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My first part-time job as a University student proved to be a year long exercise in learning the fine art of surviving extremely dysfunctional workplaces, negotiating highly aggressive bosses, dealing with junkies and managing less-than-pleasant members of the public.

I don’t know what it is about working in retail but customers seem to look down at staff in that sector and treat them quite rudely. Unfortunately this is often, at least from prior experiences, accompanied by similar, or even worse, behaviour from the management.

My boss sucks

Jon (not his real name - changed to protect the guilty) was one of the few managers that I have met who was universally loathed and despised by his staff. Not one person, regardless of their position, had a good word to say about him. Not one, but then, if he had been your manager, you would understand why.

The winter of ’95/’96 was brutal; biting cold winds, heavy snow and treacherous ice - not a happy time for most people…unless you were the staff at a certain food retail store in a certain city on the North-east coast.

The mood in that particular store was one of elation when news of the much loathed and despised Jon was believed to be dead after being crushed by the 12 foot high solid iron gate in the store delivery yard that had fallen on top of him earlier that morning.

Most people would be horrified by such news but after 6 months of having worked for this manager I had little to no sympathy for what had happened to him and could fully understand why there was a mood of jubilation amongst the staff.

Looking like a cross between the now deceased gangster John Bindon and the character of Bill Sykes from Oliver Twist Jon had a rather brutish temperament and, on the rare occasions when he wasn’t bullying his staff, liked to brag about the exploits of his student days when he was allegedly getting drunk and shagging many different women. Not a disclosure that most would be impressed by, particularly when it was likely heavily exaggerated and loosely, if at all, based in actual reality.

As if this wasn’t tedious enough I had to endure and contend with his continual baiting me to fight with him in the store room. Why he singled me out and why I was a constant target for his pugilistic aspirations I will never know. I never heard of anyone else being offered out by the manager and it was clear from his demeanour that he would delight in causing me grievous bodily harm if the opportunity ever arose. That wicked look in his eyes and the thin smile that revealed his teeth were signal enough that this was not a well balanced individual.

I wasn’t going to rise to his provocations. Why give such an angry, frustrated and dysfunctional low aspiration imbecile the satisfaction of “getting their heroics”? I wasn’t going to jeopardise my future for someone like that - particularly with the potential legal repercussions of engaging in such stupidity. Repercussions that would likely see my intended career opportunities rapidly dwindle and disappear.

Unfortunately such bullying was tolerated in that company and it became clear, after seeing other managers who were rotated into the store, to cover for Jon’s absence, that there was a very clear and pervasive culture of bad management (in various expressions). This was only aided and abetted by the silence of those who chose to ignore what was happening, instead of speaking up, and, what would have been the point anyway, when nobody in a position to do anything about that would bother to listen?

I’m sure some of you know of such workplaces. They are sadly not uncommon.

The first manager to rotate in, Rylan Tonka (not their real name), was a quite thuggish male from the northern region of the city who, although not a bully, was quite gruff, abrasive, generally unpleasant, liked scrapping and belonged to a well-known local family who were not unfamiliar with dishing out beatings in their local pub (and further afield)….quite often just for the fun of it.

Rylan was a different type of arsehole and I took an immediate dislike to him. Thankfully he wasn’t there for long.

The next manager to rotate in, Micky Sugar (not their real name) was from a store just outside of the West of the city and was every bit the corporate robot. If insincere and lacking in personality had pictures his portrait would be used every time. This guy was the company through and through and being around him always left me feeling drained. I’ve never liked dealing with people that fake and he struck me as a complete corporate climber who would happily sacrifice others to win continual favour with his superiors. Such people are always to be avoided wherever possible.

As it was the mood of jubilation in the store didn’t last long when people learnt that not only was Jon still alive but that he had only cracked a vertebrae in his back and would likely be back at work in a few months. To say this guy had the luck of the devil would be an understatement. I can’t think of too many people who would survive being crushed by a 12 foot high, solid iron gate let alone continue to possess full use of their body afterwards.

Ironically it was only a couple of weeks after returning back to work that Jon was fired from the company after getting into a fist fight with temporary manager Micky Sugar in the canned food aisle in full view of customers who were present at that time.

I guess Jon’s pugilistic aspirations finally got the better of him - as did his ever-growing self-destructive streak - and it was satisfying to learn of his departure under such dire circumstances (as well as never having to hear his beloved ABBA's greatest hits compilation repeated on a loop over the store tannoy system during after-hours shifts).

