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Mr Big Works at the Dole
Well, Big Sally-Ann wanted to go for a drive to Paisley Abbey with Freddy Dick-Fingers last week and did I no have to go down to the Dole to do her fuckin back-to-work interview? Here’s me, ‘No.’
And then she said, ‘Go on – I’d do it for you.’
I said, ‘Why do you wanna go over to Paisley Abbey with him anyway?’
This is her, ‘That’s what you do, isn’t it? With fellas?’
This is me, ‘Eh ... no. That’s Paisley Abbey, not fuckin Downtown Abbey. But I’ll do it for twenty fags an a squirt of your Colleen Rooney perfume.’
So I sauntered on down to the Dole, stinkin of the Rooneys an took a ticket to get in the queue. The number on the ticket was 29 an they’d just called number 2 an I think I’m gonna be here all fuckin day in this sweat-box. So, I tramped over to sit down an weren’t my pink Converse trainers stickin to the carpet? An this is me to myself, this has to be the most mingin place on the planet. Sticky carpet an a faint whiff of fags in the air an the staff look like they are suckin lemons, the miserable fuckers.
Then I saw an old tramp sittin at the end of my row an he’s nearly unconscious with the drink an in his hand is a ticket that says 4 on it. So, this is me, ack, he’s almost sleepin anyway, an he’s keepin warm in here, he’ll no mind sittin a while longer. So I got up an shifted past him an on the way I plucked the ticket out of his hand. Then he wakes up an is huffin an shufflin – he probably thinks he’s outside the Spar an somebody’s scadgin his carryout. Then I said, ‘You dropped your ticket, pal.’ An I passed him the ticket with the number 29 on an he just smiled an closed his eyes again. So I skipped on an sat a couple of rows in front to wait my turn.
Well, two Polish boys were eyein me up while I was sittin there. Now, I’m not racist, a pump’s a pump, so I gave them a wink an uncrossed my legs like the woman from Basic Instinct. I had my pink leggins on an I said, ‘Here pal, no knickers.’
An one of the lads said, ‘Those leggins are see-through – that’s some bush.’
An they both bust out laughin an made a pig’s arse out of me. Fuckers. Then I looked down an did I no put my pink footless tights on that mornin instead of my leggins an the Muff was stickin through the material. It was like a big gay hedgehog. But before I could lamp one of the boys for their cheek, wasn’t Big Sally-Ann called in an I went in pretendin to be her.
The guy doin the interview was like somethin out of the Kays catalogue – tall, dark an pump-some. He had a gorgeous grey suit on, like one you’d see in Topman, an a grey silk tie. The most gorgeous green sparkly eyes that stared through me, settin my flaps on fire. Proper pump material like. So I said, ‘How YOU doin?’ Then did I no trip on the manky carpet an fall into the room, head first an into his arms. An my face went bright red but he just smiled at me an I’m thinkin, Oh yeah, he wants into my knickers! An he said to me that he’s fell over before too, an I thought to myself, yeah, probably trippin over his big trouser-snake!
He reminded me of Mr Big from Sex and the City, so that’s what I called him – Mr Big. Now he’s not from Easterhouse or anythin. Said he was from outside the city, somewhere called Eaglesham, but had an apartment near work. He was askin me all sorts – when I last worked an what my qualifications were – an Big Sally-Ann had forgotten to fill me in on the info so wasn’t I makin it up as I went along? I told him she had a ten-metre swimming badge and was the first-aid officer in the Bridge Inn. Cos when Big Sally-Ann got stabbed in the arm that time, I stook my thumb in the hole til the ambulance came. An that’s all I could think of. But Mr Big seemed to like it.
He was scribblin down everythin I said an lookin up at me every now an then with his green twinkly eyes an half-smilin. I think he was, like, mentally undressin me, the dirty beast. If only he knew I went commando his waldo would be knockin the table from underneath. So then he said that that would be everything for today, and that he’d process the paperwork and that he’d see me again in a few months.
But I couldn’t let it end there. So I flashed him my best ‘pump-me’ eyes. Nothing. It was time for extreme action, so I did a Sharon Stone but he just smiled an got up to hold the door for me. An I thought to myself, most fellas would be takin a charge at me with their flies down after a look at the Muff through those leggins. And I thought to myself, he must be gay. An I’ve enough gay friends, what with our Will, Big Sally-Ann’s little brother, an his gang of Kylie-lovin mates. But I couldn’t stop thinkin about Mr Big the rest of the day. His posh accent, his grey suit from Topman an his lovely green eyes.
I couldn’t even concentrate when I was shopliftin a box of fish fingers from Lidl’s an I got caught by the security guard. I had to promise him I’d meet him out the back of the shop to give him a blowie, but did I no do a runner on the dope. Sure he probably stood there til midnight waitin for me, the twat. When I got home, all I could do was think about Mr Big’s tallywhacker an his little half-smile an I was moist, I’m tellin ya.