Wednesday, October 15, 2014
“Si’down,” the security guard said, throwing me on to the plastic chair in the middle of an office. The chair sat opposite a desk. I stumbled a bit, and then stood up straight, defiant. The security guard raised an eyebrow and then peered through her glasses perched on her nose.
“Hmm.”“What? I aint got nuffin on me.”
“Sit,” she said again.
Rolling my eyes, I plonked myself down onto the chair.
“Do you know where you are?” she asked, closing the door behind her and stepping behind the desk.
“Waitrose. For fucks sake I’m not thick.”
“Could’a fooled me.”
“Look can we just get on with this yeah,” I said, shifting in the chair. It was small and uncomfortable.
“Very well, then,” the security guard said, placing her hands on the desk and folding them. “Name?”
“John?” She scoffed.
“Yeah John,” I sniffed, “Why not?” I said, watching as she rolled her eyes. I grinned. “Or you could call me Johnny, John boy – I’m not fussed.”
“How about prat,” came a male voice from the door. I craned my neck to see who had just come in but all I could see was the profile of his face. The man was relatively short, white, with dark blonde curly hair. From what I could see, he looked like the prat to me.
“Good one, Ron,” said the dickguard. I groaned. I had heard stories about this guy. Devon had said that he once had the shit beat out of him by a manager named Ron. Another mate, Kat, said he hunts down thieves himself. You don’t wanna get caught by that one, she had said. “What did you steal?,” he said, stopping my thoughts dead. Back to business.
“Nothing,” I said, “I was already searched, I got nothing on me.” This time, I added in my head.
“Nah I’m not talking about today,” Ron said. He was still behind me – pacing, it was staring to freak me out. “I’m talking about the last time you were here.”
“What?” I said feigning ignorance.
“Don’t fucking play about. I’ve seen you here before, and people like you don’t come in here to shop, you come in here to steal –“
“Racial profiling,” I muttered under my breath.
The guard laughed. “You’re fucking white, you numpty.”
“Shut up,” Ron said, placing his hands on the back of the chair. I fought the urge to turn around. “I’m gonna ask you again. What did you nick?”
I rolled my eyes, fed up with the games, now. “Wines, obvs.”
“Which ones?” Ron asked, removing his hand from the back of the chair.
“Dunno, just wines.” I said, feeling more and more uneasy by the second.
“Well yeah,” I snorted.
He started to laugh, then. A big arrogant laugh as though he were laughing at what I just said. This man was such a tosser. I had had enough. I turned my head to the side to catch a glimpse of him. Suddenly I felt a blow to my cheek, swift and strong. It knocked me right out of my seat. I stumbled, dazed and ready to fight back, my fists drunkenly making circles in the air. Another punch, this time in my stomach, winded me. Another punch landed on the other side of my face. I dropped down to the floor. One more kick – right in the nuts – almost had me tearing up. I fought to breath right again, every breath feeling like another stab in all the places he hit me. Fucking hell the rumours were true. These people were crazy! A man couldn’t walk around suspiciously without ending up half dead on the street. My theory was confirmed when the guard got up and walked around the desk and chuckled.
“Good that’s what you get.” She walked out of the room. Ron rolled up his sleeves.
“Don’t fucking come back,” he said, as he dragged me up by my shirt.
One more punch and I was out.