Some sights are far from welcome on a Thursday morning at six.
Sights such as Sewer Rat.
Sewer Rat is a print assistant.
He’s in his fifties, with a wizened face, bald head, giant ears, and big, sharp buck teeth.
He’s got a perma-tan.
Not like George Hamilton III.
No, more like a tramp.
It’s the sort of tan you get from park benches, rather than sunbeds.
His look is not a good one, believe me.
Surprisingly, his physical attributes are not the thing I find most offensive about him.
The thing I find most offensive about him is his clothing.
To be more specific, it’s his shorts.
So, we’ve got a bloke who actually resembles a large rat, wearing a plaid cotton shirt, work boots… and tiny little denim shorts.
You can see them cutting into his groin.
He has this strange habit of resting one foot on stacks of pallets, in a bizarre, almost pioneering, pose.
It doesn’t matter how high the pallets are stacked, Sewer Rat will get his foot up there, and rest his elbows on his knees.
Not everyone can carry off such a striking pose.
Sewer Rat certainly can’t.
Those itty bitty shorts are already at bursting point.
Something has to give.
So whenever he strikes his ‘pioneering lumberjack’ pose, his ball bag squelches down the leg of his shorts and flaps against his leathery thigh.
Sewer Rat works the night shift.
He waits at the door of the factory, peering out into the darkness, waiting for something.
The lads who are starting their morning shift are greeted by the sight of a distinctly rodenty looking man flashing his scrotum at them.
Muttered curses and protests are directed at Sewer Rat, but he ignores them.
He has bigger game in mind.
He hears his prey first.
Those big ears twitch.
His lips peel back from those long yellow incisors as he starts to grin.
He has heard the sound of a Vespa scooter.
Sewer Rat scurries around to the warehouse door at the far end of the factory, and listens.
The Vespa is pulling into the loading bay.
He knows who it is.
Kray hates Sewer Rat.
The feeling is mutual.
He waits, waits, until Kray has locked up his scooter, taken of his gloves and helmet, and is walking towards the warehouse door.
Then he slams home the deadbolt, locking Kray out.
Sewer Rat snickers and cackles as Kray tries in vain to get into the factory, before scuttling back to the locker room.
Sewer Rat is one of those people who sweats profusely.
It drips off his long nose and trickles across his bald head.
I was making a cup of tea.
Sewer Rat fishes in his locker for his towel before he swaggers over, a look of triumph on his brown, sweaty face.
He props one foot on a pile of pallets, his bollocks slither out, and he proceeds to wipe his glistening face the towel.
“Hee hee! Did you see that, Lucifer? Did you see that?”
“What? Your nut bag? I can’t miss it, Sewer Rat.”
“Eh? No, I mean Kray! I got him good this time! It’s the third time this week! He’ll never get back round to the clock machine in time, and they’ll dock his wages for being late!”
Very good. I can see you’re pleased about that.”
“Pleased? I’m over the fucking moon! I really hate that cunt Kray. Just knowing he’s pissed off makes my day!”
“You want to be careful, Sewer Rat. What goes around comes around. If he finds out it’s you that’s locking him out, he’ll have his revenge.”
“Pah! I’m not frightened of him! Anyway, he hasn’t got a clue who’s fucking him over! That’s the beauty of it!”
“Whatever. I’ll give yo a word of advice though.”
“Yeah, Lucifer? What’s that then?”
“It’s a bit nippy out there. You might want to put some trousers on before you head home.”
“I don’t need trousers. I’ve got my shorts on! Look!”
“Nothing wrong with getting a bit of air to the old legs! Good for the circulation!”
“Does that rule apply to your scrote, Sewer Rat?”
“What? Look, I’d better be off. Kray’s coming, and he’s furious! Hee hee!”
He was right.
Kray was livid.
“Which bastard keeps locking that warehouse door? It’s meant to be kept open, every fucker knows that! Have you got any idea, Lucifer?”
I don’t like to get anyone into trouble.
I’m not a snitch.
I always think it’s best to keep out other people’s business.
“Sewer Rat did it, Kray.”
“Right! I thought it was that horrible, vermin faced fucker!”
“What are you gonna do Kray?”
“I’m off to see Puglsey!”
“Pugsley? What do you want to see him for? He’s got nothing to do with it.”
Kray winked at me.
“Ah! I’m off to see Pugsley because he’s diabetic!”
I was none the wiser.
I decided to hang about.
Soon, Kray returned.
He had an empty insulin syringe.
“What’s that for, Kray?”
“Watch and learn, Lucifer, watch and learn…”
Kray took the syringe to the locker room.
Before I knew what was happening, Kray had whipped his cock out and was pissing into a plastic bottle.
“Ah! First of the day, Lucifer. Always the richest!”
“Fucking hell, mate What have you been drinking? It stinks!”
Kray held up the bottle to the light, swirling it around to show its deep orange colour.
“We were on the whiskeys last night. Always makes my piss nice and ripe!”
He filled the syringe with piss, slipped the needle through the keyhole of Sewer Rat’s locker, and squirted it inside.
He did it five times.
“There! It’ll have a good fifteen hours to ferment in there on that towel of his. That’ll teach him to fuck with me!”
Next morning, the smell of Sewer Rat hit me before I clocked in.
It made me gag.
There he was, leg on a pile of pallets, a great wedge of chicken skin poking out of his shorts.
He was reeking to high heaven.
For some reason, he didn’t seem to notice the smell.
Sweat trickled down his face, and he wiped himself with that foul, piss soaked towel.
“Morning Lucifer! Any sign of Kray out there? Don’t want to miss him at the warehouse! Hee hee!”
“I didn’t see him. I’d give it a rest if I were you.”
“Why do you say that, Lucifer?”
“Because I reckon he’s beginning to smell a rat. We all are, for that matter.”
“Pah! There’s nothing that fucker can do to me, Lucifer. I’ll take the pis out of him for as long as I like!”
“As long as your willing to take the piss, Sewer Rat, I’m sure Kray is willing to give it. See you later.”
“Yeah, see you, Lucifer.”
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