A Load of Balls

A bank. I work here. A colleague and I sneak in trying to avoid an early morning Customer. We just manage to avoid them. Inside two black dogs are fighting, their jaws unable to bite one another.

The bank becomes a sports shop. Footballs are everywhere. We joke about the business being a load of balls. The owner calls, his son is coming over, I am the new manager. My friend, and a strange hybrid snake-dog creature struggle to get the shop prepared. I hang up some football shirts. They are black with neon panels, with text about making plastic crap and exporting it to the developing world, because that’s just what they need.

The owners son arrives. He’s joined by other staff, all wearing the same hideous shirts. One is blue skinned, another grey. I banter with them, asking if he’s in the blue man group, his grey friend laughs, I ask if he has argyria.

A woman is snooping near the open cash drawer, I ask if she needs assistance. The owners son laughs, I’ve passed the test.

I’m amazed that such basic skills are all it takes to work here.



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