Canteen junkie

You would think that dysfunctional bosses and fighting in the aisles would be enough for one workplace but there seemed to be something particularly “off” about this food retail store. Maybe the building was located on some weird ley-line configuration that drew in negative energy. Maybe the planetary alignments were just “off” in that region of the world. I don’t know what the underlying factors may have been but there was always some strangeness taking place there.

I remember one particular shift where I found myself in the canteen during my lunch break only to be startled by Ness (not her real name), running from the nearby cloakroom screaming that there was a strange man in there.

At first myself and the other male staff present dismissed her outburst as some silly attempt at attention-seeking until it became clear that she was adamant this was no joke. We all looked at one another cautiously as we tentatively rose to make our way towards the cloakroom in question.

No sooner had we advanced two or three steps when a rather emaciated looking young heroin addict (maybe only a few years older than myself at the time but who can tell with the heroin ravaged rungs of society?) came staggering out of the cloakroom, hands raised in a submissive gesture repeatedly telling everyone present that they hadn’t stolen anything.

Hmm...not your usual work lunch break scene.

To prove that he was being honest the heroin addict began turning out the pockets of his shell suit to display the contents of what was contained within - a collection of maybe 4 to 5 syringes along with some tin foil.

We all took a couple of steps back creating as much space between ourselves as we could. Nobody knew whether this young lad, despite his compliant behaviour and placid demeanour, might suddenly try to attack us. No one wanted to run the risk of potentially being stabbed with a syringe that might contain infected blood. The potential for contracting HIV infection or hepatitis was not, after all, part of the job description.

The assistant manager, an affable Welshman by the name of John (one of the few people in management - and in the company - who was a genuinely good person), gently informed the young man that he needed to leave and that they weren’t going to call the Police. After all it was clear that although he hadn’t stolen anything he just couldn’t stay there.

The young man was guided, albeit at a safe distance, towards the rear of the warehouse and departed through one of the exits there to God only knows what fate awaited him. He must have snuck through the heavy rubber curtains that separated the entrance corridor to the warehouse quarters from the public facing side of the store looking for somewhere quiet where he could have a fix.

Fortunately for everyone concerned this was an isolated incident but it definitely made staff a lot more wary of going into the warehouse on their own from that point onwards.

Readers Wives

During the summer of ’97 I was working through the summer break from University in my hometown branch of the Wilko’s retail store. It had been over a year since I last worked at the aforementioned food retail store in Hull and I was happy to keep that experience as an increasingly distant memory.

During one afternoon shift Paul, one of the permanent members of staff (a local lad from one of the eastern suburbs of the town), asked me to help him out in the warehouse. I was happy to oblige as Paul was not only easygoing but often had an entertaining story or two to share.

As we entered the warehouse he gestured for me to join him near the receiver’s quarters (where stock deliveries were checked in). Shortly after arriving he laughingly pointed to a picture on the wall noticeboard that was taken from a nearby Readers Wives magazine (those males in the UK of a certain age will likely remember Readers Wives as a softcore pornographic magazine that featured often full body photos of women purported to be the wives of the readers who had mailed them in for publication).The delivery driver who had visited the store earlier with the day's shipment had apparently left this magazine with Paul as something of a joke shared between them.

Some wag, possibly Paul, had drawn an arrow on the noticeboard pointing towards this full page photo spread of a naked middle-aged woman with a caption underneath stating that this was the store supervisor’s wife.

Highly immature but typical of the male mindset in such environments. I imagine this would have been regarded with good humour by the store supervisor as he was ex-Armed Forces and regaled the lads in the store with many stories about his exploits with the ladies (whether true or concocted I have no way of knowing although, like many males, I would suspect that his said exploits consisted of more fiction than actual fact).

Paul and I both went through the magazine laughing at the state of some of the women who were posing for the camera, wondering how they were motivated to bare themselves so shamelessly (assuming that they knew where such photos might be published of course).

I neared the last few pages of the magazine and was completely unprepared for the sight that greeted my eyes - Jules (not her real name), 26 from Hull…the same lady that I had worked with at the food retail store the previous year. The same lady (can I still use that term to describe her after seeing such explicit photographs?) who I enjoyed conversing with during breaks in the workday. The same lady who was good natured, modest and came across as somewhat shy and retiring.

Well, there was definitely nothing modest nor shy and retiring about the photographs that were published in that edition of Readers Wives. Jules was anything but reserved there and I saw a whole new side to her (many sides as it happens) with a level of flexibility that was quite surprising, possibly even eye-watering, in some respects.

It was amazing - even a little over a year later and that food retail store was still managing to contribute to my life in unexpected…and somewhat unsettling ways.

Of all the people in all the places...

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