of camp. It was the sort of voice that makes you double take when you first hear it like the feeling of surprise you'd have if you'd just seen Tom Cruise pass you waltzing down the High Street and had to look again to check you'd really seen him the first time and weren't going mad. Of course it was never Tom and whether it was working here or living in this god forsaken shit hole excuse for a town, one or both would have made you a perfect extra in one flew over the Cuckoo's Nest. Pass me the ball Chief. The point that Colin's voice didn't marry his outward appearance still very much stands though.
Mary, Mary, quite the contrarian, probably as a way of trying to overcome the fact that she'd been born with the face of a boring librarian and taking an opposing view belied her desperation and life's ambition to stand out in the maddening crowd any way she could. Left alone in her company for too long and you could forgive yourself for wondering if committing a heinous crime on her with a hammer wouldn't actually be seen as some form of community service and you'd have your sentence commuted.
Ahmed Ahmed, so good his parents named him twice. Still it could have been worse I suppose if he'd have been named Mohammed Mohammed because we'd have invariably ended up calling him Mo Mo and nobody would have wanted that on either side. The government had granted him leave to remain and the right to work for six months which was their faux pas because no other worker within the business worked harder than he did and he was amenable to any job you asked him to do. Probably through the fear that the slightest black mark would have him booted out the country but with equal hope some good words would help his long term cause to remain permanently. Though quite why he wanted to remain in this shit hole town was anyone's guess when everyone else who lived in it permanently dreamt of escaping. We never pressed him on the matter for fear of offending of from finding out a truth about his earlier life that none of us were probably capable of ever comprehending.
Whilst Ahmed Ahmed was kept out of the daily banter largely on account of him being so nice and calling everyone Sir or Madam out of deference, poor little Valerie was afforded his fair share in compensation. I'm not sure she ever got everyone's favourite joke with her though, maybe on account of her only being 17 and the rest of us being a bunch of old farts. Maybe she just thought we were being helpful and kind bringing so many things to her attention. You'd wave your hand and beckon her over “why don't you come on over Valerie,” then pause a little before adding a second “Valerie,” and continue with the hand gestures whilst anyone in ear shot had to leave the room biting their lip unseen. She never put two and two together when the distant sounds of laughing could then be heard. One day many years from now she'll be stood in a bar and Amy Winehouse or the Zutons will be playing and the penny will drop and she'll be thinking you utter bastards. If and when that moment happens I hope she at least sees the funny side.
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