He hadn’t worked at our place long, but it had been decided.
He was a knob head.
I was forced to agree.
I had my head down.
Doing some work, for a change.
Someone was banging on a window.
There was Major, rapping on the glass between our departments with one hand.
He was making the internationally recognized ‘wanker’ sign with the other.
Nice. Really nice.
I went to the door.
“You made a mistake, Lucifer! I was checking a job you’d done, and you made a mistake! You WANKER!”
Major was a prissy little man, mid fifties, ram rod straight, with an obsessively trimmed moustache.
He had a thing for marching bands.
He read the Daily Express.
And believed every word.
You know the type.
A knob head.
He believed we should all have to do National Service.
He was casually racist.
He had a knack for alienating everybody with a throw away remark that was guaranteed to offend.
“Is that your girlfriend? Good grief…”
“Put them all back on the boat and send them back. I don’t care if it sinks.”
“I’m serious. They should all be sterilized. Council estates would soon be a thing of the past…”
“It’s a year since your wife died. Get over it.”
“You made a mistake, Lucifer. You WANKER!”
It was a tiny error.
An error, I grant you.
But not the end of the world.
He liked to find errors, did Major.
Not to save a job from going wrong.
But simply to prove his superiority.
‘I spotted that error, therefore I am superior to you.’
“Ah! Lucifer! I understand your friend is an electrician!”
“Yes, he is.”
“Do you think he might do a job for me?”
“I’ll ask him.”
“He would do it for a special rate, naturally?”
“Yes Major. He’ll give you a very special rate.”
“Lucifer! How you doing?”
“Good, thanks. Got some work for you.”
“Yeah? Good rates, I hope.”
“Better than that. Major wants a job doing.”
“What, that knob head?”
“Yes. Put him on the special rate.”
“You want me to screw him?”
“Thanks for doing that job, Mr Dog.”
“It’s J-dogg, Major.”
“Yes, yes. Of course it is. I’m very happy with your work. Excellent job. I’ll walk you to your van.”
“No need, really…”
“I insist! I want a quiet word, without the wife hearing.”
“Here we are! What it is, Mr Dog…”
“Quite, quite. What it is, well, I happened to notice you had some videos on the front seat of your van…”
They both look at the van.
On the front seat is a stack of videos, labeled ‘J-Doggs Porn! Do not nick!!’
J-Dogg shrugs. “What about them, Major?”
“Do you have easy access to… erm… blue films, Mr Dog?”
“Yeah, I suppose. Why?”
“I was wondering if you might be able to purchase a couple for me?”
“Don’t see why not. What do you want?”
“Erm… what do you mean?”
“I mean what type of porn do you want? Girl on girl, oral, orgies…”
“ANAL!” screams Major, grabbing J-Dogg by the lapels.
“Lots, and lots, of ANAL!!!”
“Oh. I’ll see what I can do. Bye, Major.”