I Like To Move It, Move It

My supervisor’s supervisor started doling out the words ‘head office’, ‘management’ and ‘London’ like an older, popular kid with flash lollipops. He kept using his hands like people do when they really love the sound of their own voices. Like reinforcing how much what they say totally matters. How needy do you have to be to take that sort of shit seriously? I mean, what? You do a job and your ‘reward’ is to prop up the ego of someone who thinks they’re more powerful than you by wetting yourself about being ‘given an opportunity’ to try and become just like them at some point in the future if you don’t shit them about? Whooppee shit. I listened to him twat on about ‘the mission statement’ and then I told him I didn’t think I was ready to handle that sort of responsibility yet and he looked thrilled, as if I’d just cravenly sucked one of his lollipops until he told me he was satisfied and I could stop.

When I got back outside the homeless bloke was still playing his whistle. Same bars of the same tune. I looked into his face. There was a white crust around his mouth like you get from total dehydration. So I say to him, ‘Hey man, do you want a drink?’

He takes the whistle out of his mouth and looks, I don’t know, sort of scared.

‘Not whiskey. I get a bit funny on whiskey.’

There’s one of those chicken shops further along the road with a big, bold, welcoming FCK stamped on the front of it. Underneath the letters is printed Friendly Chicken Kitchen. Lame. So I go in and ask for a large Sprite.

The woman at the till glares at me. She’s got a badge pinned onto her massive chest which reads, Comfort. Then she tosses her head and calls behind her over the metal wall of drink machines and fryers.

‘I need cups.’

Exactly nothing happens exact Comfort keeps on glaring at me.

‘I aks him to get me the cups and he go to do something else,’ she says totally loudly but I don’t think to me.

‘Denee, Denee. I aks Francisco for some cups an hour ago and he go away.’

A voice calls back with laughter in it.

‘You want me to get you some cups?’

‘I jus want somebody to get me some cups for the gentleman.’

Comfort looks at me and rolls her eyes.

A gleaming dude suddenly appears behind the counter holding a small tower of cups. He travels backwards towards Comfort doing some sort of moon walk and shaking his arse in his tight nylon trousers, singing, ‘I like to move it, move it. I like to move it. Move it.’

In time to his last words, he booty bumps Comfort who is thrown forward and so that her name badge rattles up against her till.

‘You want cups?’

‘Franciso, I aks you for something and I wait to Christmas. Tss.’

Comfort snatches the cups from the dude and jams one under the Sprite nozzle.

So I take it back to the homeless bloke who’s stopped playing his whistle. I reach down to hand the cup to him and then I see something so weird that a sort of strangled noise comes out of my throat and nose.

He’s got a Queen of Hearts playing card stuck on the front of his shabby jacket, on the left hand side of his chest.

I look up at his face and his eyes are really blue in contrast to his grimy and weathered skin.

‘You looking at the Queen, son,’ he says and nods and starts to draw on the straw punctured through the lid of his Sprite.