Video Store Memoirs - part three

When I moved over to the second video store after my first death threat I thought things would get better. Firstly, I was doing quite a bit of writing; secondly, everybody who worked there seemed very nice (including one very pretty girl with huuuuge breasts); thirdly, it was closer to my home and I knew the area well, including all the bars and pubs.

However, I was well into a gambling addiction that I had brought with me from University and racking up debt faster than my (pitiful) salary could cope; secondly, girl with large breasts was already taken and my boss turned out to be a complete fucking ponce who liked to help himself from the tills; thirdly, I was going through a woman drought that was to last another year.

And finally many of the customers were still cunts. Fair enough, a high proportion of them were very pleasant, but a large minority overshadowed them to the point where I felt nothing but despair for myself and the general state of humanity. Plus, I wanted to do the job I trained for at University; I was getting sick of hawking videos to members of the public.

I remember one time that a ten year old child came into the store with his father's membership card and said, "My dad sent me. He wants Striking Distance, Clerks and Showgirls."

All were certificate 18. All were out of the age range of this child and therefore illegal for him to rent. If I was caught giving the child the videos I would be slapped with a thousand pound fine.

"I can't give you these, I'm afraid. You aren't old enough," I said sympathetically. I felt sorry for the kid, he didn't know any better.

"Oh. But they're for my dad."

"I can't do it. I'll be breaking the law and I'll get fined."

"But he's given me permission."

"I know. But, even with permission, I can't do it. I'll get fined and fired and I can't afford either. I'm afraid your dad has to come in and get his own films. Sorry!"

And with that the child went. He didn't make any fuss about it.

However, five minutes later his angry father stormed in and charged up to the counter. "Why wouldn't you serve my son these films?" he demanded angrily, pushing his way in front of several customers in the process of saying it.

"Well, it's illegal."

"I sent him!" he stated emphatically.

"It's still illegal. It can cost me a fortune and my job if I'm caught doing it. And he's also supposed to have his own video card, he can't use yours. I can give him a child's membership card if you like?"

"You fucking jobsworth faggot," came his response. "Just give me my films."

I took his membership card and cut it in half in front of him. "Right, you're banned," I said with calm nonchalance.

Several of the customers in the queue started laughing. The customer, understandably, went apoplectic with rage and made a grab for me across the counter. He was rather surprised when several customers grabbed him, dragged him off the counter and threw him down on the carpet. "What the fuck're you doing?" asked the man as he clambered to his feet and dusted himself down. "You saw what he said to me?"

One customer, a regular who was more intelligent than most, said, "Well, I heard what you said to him."

The guy look nonplussed, as if reaching to beat somebody for not wanting to break the law was the most natural thing in the world. "He called me a cunt," stated the guy, genuinely believing that what he had just said was the truth.

Another regular, an elderly woman who spent most of her meagre pension on videos, said angrily, "No he did not. But you swore at him and tried to beat him up."

Other customers now chimed in with yeahs and barracked the man. He looked more confused than ever, probably in the mistaken belief that he was a working class hero rather than a total cunt. He pointed at me and bellowed, "You. Cunt. You'll fucking get yours."

I nodded. "Okay, thank you, don't come again. Bye!"

He stormed out, slamming the shop door behind him with enough force to crack the glass.

I realised that the longer I worked at this video store the less likely I was to get a job in my chosen profession. I also realised that my temper was getting shorter with family and friends. I just had to leave.