With the suit issue resolved, I got dressed, left the house and walked to the bus stop. My plan for the day was to head into town and visit the library so I could scan a few books on interview techniques; something our school curriculum had failed to furnish us with. The bus arrived, and fifteen minutes later, I stood in the reference section of our local library. I spent the next two hours studying the library’s meagre selection of relevant books, jotting the most important nuggets of information into a small notepad. I knew that I had to give a firm handshake, look the interviewer in the eye, and ask lots of questions about the business. I knew I had to speak enthusiastically, but I should also listen carefully. Not one book covered the subject of ill-fitting trousers.
I returned home and went straight to my bedroom to get ready for the interview. I put on the best of my old school shirts, and a tie pilfered from my dad’s wardrobe. Finally, on went the trousers, the jacket, and my black leather school shoes. I took a final look in the mirror, and happy that I looked smart enough, headed downstairs. After Mum had given me a positive second opinion on my attire, she kissed me on the cheek and wished me good luck.
The last of the summer sunshine broke through the choppy clouds as I ambled my way to Video City. Even though it was my first job interview, I didn’t feel particularly nervous. I was well prepared, and I didn't think Malcolm would provide the most challenging of interviews. He hadn’t asked for a CV and there was no request for an application form to be completed — most importantly though, he hadn’t quizzed me about my qualifications.
I arrived at Video City just before four o’clock and pushed the front door. Locked. There was no doorbell, so I rapped on the glass door and took a step back. While I waited, I inspected what I hoped would become my place of work. The store had been split into two areas either side of the front door, walls lined with shelves and faced with hundreds of video cases. Handwritten labels were stuck at various intervals, indicating which genre of movie was on each shelf, and a six-foot wide counter sat centrally at the rear, with tatty movie posters stuck to the front. I wasn’t sure what to expect of a video store, but I think my first impression was that it looked a bit low rent.
Seconds passed before a figure appeared through an archway behind the counter. I shuffled nervously on the spot as a man waddled towards the door and reached up to unlock a bolt at the top. As he stretched, his brown polo shirt lifted, and his vast gut pressed against the glass. He then bobbed down to unlock another bolt at the bottom of the door and pulled it open.
Judging by his laboured breathing, the unlocking process must have been quite a workout. The man held out a pudgy hand for me to shake.
“You Craig?” he puffed.
“Yes, here to see Malcolm for an interview,” I replied, unsure if the man stood in front of me was Malcolm.
“That would be me.”
I shook Malcolm’s hand firmly, as per the note gleaned from my library session earlier. His palms were clammy, handshake feeble.
“Let’s chat in my office,” Malcolm said.
He bolted the door again, mercifully with his back to me, and plodded across the store towards the counter. I couldn’t determine Malcolm’s age, his excessive weight distorting his features. I guessed he was in his fifties, judging by the clumps of greying hair above his ears and unruly strands teased across his bald dome. He left the pungent smell of cigarettes and stale sweat in his wake as I followed with some trepidation.
He led me beyond the counter and through the archway, into a small corridor. Dim light entered through a filthy, glazed door at the rear. I earmarked it as my best option for escape, should the need arise. There were two further doors in the corridor; one to my left and one to the right. Malcolm pushed open the door on the left to reveal a room about ten-feet square. It contained several pieces of mismatched office furniture, including a large oak desk, which Malcolm flopped behind. He nodded at the chair in front of the desk to intimate I should take a seat.
Gaining his breath back after the arduous task of walking thirty feet, Malcolm began the interview.
“Right Craig, let me explain the situation. I’ve owned this place for a couple of years and built a good business, but I’ve heard another video store is opening in the town next month so I need to raise my game. I run the place on my own with a bit of help from my niece, but she’s due to start at college next month, so she’ll only be able to work on Saturdays.”
The throwaway comment about his niece starting college summoned an irrational pang of jealousy.
He continued, “I’m too stuck in my ways, so what I need is some new blood. I need somebody with enthusiasm and fresh ideas to help me move the business forward. Does that sound like something you could bring to the job?”
One immediate thought that struck me about Video City was that I hadn’t seen a computer anywhere. I asked Malcolm how he coped with the inventory of videos and customer database without a computer.
“I use index cards, like a library,” he replied almost shamefully.
That was my opportunity.
“I could help you computerise all of your records. We could create a database for all the videos, and another for all the customers. With some tweaking, I could get the two databases to work together so you could manage everything far more efficiently than with index cards.”
Malcolm rubbed one of his bristly chins as he thought about my suggestion.
“You know how to do that?” he asked.
“Sure, it shouldn’t be too difficult. I could help you choose some suitable hardware and an off-the-shelf program to manage the two databases. Then it’s just a case of adapting it to your specific needs and entering all the data,” I replied confidently.
Judging by the shift in his body language, Malcolm appeared keen on the idea.
The rest of the interview was nothing more than a series of mundane questions Malcolm probably felt obliged to ask. He then explained the job hours, which would have been fairly anti-social for anyone with a social life, and the pay which was £100 a week to start, rising to £125 a week after a four-week trial period.
