‘The Horrors of Kwiksave’ is a candid recollection of my memories working at Kwiksave (the now-defunct discount supermarket chain) as a 'Stock Lad'.
I wasted over FOUR years of my life in this maggot-infested hellhole and still occasionally wake up drenched in sweat after enduring a nightmare in which I am working there still.
Some of the names have been slightly changed simply to save my arse in case anyone takes offence at some of the details regarding my facts or opinions.
Many of the people mentioned are now dead as this happened so long ago, but their siblings are not.
This is the 'HIVE Special Edition' of a multi-part autobiographical story (with a little over-embellishment on some of the details) I posted on STEEM over 3 years ago.
It contains a LOT more detail and content than the original and will fill in many gaps that were missed the first time around.
Other Articles in this Series:
Chapter One: A Prelude to the Best Job in the Land
Chapter Two: The Job Centre
Chapter Three: The Interview
Chapter Four: Christmas is Coming
Chapter Five: The Changing of the Blades
Chapter Six: The Staff
Chapter Seven: The Auxiliary Staff and The Load
Chapter Eight: The Sugar Maniac
Chapter Nine: The Accusation and "Big Lad"
Chapter Ten: Naggy
Chapter Eleven: Shit & Noise
Chapter Twelve: The Death of Mort
Chapter Thirteen: The Time of Many Managers
Chapter Fourteen: The Calm before the Storm
Chapter Fifteen: David Dire
Chapter Sixteen: Bad Totty
Chapter Seventeen: Tracy, The Wild One
Chapter Eighteen: 'Buff-It-up'
Chapter Nineteen: The Demise of Ian Banks
Chapter Twenty: The Date (Part One)
Chapter Twenty One: The Date (Part Two)
‘Some kids are best left to fend for themselves, and others were born to stack shelves’ – Steven Wilson
Chapter Twenty Two: Dire's Lunge
'WARNING: BAD LANGUAGE BELOW'
Life at Kwiksave was not getting any better. I had finished my ‘Summer of Love’ with Barbara and now the relationship was six months old.
That romantic period doesn’t last and though we were still doing well, the British winter was set in and making everybody thoroughly gloomy and depressed.
Dire had taken an unwarranted dislike to me and for what reason? Did he want to shag all the new checkout girls that were fresh out of school?
By now, he knew that Barbara and I were an item, and that didn't go down well. I could see the pure contempt written on his pale, yellow-tinged frog-eyed mush every day.
Was he going through some mid-life crisis? Why didn’t he fancy Welder’s new chick, was it because she didn’t work in his turd-filled hellhole, was not good-looking enough, not skinny enough?
Source
...'Welder's bird was geeky and not bad at all, in fact I would have given her one. It didn't last long'...
I had congratulated Welder some time ago for snagging his latest prize. She wasn’t bad at all, though why she would want to deep-throat with my pungent comrade who had not bathed in several months was beyond me.
Welder was now the unofficial head stock lad and tasked with prestigious tasks such as accompanying Dire to the local post office as a 'bodyguard'.
With a chained briefcase, and no protective helmet such as the 'Securicor' vans yielded, it was a risky undertaking and definitely not part of the shelf-filling contract Welder had agreed upon.
A couple of thugs with baseball bats would have left both Dire and Welder in hospital, and the benefactors a briefcase of money covered in purple dye. That was the deterrent, though the would-be thugs didn’t know this.
Source
...'Kwiksave were a mean tight-arse company who placed their staff at risk without protection. At the time it didn't occur to me, the risk of being beaten around the head for a case of cash'...
Welder was also given a board and pen to undertake stocktaking duties. I remember the envy I felt at seeing this for the first time. Welder had barely the IQ to converse, never mind write anything.
Welder was a keen drinker and that placed him in great stead with Dire who regularly downed eight pints of Mild every evening. They say relationships are created in the pub, and this was very true in the early to mid 1980s.
It was all getting insufferable. I, the original Stock Lad, without motivation, with attitude, and an extra poor work ethic was getting overlooked while Welder and Dire could often be seen smiling and joking around.
Source
...'Welder had been promoted from a lowly YTS to 'Head Stock Lad' with all it's privileges, what fucking privileges?'...
I couldn't hold any personal contempt for Welder. We were still a team, suffering in low-paid slavery but unlike him, I couldn't lick the boss's arse. At my personal expense, I have never attained to be a sycophant in any position, past or present.
Kwiksave must have disagreed with the YTS scheme as we were to see no new low-paid grunts join. Perhaps the tales of abuse, shit conditions, and overbearing managers had reached the ears of the YTS management.
The Kwiksave staff did not have an official 'Christmas do', they just went to the pub at a set time and started drinking until everyone was pissed or out of money.
This particular ‘do’ was at a pub named the Bishops Blaze. It seemed to be a regular haunt whenever there was a reason to congregate after work hours.
Source
...'Mild..., Dire's preferred beer. You drink this rancid piss when your system can't handle Lager or even Bitter'...
I was standing there with Barbara watching everyone get slowly pissed. At the age of 20, I was not a big drinker and would violently barf if I overstepped my personal threshold of 3 pints.
Dire was in his element, belly protruding in a statement of fertility and manliness. He was hassling all the checkout girls for kisses much to the dismay of his smouldering wife, 'Marge' who was standing in the shadows looking to explode at a minute's notice.
I remember seeing the dismay on the girls' faces. This 45-year-old bloke, weighing in around 20 stones, with sweat beads emanating from his deathly pallor forcing his way onto women a lot younger than himself.
'Barbara, come here.. over here', he swaggered and slurred not waiting for an answer.
Dire lunged at my girlfriend and jammed his tongue down her throat. She was 16 at the time. I turned away nauseated and caught a glimpse of ‘’Marge’ who now had visible steam lines erupting from her head.
Source
...'Marge was Dire's long suffering wife. She had a high-pitched nauseating shrieking voice and used to scream... 'Davidddddd...' when she entered the Kwiksave store. She made it very clear by the withering looks in my direction about what she thought of me'...
Did we connect for a moment? No, Marge hated me for the reason her husband did. No fucking reason at all.
Barbara hastily backed off and shuffled back over to me looking a little sheepish. She had little choice; it was the kiss or the door.
My contempt for 'Dire the Corpulent' grew that evening to heights I never thought possible.
To be continued...
Cover Picture is a combination of free sources from here and here, combined and edited with Luminar 4. Any unsourced images are my own.
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