THE LEGENDARY TALE OF THE “PUTTING CHEESE ON BREAD” SEMINAR

For around a month I had been wasting my break from higher education working in a sandwich factory. After the chocolate factory “unpleasantness” I was keen to avoid confrontation. However £4.60/ hour for standing in a stupid outfit in the freezing fucking cold is hardly a king’s ransom. I found out that should I leave, I was entitled to nothing, however if I was deemed unsiutable the agency had to pay me a full weeks wages. Open Choice Foods were on the verge of collapse and so desperate for staff they never sacked anyone incase they had to ask them back. People were always found "unsuitable", I sensed a plan. There had been several differences of opinion between myself and the management before this. Today however was different.

07:45 I arrive at the cheerily named Open Choice Foods, Inc. The security combination is 1234(this is significant later on). I go upstairs dump my bag on a chair and get an excuse for a hot-chocolate from the Darlek like machine in the canteen.

08:00 Management saunters in and declares I should be downstairs. I sweetly inform her that I don’t start till 8:15 and as its only 08:00 would she be so kind as to fuck off and leave me in peace.

08:02 “Would a few extra minutes work kill you?” I am not pleased, it’s practically the middle of the night and a woman who prides herself on her mango chutney is giving me shit. I lean forward, smile and politely ask “Is that what you said to your husband last night?” She leaves head down, muttering about having something in her eye.

08:10 Pour away my hot-chocolate and proceed downstairs. The security guard is getting a bollocking for forgetting the security combination, which is I remind you 1234. I consider that this is truly a man with no intellectual equals, only superiors. I tell him this, he seems quite upset.

08:15 Let me make something clear; no sandwiches are made until 08:30. First we have to check the conveyor belt is working properly and that all the buckets of food are in the right order. I had previously questioned why the early-bird manager didn’t do this herself. Her reply “I’m here to supervise; I don’t do that sort of thing.”

08:30 And they’re off. 280 cheese, pickle and mango chutney. There are four people to a line. One butters the bread, one puts the cheese on, one puts the pickle on, oh and don’t forget the mango chutney! Then a man, who must be at least 103, comes round and puts them in a machine that puts cling film over them. I spend seven hours a day doing this, I feel like crying!

09:00 Reprieve. I am taken to the back room and reminded that on my form I said I enjoyed working with children. I envision a day looking after the boss’s snotty kids but oh no, I’m making children’s lunchbags.

09:01 I politely enquire what the fuck this has to do with caring for children. “Just think of their smiling faces” is the reply. I make up my mind to put a drawing pin in every other bag.

09:02 And I’ll eat the mini-Mars bar as well, the little bastards.

09:05 I’m stood at a bench in front of me are the ingredients for 500 lunchbags. I have to take a sandwich, some crisps, an apple, a mini-Mars bar and a drink box and put them in a little bag. With a mothering look in her eyes she asks “ Are you sure you’ll be alright with that!” This is to tempting to resist “I am Nutro-man, my mission is to keep the worlds rug rats adequately nourished and safe from my arch enemy Mal Nutrition, come Carbo Boy let’s away!”

09:07 Manager leaves half-way through Superman theme tune.

09:10 Sorry I dozed off for a minute. Decide to put myself on a strict schedule: fifty bags then a cigarette break. Rest of the morning passes quite quickly. Time flies when you’re having fun.

09:11 Making lunchbags

09:30 Cigarette break

09:40 Making lunchbags

10:00 Cigarette break

10:15 Making lunchbags. Cough so hard my ribs strain; decide I will die of lung cancer before I ever get this done. In a moment of inventive malice decide to steal the straw from some of the lunchboxes. Hah hah, how about that Carbo-boy Ribenatron never saw that coming!

11:00 Cigarette break. Cough again; make decision to cut back on cigarette breaks before I am reduced to a spluttering wreck. Flick cigarette at boss’s car, feel better.

11:20 Manager appears quite stressed. Involves me there has been a miscalculation and fifty lunchbags with muffins instead of apples are required. I kindly inform her that when I have finished making all the good apple-loving children smile; I will concentrate on the obese American style bastards. She is not amused. I am ordered to remove apples from fifty apples from the bags I have already done.

11:23 Manager leaves after being questioned in graphic detail on the timing of her menstrual cycle. Well she is clearly behaving erratically. Maybe she should wear a mood ring so people will know?

11:25 Begin removing apples and putting them in the crate provided. This seems a waste, think of a more useful means of disposal.

11:27 Manager runs outside to see who is throwing apples at her office door. Flutter eyelashes and try to look innocent.

11:28 Shit! I am in the “upstairs office” awaiting a disciplinary hearing. I’m strongly reminded of school but decide it is best to keep my mouth shut. They’ll have to sack me now though.