As he concluded the interview, Malcolm asked one final question.
“What’s your favourite film, Craig?”
Stupidly, I hadn’t given this obvious question any thought. I scanned my mind for something credible.
“Probably one of the Star Wars films. I’d have to say ‘Return of The Jedi’ shaded it for me.”
Malcolm’s eyes widened at my answer, and a broad smile spread across his face. He strained to raise his bulky frame from the chair and grabbed a set of keys from his desk.
“Good answer. Follow me,” he ordered.
I followed Malcolm back into the corridor. He unlocked the other door and then held it ajar so a sliver of weak light could enter. I couldn’t see more than a few feet into the dark room.
“Go on in,” Malcolm said.
I paused for a moment. None of the library books had given advice on how to handle sexual molestation in a darkened room. I considered my limited options. I needed this job, but I couldn’t think of any way to excuse myself from entering Malcolm’s lair without jeopardising my application. With no obvious alternative, I entered the dark room, passing uncomfortably close to Malcolm as he held the door open. I shuffled forward and stood motionless, praying my eyes would quickly adjust to the darkness. All I could hear was Malcolm’s raspy breathing behind me. Then I sensed movement.
I squinted as a fluorescent bulb suddenly flickered into life above me. As my eyes readjusted to the light, I absorbed my surroundings. The room was the same size as Malcolm’s office, but there was no furniture. Racked shelving covered three of the four walls, every shelf crammed with Star Wars memorabilia. Scores of toy characters stood to attention in their original packaging. There were dozens of boxes printed with pictures of various spacecraft, lined up next to thermos flasks, lunch boxes, masks, jigsaws, books, and a host of other Star Wars branded products. I turned to my left and the fou
rth wall was covered in framed pictures of the cast, each one with a penned scribble I assumed to be an autograph. Hung in the centre, in pride of place, was a glazed display case containing a light sabre and Darth Vader’s infamous black helmet. I didn’t know if they were actual set props, but they looked authentic.
“What do you think? It’s my pension,” Malcolm said proudly.
I turned to face him. “Wow! This is quite a collection, Malcolm. I could spend hours in here.”
“I thought you might like it. Oh, and the job — do you fancy starting tomorrow?”
8
Both parents were pleased to hear that I’d found a job, although for slightly different reasons. Mum was happy because I seemed a little more optimistic about life, and Dad was happy because I could pay housekeeping. I knew that it was a fairly menial job, but part of me was quite looking forward to sorting out Malcolm’s computer system. It wasn’t quite what I had in mind when I dreamt of working with computers, but it was a start.
My first day began with Malcolm and I heading over to the local branch of RolpheTech — an irony that would not become apparent until some years later. We trawled the aisles in search of a suitable computer before settling on an Amstrad business machine. Malcolm’s initial enthusiasm for entering the computer age took some testing when we got to the checkout and the bill was over £500. We loaded everything into the boot of Malcolm’s turd-coloured Ford Cortina and headed back to the store.
I spent the next few days configuring the system, so it allowed us to cross-reference all the video titles with the customer database. It was a fairly rudimental system, but a world apart from Malcolm’s index cards. I then faced the arduous task of entering all the records. I had grossly underestimated how much time, and tedium, it would entail. There were over eight-hundred videos in the store and the customer list contained over eleven-hundred records. With each record taking about three minutes to input, I calculated I would be bored witless for several weeks. Thankfully, Malcolm let me set the computer up in his office so at least I could sit in peace while I slaved away amongst boxes of index cards and lists of videos.
My fourth day fell on a Saturday, and as Malcolm had entrusted me with my own set of keys, I arrived a little early to show willing. I let myself in, took up position in the quiet office and switched the computer on.
Once the computer had finally spluttered into life, I refreshed my mind on where I’d finished the day before and arranged the index cards so I could plough through them as efficiently as possible.
I was about twenty minutes into the task, and in a world of my own, when I heard the back door being opened. Assuming it was Malcolm, I continued to focus my attention on the computer screen and the next index card, methodically entering the information into the computer. A female voice suddenly jolted me to attention.
“Hiya.”
My eyes shot straight towards the door. A girl who I assumed to be Malcolm’s niece, stood in the doorway — I’d forgotten she worked on Saturdays. She was slim, with tightly permed blonde hair, and dressed in an oversized orange t-shirt that clashed with her striped leggings. While she wasn’t in the same league as Tessa, she was attractive in an unconventional way.
“You must be Craig, the computer geek,” she said.
“Um, yeah.”
I could feel my cheeks redden. I was hopeless at talking to girls.
“How’s it going?” she asked.
“Not bad, thanks.”
The girl nodded slowly. Her face suggested that she was struggling to think of anything else to say. Her eyes darted around the room as if searching for inspiration to break the uncomfortable silence. Seconds passed before she spoke again.
“Can I get you a cup of tea?”
I would have preferred coffee, but didn’t want to appear impolite.
“That would be great. Milk and one sugar please.”
She smiled and left without another word.
A few minutes later, she returned holding a white mug and carefully placed it on the desk.
