house of happy

Life adventures in prose and verse. Explorations of places, people and words. Stories and fun.

Tuesday, 15 November 2011

Warehouse Golf

I'm standing just inside a large warehouse full of building materials. There should be a man in green overalls here, to help navigate through the endless shelves of Stuff. No sign of him. Instead, more customers arrive and stand politely behind me. A green employee comes to the rescue when he notices the growing queue. He strides in and hollers CHICO, CHEEE-COOOW until the warehouse man appears, disheveled, perched on a thin metal platform where all those house improvement treasures are held. He looks very very small and rather dusty.

The colleague points us in that direction and we all march – still in queue formation – up the narrow stairs and around, gaping in wonder at the shelves, until we reach the man. Close by, he's still small, stooped, serious.

'Say.' - he intones to the first in the queue. That would be me.
'Two rolls of cane sheeting please.' Do not ask me to say that in Spanish please. Once was enough - although they took it without a wince.
He finds the stuff, then takes the order of the second man in the queue (a plumber looking for a small but complex pipe) and the next (wheelbarrow wheel) and the next (sack of something vile) and the next (a sink and a small dustpan). Then we march back down the stairs. The plumber is carrying one of my rolls, the warehouse man another. Old Iberic gallantry in action.

And now to the paperwork.

'Name please'.
'Magnus Wolfe'.
'MAN-GUS', he writes and then, upside down, I see the surname appear:

He hands me the note. It says: 'Two rolls of bamboo sheeting, it says. Put on the account of Mangus Golf.'

I shall admit it: I was a complete disgrace. I blushed and bubbled and fizzed at the edges and finally burst into giggles as I walked off to the checkout.

Behind me, the warehouse man was confused, the waiting queue amused and Mangus Golf himself bemused, as he turned up to load the bamboo rolls into the van.

P.S. I could call him MAN-GO now, and the thought made the day just that little bit brighter.

P.P.S. Or picture him - dark suit, razor-sharp blue gaze above a dry martini, saying: 'It's Golf. Mangus Golf', then downing it in one. Aaah.


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