11:50 Leave disciplinary hearing. Confessed to throwing apples at door, abusing senior staff and to having a “clash of personalities with my superior” (superior in what, arse size?) Amazingly, I am still employed although I have been fined two hours wages and reported to my agency.

12:00 I return to my workspace. Tap my feet and head towards canteen. Manager races out of office “Where are you going, you have 200 more to do." I point at my watch “Lunch break, my dear.” “Well you better be back on time ” “Missing you already!”

12:02 Rapid sprint across the road to the Winwick Quay. Guinness, a meal in itself. Well, come on after working in a sandwich factory you think I want fucking sandwiches!

12:35 Return to workspace. “Your five minutes late”. She is informed, that, I returned to work at 12:30. However, due to health and safety I had to wash my hands, put on an apron, some gloves and some paper shoes. This took five minutes therefore I am not late. After a minute of silence she replies “You’re going back to the freezer room!”

12:36 I am informed I’m in charge of the cheese. I fake admiration as I am handed a spreader.

12:37 Part two of the day begins. I am still employed. They are either desperate for staff or just immune to abuse. Most of the ordinary staff love me as they have long wanted to abuse management with such flair and vigour.

13:10 I notice the new girl is on the line next to me. I lean over and whisper in here ear “I see dead people ”. She looks confused but continues to work. I sense a way to relieve the boredom.

13:15 I try again. “I see dead people. They haunt me.”

13:30 After twenty minutes she starts to giggle. The manager walks past and catches me. I am told to stop distracting other staff. “Sorry miss”

13:45 I’m minding my own business, think I’ll wait for tomorrow to terminate my employment. All of a sudden comes a gold-lined opportunity. The manager looks down with her best headmistress look and tells me “YOU’RE PUTTING THAT CHEESE ON WRONG!”

13:46 I take a deep breath, try and keep my temper but it’s no use. The smug, self-satisfied, superior look on her face evaporates any self-restraint I have. “OH SHIT YOU’RE RIGHT!!!! I MISSED THE PUTTING CHEESE ON FUCKING BREAD SEMINAR LAST WEEK – COULD YOU LEND ME THE NOTES. BETTER YET, SHOW ME THE RIGHT WAY TO DO IT!”

13:47 She looks staggered, hurt, shocked as her authority slips away. She opens and closes her mouth like a goldfish. Stares at me, as if hoping I’ll melt under her gaze then turns and leaves the room. John, the Scotsman next to me shakes my hand. “She’ll never be the same, you shut her right up. Well done, son. I owe you a whiskey.”

13:55 I am called to head office. This time they have to sack me. She deserved it, I tell myself. I’m taken straight inside she looks upset but vindicated. I’m asked to take a seat. The boss asks me to explain.

14:02 Surprised myself by sounding reasonable. Carol (the Manager) admits she can sometimes be over critical, the boss(Warren) nods approvingly. I feel a group hug coming on, the thought makes me nauseous.

14:03 “So have you anything to say about your conduct.” I realise I could still save my job. I think about the room below, the hero-worship I would receive is appealing. The thought of a mutual relationship with Carol isn’t. “I see dead people.”

14:07 Warren and Carol are shocked! The group atmosphere is rapidly deteriorating. Warren leans forward “You are clearly not taking this situation seriously. That is not a valid comment. We will have to place you on probation!”

14:08 “Nah mate. I see dead people I don’t kill them.” Finally, a result. “You’re fired, do you have anything to say about your conduct.” I could still save this; it is tempting to see just how far I can push my luck. But no I hate it here, “Did you know the decline in Spiro graph has been proportionally linked to the rise in gang-related activity.”

14:10 I am being asked to leave and security is called to escort me to the door. “What for”, I enquire “ in case I steal some mango chutney!” The security guard is the same one who forgot the code earlier. “What’s the point in sending him with me, I’ll only have to bring him back when he gets lost.” My work done I leave peaceably, stopping only to ask the new girl if she wants to come for a drink. Result! 14:12 The guard announces he's going to count to ten. " Ooh, you show off!" “1-2-3-4.” I shout “That’s it hold that thought. 1234 that’s how to get back in.” I decide to leave and prop up the bar at Smithy’s with the extra £150 I earned. On my return to the agency I was indeec told I had been deemed "unsuitable" for the placement. I was offered tp return to the factory, I politley infromed them I wopuld rather pour Dettol into my jap's eye. I was told there would be a suitable placement for me the following Wednesday. I left with a full weeks wages, and proceeded to the bar at Smithy's. Tradition demands taht when a man looses his employmenty, he must drink golden liquid and go all red in the face. I am a great believer in tradition.