“I hope it’s okay. I’m not very good at making tea, more of a coffee girl myself,” she said with a nervous smile.
“Thanks. I’m sure it’s fine.”
I picked up the mug and took a sip of the piss-weak tea.
“It’s good,” I lied.
“Great, I’ll leave you to it then. If you want another one, just come and find me. I’ll be out front with Uncle Malcolm.”
“Will do. And thanks again, err...,” I stumbled, realising I didn’t know her name.
She looked at me blankly for a moment before she triggered.
“Oh, sorry. I’m Megan,” she chuckled.
9
As I estimated, the new system was ready within two weeks and I set up the computer on the counter at the front of the store. Malcolm beamed like a child on Christmas morning as I explained how to use the system. After fixing a few minor bugs that his training had highlighted, we were good to go. I stood at his shoulder as he served the first dozen customers, and after the occasional prompt, Malcolm eventually got the hang of it.
“This is incredible. You’re a bloody genius,” he said in a break between customers.
I sheepishly smiled, a little uncomfortable with his praise.
“I’m glad you think it’s been worth it.”
“Oh, it most definitely has.”
Malcolm seemed lost in his thoughts for a moment as he stared at the computer screen.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
“I was thinking about your trial period, Craig. Look, you’ve more than proved yourself so I think we should make this a more permanent position.”
“Really? That would be great.”
“And let’s forget the trainee manager title. I think you’d make an excellent assistant manager. What do you say?”
I knew it was only a token title, but I felt flattered that Malcolm had such faith in me. Perhaps it wasn’t the career of my dreams, but I’d grown to like Malcolm, and the job had proven to be a welcome distraction from the despondency of recent months.
“I’d really like that, Malcolm. Thank you.”
“Excellent. You are officially now the assistant manager of Video City, and I’m sure the extra twenty-five quid a week will come in handy.”
“I’m sure it will,” I replied.
As the weeks and months went by, I drifted into a comfortable routine. Freed from the shackles of the store, Malcolm spent an increasing amount of time scouring the country for Star Wars memorabilia, so I ran the place on my own a few days each week, except on Saturdays when Megan helped out. The more time I spent with her, the more I looked forward to our Saturdays together. Slowly, our relationship developed from one of awkward silences and undrinkable tea to blatant flirtation, but it took almost five months before I plucked up the courage to ask her out on a date.
One date led to another, and then after six or seven further dates, we had the opportunity to spend the night together. My parents were visiting friends for the weekend, so it seemed an ideal opportunity for Megan and I to consummate our relationship, and if I’m honest, for me to draw a line under my last performance in the bedroom. Although Megan was reluctant to go into detail, she admitted it wouldn’t be her first time, but hinted that her first sexual encounter hadn’t lived up to her expectations. I could only hope those expectations remained low.
The day arrived, and I had the afternoon off to prepare. I tidied my room, changed the bed linen and loaded my stereo with a cassette of suitable music I’d taped from the radio. I put a bottle of Blue Nun wine in the fridge and set the table for our takeaway dinner. Megan arrive bang on six o’clock and she’d clearly made an effort, if you discounted her ‘Frankie Says Relax’ t-shirt.
The early part of the evening went exactly to plan. The Chinese takeaway arrived, and we sat down to eat, casually chatting and sipping the vinegary wine, just like the proper adults we were. We finished eating, tipped most of the Blue Nun down the kitchen s
ink, and then indulged in some heavy petting on the sofa.
As things became more heated and the familiar feeling of aching testicles returned, I took Megan by the hand and led her upstairs to my bedroom. I turned on the lamp which I’d already positioned to provide the bare minimum of light, and hit the play button on the cassette player. As Randy Crawford sung about ‘Almaz’, we slowly undressed one another, and climbed into my single bed.
Half an hour later, and relieved in every sense of the word, we were lying in the standard post-coitus embrace. Megan’s head was resting on my chest as I gently stroked her hair. As much as I had wanted Tessa, this was how my first time should have been. Megan then broke the silence with a sledgehammer.
“I think I’m falling in love with you, Craig.”
I hadn’t seen that coming. While I had developed feelings for Megan, I had no idea if it was love. What I did know was those feelings weren’t anywhere near as strong as they’d been for Tessa — but how are you supposed to reply to a statement like that, other than going along with it?
“I think I love you too,” I replied, assuming it was what she wanted to hear.
Seemingly satisfied with my response, Megan raised her head and kissed me.
“We’re going to be really good together.”
And that was that. I was on the relationship roller coaster, and there was no way to get off.
Life continued to roll along in an uneventful, predictable routine for the next eighteen months. Nothing at all changed at Video City, but Megan and I decided to rent a small studio flat and we moved in together. My eighteenth birthday came and went, while Megan left college and took a job as a receptionist. Thoughts of Tessa became less frequent but more poignant. I wondered if Megan held similar thoughts of the guy who took her virginity, but it was never a question asked. Perhaps we rebounded together into our safe little rut, neither of us brave enough to question if there was anything better beyond. But we were comfortable, we were content.
The '86 Fix: A 1980s Time Travel Novel Page 5
