My workplace ..

'Where's Dave!? He's due in first thing ti open up. Lazy fucker's no turned up. He'll be swingin' the lead again. That's it! Am done wi' this shit hole. Two security for six floors. Fuckin' mental. Chrismiss, tae'.

Wee Deek ran as fast as his hoppity-hop gammy leg could manage. He was meant to be in the camera room today. Nice an' easy, like. One bloodshot eye on the fuzzy screen, the other on Twitface. He had a total of four friends now. Very addictive and totally rewarding it was too.

'Mornin', gorgeous. How's ma favourite thief catcher the day'.

That Denny was a real stoater. A bit of a cock tease, but good fur the soul.

'Mornin' dawl. Yer in ma safe hands the day. Am in charge, so you keep them sticky manicured mits oot the till, an' dae pulenty o' bend over the tables, mind. Keeps me awake, them do. Ha ha '

Deek was three minutes late. The staff were busy counting out noisily then chucking their float in, ready for another heady day of endless questions about washing instructions, country of origin, length of cuff, sleeve girth, return policy, 'where's the rest room', baby changing facilities, Scottish shortbread, buy and collect, bow ties, hamper collection. Endless answers to have for the endless visitors questions asked all day long.

The creaking, squeaking giant metal shutters disappeared to leave a bank of watch tapping regular coffee drinkers ready to sprint into the aromatic fancy double barrelled caffeine dispensing area. Growling their displeasure of impatience was a normal occurrence lately. Must get to the bottom of the Dave business. Wee Deek had more 'friends' to seek out. And. The staff could bloody well take care of the shop floor. Why should he be responsible for it all.

He dragged open the 'keep out, no shop staff allowed' door into the scruffy but peaceful camera room. That was a joke. There was too much merchandise out now. Pile 'em high makes for many a place to crouch an' swipe. Stupid head office arse holes. Never worked a day in their lives. What do they know about shoplifters.

Wee Deek picked up his cold, congealing jumbo sausage roll. Biting into it, he wiped the crumbling pastry off the 'no eating or drinking on duty' sign on the desk. Where the fuck was that Dave's telephone number. Suppose l have to get him oot his scratcher. Twitface was bleepin', but that'd have to wait.

'Hullo. Whaes there. Who? Aw. It's you, Deek. Am no very well. Got sare baw bag. Naw, ya cheeky cunt, it's no fi' hur in Falkirk. She's awrite. Clean as a whistle. Naw a telt yi, am no comin' in. Might be the big C. Dinny you go spreadin' it aboot. It's ma personal business, like. A canny walk up stairs. Jist oan flat surface. It's agony, man. You keep yer mooth shut tho, or else'.

Dave had hung up. Wee Deek hadn't said but two words. Wait till the stock boys heard about this.

Opening his new smartphone, Deek tapped his podgey, greasy fingers on the screen. A bright image popped up. Wonder how many 'friends' would comment on what HE had just found out ..