Hot Shop

Hot Shop

Copyright Oggbashan September 2016

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

It was another of those hot, humid summer evenings that make people wish for a thunderstorm to clear the air. I was sweating in my uniform suit, nylon shirt and polyester tie, standing behind the shop counter waiting for the last customer to finish her shopping.

The shop should have closed five minutes ago.

"I'm sorry Malcolm. This bloody uniform was the straw that broke the camel's back for me. I enjoyed working for you, but I hated wearing these."

Chloe handed me the carrier bag containing her three uniform dresses. It was heavy, nearly as heavy as my heart. She had changed in the store room and was now wearing a light shift dress.

"Thank you, Chloe," I said, putting the carrier bag behind the counter.

"I'm sorry..."

"I'm sorry too, Malcolm. If only... But," Chloe looked at her watch, "since five minutes ago you are no longer my boss."

I would have replied. My reply was lost as she kissed me full on the mouth.

+++

Chloe had been a good employee, a hard worker, and I would miss her. What made me feel worse was that her departure was so unnecessary.

She was leaving, not to improve herself, but to take a similar shop worker's job in the next town. Unlike walking to work when she was working for me, she would have to take a bus and pay the fares. For what? The same job at the same pay. She would be out of pocket after the move.

I had written several times to the Mohan brothers who owned the company asking for the uniform to be changed. They hadn't taken my request seriously. I knew I hadn't been their only manager to complain but I was the only one who had put my concerns in writing. My career was at risk. They didn't like managers who rocked the boat as I had been told forcefully at my last meeting.

The Mohans weren't poor businessmen. They had considerable skills, perhaps their strength was finding profitable opportunities in locations that their competitors hadn't considered. They had an eye for an up and coming area, a good shop position away from the High Streets, and they took risks on younger managers and staff. But they wouldn't take on anyone permanently. All the staff were employed for less than a year, fired and reemployed a week later. We were all on a week's notice on either side. I thought that was a stupid policy. They risked losing good staff to anyone who offered a better deal.

Chloe had been the only experienced full time shop assistant I had. Her knowledge had helped me, as a management trainee in charge of my first store. I had relied on her for the first few months.

Most of the other shop assistants were willing but inexperienced and too young. I had to be on duty for longer than I needed too because so many were under 18 and unable to process alcohol sales. Alcohol sales were a major contribution to our turnover because the brothers bought cheap labels. They could be sold at a considerable mark up yet still usually less than the major supermarkets except when they were doing loss-leader promotions.

Apart from me, Chloe had been the only full time employee over eighteen. The other two adults were part timers and I couldn't get enough hours from them to keep at least one by the checkouts.

I had lost Chloe just because the company uniform was heavy nylon, which was too hot to wear in the summer. All of us sweated like pigs as soon as the temperature rose. The check out locations didn't help. They caught any sun. Even in winter a bright sun could make the check outs uncomfortable.

The Mohan brothers wouldn't change the uniform to cotton, polycotton, or anything cooler. They wouldn't relocate the checkouts nor install shading, nor air conditioning. I asked them to put a security grill on the back door to allow air to move through the store. They declined. Their business model was to keep costs at a minimum even if that meant their staff turnover was high. As soon as a school leaver had a minimum of experience, they would apply for any other shop that treated them better.

The only capital they had invested in the last two years had been a major upgrade to the CCTV system after the front shop window had been broken early in the morning on three consecutive Saturday nights. Even then that was at the insistence of their insurance company. The CCTV had caught the individual, a local drunk, who smashed several shop windows every weekend when the night club threw him out -- again. Our shop window was the first unprotected one on his way from the night club. We had a security grill INSIDE the window. That didn't protect the glass, only the stock.

Why did I stay? I was grateful to them for taking me on the day after I had been made redundant from my specialist job in financial services. Hundreds of us lost jobs that week and competition for the handful of vacancies with our former competitors was fierce. My income had been pathetic as a trainee but reasonable as a manager if much less than in finance.

