Video Store Memoirs 6

The reason I left the video store was because of a holiday in Spain with my family.

The holiday was great for many reasons (a Spanish woman giving me my first ever experience of deep-throating being a major one) but the sole reason was I was able to cast off my problems for two weeks. Problems that sat upon my shoulders like the earth upon those of Atlas; problems, that in all honesty, I really should have let slide.

I didn't have to deal with false store alarm calls from the security company; fuckwitted troglodyte customers ruining my day with their ignorance; the dreary Northern town that I had to live in and last - but not least - my sense of total failure as a human being: failure because I was still unable to pursue the career that I had trained for at university.

The sun of the Costa del Sol, the cheap food and beer, the siesta lifestyle, the beauty of its women - all these things alerted me to a life far beyond the confines of a ludicrous video store.

These factors meant far more than worrying about debts and dealing with what was ultimately a job. The video was a job, not a career, and as such I knew I could walk away from it any moment I chose. And when I returned to England that was the moment I chose to hand in my notice.

Somewhat surprisingly my boss looked disappointed when I told him. He was even more disappointed when the top-brass told me I had to leave that day - give my keys to the boss, clean my shit out of the store and vanish forthwith! They didn't want me to work my notice, and would pay me double that week's salary and what was left of my holiday time to leave the place immediately.

Later, one of the part-timers told me the reason why. 'Some customer came in threatening to slit your throat.'

'What?' I asked, thinking back to the reason why I left the previous store. 'Was he a young guy?'

'No! Middle aged. He was a fat, bald loud-mouthed prick.' I knew immediately who he meant: a wife-beating psycho I had an argument with a couple of months before.

'So! Why's G___ disappointed?'

'Because he told the guy what night you were back in the store.'

I laughed without amusement and said bitterly, 'That sneaky fucking cunt.'

Before I left the store I asked my boss why this man was after me. G___ sneered. 'He said you called his wife a fucking whore.'

'I might not like the customers very much but I've never called any of them a fucking whore.'

'Why don't you explain it to him?'

'You'd like that, wouldn't you?'

My boss shrugged and said innocently, 'Whatever do you mean?'

'You told him what night I was in, G____.'

My boss turned white, casting a look at the part-timer who had snitched on him. 'I didn't...'

'I don't care any more,' I said, handing him the keys. 'I'm off to better things.'

I walked out of the store without another word. And that, as they is say, is that.

I never went back to the store, although I did have infrequent drinks with the part-timers every now and then. I never asked the company for a reference. And I was working in my chosen profession within a couple of months of leaving.

Spain was the push I needed.