The Bint
She's forty-five (or is that forty-seven).
Her sporty crop some how fails to deliver the message usually conveyed ("I'm a Dyke and I don't care who the fuck knows"). This is because the face beneath it is quite pixie-like, the face is usually carefully made up, the figure below that is tanned and trim if not actually taunt, but most of all because if the stories swirling about the store and the town at large are true she's shagging the Stud.
Her usual mode of dress is a crisp white shirt, nipped in at the waist worn over a pair of exquisitely tight navy trousers. They show off the admirably so well.
About every twenty-eight days she very helpfully announces to pretty much all 100 colleagues (male and female, young and old) that's she's not forgotten to take her pill once during the preceding 28 days because she's 'on' again. I guess that's some achievement when your as old as she is.
She's one of his (the Stud's) Manager's Assistants - but beware, the apostrophe's usually AWOL.
There are three Manager's Assitants. The other two shall be known as The Bulldog and The Hairdo. I'm still deciding on a collective appellation. I'm currently toying with the Three Wise Monkeys, or perhaps the Three Blind Mice.
The Bint is married to a bloke who drives a white van (when it's on the road). His name is, um, Trevor. He's a part-time bouncer at the roughest of the town's pubs and is not averse to slinging out anyone he takes a personal dislike to, particular when under the influence - which might as well be half a pint of shandy.
They have two daughters. One's at university on the other side of the country (studying something worthwhile and intellectually demanding such as Meeja Studees, no doubt). The other is an hysteric who's not yet held down a job for more than a few weeks or learned to tie her shoe laces unassisted.
The Bint has at least half a dozen conversations with The Hysteric during any given shift, usually prompted by a distress call (because The Hysteric's run out of cigarettes or isn't sure what to do when she gets to the railway station, or something equally likely to throw a normal 19 year old into a panic).
The Bint's path to greatness took her via the Deli Counter. That's her qualification. That used to be her power base, but since the Bulldog's promotion from the same department she's had to build a new base - and she's chosen the greengrocery. Her new best friend is the tall, solidly built young rugby player who runs that department. They spend a much speculated upon amount of time over tea upstairs and are known to drop in on each other's houses and go to the cinema together.
Interesting. No one knows if the head of greengrocery has a boyfriend or not, or even wants one, but she's unlikely to meet someone spending so much time polishing her reputation as the store arse-licker.
Her sporty crop some how fails to deliver the message usually conveyed ("I'm a Dyke and I don't care who the fuck knows"). This is because the face beneath it is quite pixie-like, the face is usually carefully made up, the figure below that is tanned and trim if not actually taunt, but most of all because if the stories swirling about the store and the town at large are true she's shagging the Stud.
Her usual mode of dress is a crisp white shirt, nipped in at the waist worn over a pair of exquisitely tight navy trousers. They show off the admirably so well.
About every twenty-eight days she very helpfully announces to pretty much all 100 colleagues (male and female, young and old) that's she's not forgotten to take her pill once during the preceding 28 days because she's 'on' again. I guess that's some achievement when your as old as she is.
She's one of his (the Stud's) Manager's Assistants - but beware, the apostrophe's usually AWOL.
There are three Manager's Assitants. The other two shall be known as The Bulldog and The Hairdo. I'm still deciding on a collective appellation. I'm currently toying with the Three Wise Monkeys, or perhaps the Three Blind Mice.
The Bint is married to a bloke who drives a white van (when it's on the road). His name is, um, Trevor. He's a part-time bouncer at the roughest of the town's pubs and is not averse to slinging out anyone he takes a personal dislike to, particular when under the influence - which might as well be half a pint of shandy.
They have two daughters. One's at university on the other side of the country (studying something worthwhile and intellectually demanding such as Meeja Studees, no doubt). The other is an hysteric who's not yet held down a job for more than a few weeks or learned to tie her shoe laces unassisted.
The Bint has at least half a dozen conversations with The Hysteric during any given shift, usually prompted by a distress call (because The Hysteric's run out of cigarettes or isn't sure what to do when she gets to the railway station, or something equally likely to throw a normal 19 year old into a panic).
The Bint's path to greatness took her via the Deli Counter. That's her qualification. That used to be her power base, but since the Bulldog's promotion from the same department she's had to build a new base - and she's chosen the greengrocery. Her new best friend is the tall, solidly built young rugby player who runs that department. They spend a much speculated upon amount of time over tea upstairs and are known to drop in on each other's houses and go to the cinema together.
Interesting. No one knows if the head of greengrocery has a boyfriend or not, or even wants one, but she's unlikely to meet someone spending so much time polishing her reputation as the store arse-licker.
posted by Raspberry Fool @ 9:08 pm
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