I had intended the shop manager's role as a temporary stop gap until I could get back into finance. But I could walk 100 yards to work from my flat that had turned from an asset to a worrying burden as soon as I had received the redundancy notice. I had bought it at auction in a derelict state. It was a disused shop with accommodation above. The shop was in the wrong place to trade successfully but eventually I could turn the whole building into a detached house with gardens front and back. With my previous salary I could afford to live in a rented flat while I paid the builders to work on the structural repairs.

Redundant, I couldn't afford rent and the builders or the repayments on the commercial loan I had taken out to buy the property. If I was living in the flat, and it was habitable, I could change the loan to a standard mortgage.

The shop manager's job was a godsend. I hadn't needed to use my redundancy money for living expenses but for the builders. I was close to the flat, close enough for the builders to drop in with any queries, and I had no travelling time. If I wasn't working at the shop I could be improving the flat.

I was still in touch with my former colleagues. Some were jealous of my lack of travelling time. Others weren't impressed with my long hours and relatively poor income.

Three months after starting the manager's job my flat was finished enough for me to camp out there, cease renting, and have a target of changing to a mortgage within six months.

But that happened two years ago. The whole flat had been finished eighteen months ago at a lower cost than my estimate because of all the work I had been able to do myself. The loan had gone, replaced by a mortgage that was a third of the current valuation. The shop downstairs was still disused, still technically a commercial property but currently exempt from business rates because it was empty. I had a secure home, was living well within my income even though that was a fraction of my previous earnings, and could expect to own my home outright within five years.

But there had been a cost. A social cost. Two years of my life had gone while I spent all my waking hours between the shop and work on the flat. I had no face to face contacts with people except at work. My only friend had been Chloe. And she was leaving me.

"Wait, Chloe, please," I said as I turned to an amused middle-aged woman customer, one of our regulars who came in several times a week.

I finished with the customer.

"Thank you," I said.

"No, Malcolm," the customer replied. "You should thank Chloe."

The customer walked out leaving us alone in the shop. I turned the sign to Closed and switched off the outside lighting.

"She's right, you know," Chloe said.

"I know. I owe you a lot. Without you I'd have been fired at the end of the first month."

"I don't mean about work," Chloe retorted. "You would have managed that without my help. You could do this manager's job better than the other managers even when half-asleep. Sometimes you did."

"You have been a great friend, Chloe," I said. "Sometimes I think you kept me sane when I was working too hard."

"And you did the same for me when I broke up with that worthless arsehole of a boyfriend. You covered for me when I was falling apart, listened to my ranting and raving, and helped me through a bad time."

"He was an arsehole, wasn't he?"

"Yes. The only thing I regret is that it took me so long to see through him."

"He seemed decent enough when I first met him, Chloe."

"He seemed. But he was a worthless parasite. I ran up significant debts picking up after him. He promised marriage and we were saving for a deposit on a house. But he was draining the joint account faster than I could earn. When I got the letter from the bank saying our savings account was overdrawn..."

"I remember, Chloe. I pushed you into the stock room because you were swearing too much."

"And you locked the door on me!"

"Only for five minutes."

"I wish you had locked yourself in there with me. I wanted a shoulder to cry on."

"You got that. Later. When we closed the shop. With you locked in the stock room I was the only one on duty."

"Duty! You should think more about yourself, Malcolm, and less about your duty to the Mohans."

"Possibly. But that's the way I've always been. I have to do my job properly."

"I know. The youngsters look up to you, and learn responsibility, commitment and become reliable."

"Of course they do. That's part of my task as a manager, to make the staff as good as they can be."

"Which is why I took so long to decide to leave, Malcolm. If it wasn't for that bloody hot uniform..."

"I don't blame you. It is stupid not to change it. It wouldn't cost much but would do a lot for staff morale."

"And I'd still be working for you."

"But you aren't."

With those words I made the decision I had been delaying for months.

"And since you aren't, Chloe, can I invite you out, for a meal, perhaps?"

Chloe's answer was another long kiss.

I shut the store and we walked out into the hot evening air, hand in hand. My other hand held the carrier bag with her discarded uniform. Her rented flat was only a hundred yards beyond mine. I walked her to the building's front door. Chloe lifted our joined hands.

"You're sweaty, Malcolm. So am I. We're both tired. I think we should wait a few days for a date. I want to be with you as a friend, but I'd like us to be feeling clean and cool. I know. Next Sunday evening would be good. You will have shut the shop at four and I'll be home by five at the latest."

"Next Sunday sounds good, Chloe. What do you want us to do?"

"Just relax together, Malcolm. I'd like to find out how you've coped without me for a week, and tell you how the new job works out. Could you come here at six? I'll make a meal for us."

"You're sure, Chloe?"

"Yes. We can decide what to do for the next time."

There would be a next time? That sounded great. I would have responded but Chloe's lips silenced my reply.

"Until Sunday, Malcolm."

Chloe went through the front door leaving me excited and breathless. Chloe and I knew each other well from working together for so long. Apart from the time she had broken up with her previous boyfriend we had been colleagues and friends but there had been no sexual contact between us. Now I had the memory of the kisses in the shop and the one Chloe had just given me. They had meant more to me than I had expected. Sunday would be a long time coming. Chloe was right, as she often was. We needed a break to stop being manager and employee and start again as friends.

+++

The thought of being with Chloe next Sunday evening was all that kept me sane during the week. I had to be in the shop all the hours it was open from seven in the morning until seven at night. The Mohans sent me a few potential employees to replace Chloe. Two were underage. I needed a shop assistant over 18 years of age so that they could sell alcohol. Two were only interested in part-time work and I needed a full time person. The only possible person walked into the hot store and said "I couldn't work here. I'd have a permanent heat rash." She was right. She was uncomfortable after only five minutes in that heat.

The local job centre sent me their usual sad long term unemployed. All they wanted from me was a written statement that they had attended for interview. That statement would keep them on benefit for the next three months. I had a pre-written letter in Word. I just filled in their name and the day/time, printed it, signed it and they left. They were unemployable because of various issues including drug and alcohol habits. I felt sorry for some of them but they would be useless as shop staff, and they knew it.

The heat wave continued all week. As soon as I got home I stripped, put today's uniform in the washing machine and had a cool shower. The suit trousers and jacket were machine washable. They had to be. They were soaked with sweat by midday. I had added Chloe's last uniform dress to the first wash. The other two had been in another bag inside the carrier bag she had handed to me. They were scented as she had been on arrival each morning, clean and fresh. I had hung the washed dress on a hanger in the kitchen. Every time I noticed it I was reminded of Chloe. I should fold it up and put it with the other two. I kept delaying. Eventually I took all three to the shop on Tuesday morning to be collected by the delivery van.

I was missing Chloe as an employee. I had relied on her to be there, to be competent, and to deal with whatever the customers threw at her. She knew the kids who might try shoplifting sweets and the old ladies who 'forgot' items they had put in their handbags. Some of the older part-timers were as good, when they were there, but for hours each day I had a youngster as my only assistant.

I was missing Chloe as a friend too. We could talk about anything and everything. We liked the same things and after years together we seemed to know what each other was thinking.

Every time I sat down for a lonely breakfast or evening meal I could see where Chloe's uniform dress had hung. It reminded me of what I had lost when she resigned her job. It wasn't the uniform. That was the cause of her leaving. I was missing the woman who had kept me sane in a boring and stressful job. The other staff were missing her too. They had to work longer hours until she could be replaced. In the heat of the shop they were becoming more irritable and they knew why. Chloe had escaped. Why shouldn't they?

+++

On Thursday evening I was drafting yet another email complaining about the heat in the shop and the uniforms. I suggested that we might lose more employees than Chloe if nothing was done. I had an unexpected email from one of my old managers from the finance industry. I saved the draft to look at the new email. Could he come to see me on Saturday evening? He suggested a nearby hotel at eight. I replied agreeing to be there. If nothing else it would be a distraction from my frustration at the shop. I'd have to move fast to close the shop and clean myself up by eight but that was feasible.

I went back to the draft email to the Mohans. The new email had reminded me that I used to be a valued employee whose opinions were listened to, and often acted upon. The brothers' view of me was that I was a complaining nuisance. I changed the draft, making my views even stronger. I hit the send button in anger.

I went into Word and drafted an undated resignation letter detailing why I could no longer work for the brothers. I wouldn't send it but writing it relieved my feelings of frustration at their indifference to their employees. As I saved the document I looked again at where Chloe's dress had been. She had made the job bearable. Now, without her, it wasn't. Should I really resign? I needed an income but there must be other jobs I could do, even as a shop manager.

+++

I checked my email on Friday morning. My old manager had acknowledged receipt of my reply. I had nothing from the brothers. The weather forecast was for hot and humid, the worst sort of day for standing at the till. I would have two part-time youngsters today. If I wasn't at the till I would have to be close to it to authorise any sales of age-restricted products. A nearby shop had recently had their licence suspended and been fined for selling alcohol to teenagers. That meant that our shop would be the teenagers' next target.

By two o'clock I had prevented two under age sales of alcohol. One of the teenagers presented a crudely forged ID card. I kept it and told him not to come back. He grumbled but left.

In the final hour of opening there were six more attempts including one by a just adult trying to buy for the teenagers waiting outside. I had seen and heard the conversation on the CCTV. I told him that he could be arrested and fined because of the CCTV. He left the shop hurriedly and the teenagers dispersed, perhaps to try another shop.

Why do they try so close to home? I see them in their school uniforms twice a day and they expect me to believe they are nineteen a couple of hours later? The school doesn't have a sixth form so they are fifteen or at most sixteen years old. The local sixth form students are more difficult. Some might be eighteen, but again I know all of them. Chloe would have done too. But the young assistants could be bullied into selling alcohol if I wasn't around.

When I shut the shop I was missing Chloe again. It took longer without her experience with the accounts.

At home I showered before checking my email again. No response from the brothers. All I had received was spam.

On Saturday morning I still had no response from my employers. At work Muriel, one of the older part-timers, was unhappy at the continuing heat. She muttered about leaving for a job where she didn't melt every day. She is slightly overweight and was sweating profusely by eleven in the morning. She left at one o'clock, the end of her shift, saying that Chloe had made the right decision. If I lost Muriel as well I would have real problems trying to do the accounts and stock ordering. I couldn't be on the till all day every day.

I was fortunate that the last hour was quiet. I could lock the shop five minutes after the closing time, go home, shower and shave, and walk to the hotel with time to spare. I met Ralph, my former manager, in the bar. He bought me a cold lager. I enjoyed that lager but I enjoyed the hotel's air conditioning even more.

He suggested that we ate at the hotel while we discussed what he wanted to see me about. I accepted gratefully. It would be a change from yet another micro-waved meal.

Ralph came to the point over the starter. He and four former colleagues, all much senior to me, had seen a gap in the financial services market that they knew they could exploit. They were in the process of setting up a company as a wholly owned entity of their current employers. What they and their employers needed were two things. The first was someone to be the first and initially the only employee of the new company. That would demonstrate that it had an independent existence. The second was a base which could be the company's registered office.

One of the other four had suggested me. He knew where I was working and that I owned a shop front which had an apparently prestigious address. He was right. My address is No. 1 in a long street and just within a highly sought after postal district. The other end of that street has expensive shops and restaurants. That area is nearly two miles away from the down-market end where I live, but the district is the same. My address sounds much better than it is.