It’s that time of year, now that spring is in the air, when those two wet gits with their girly curly hair... also known as the management, deem it time for appraisals. This, for those not familiar with the process, is where you sit down with a member of management, and attempt to fool them into thinking you actually do things in the needlessly prescriptive and patronising way the company specifies. They have a large checklist ranging from “do they know how old someone has to be to buy stuff to get high on” to “can they tie their own shoelaces.”

My turn comes one Thursday just before lunchtime. On one hand, I’d like to get this over with quickly so I can go and have my doughnuts, but on the other this manager is fairly new and I’m keen to see how far I can push him.

“Right, so let’s see, you’ve been with the company, what, four years now?”

“Five” I correct him, knowing full well that he’s only been here eighteen months, being a young and green graduate from the management maiming course which aims to turn otherwise bright young persons into mindless drones spewing company-approved directives designed to waste everyone’s time.

“Right, so this should be quick. We just have to go through this list of basic questions. You should have no problem with any of them.”

“Fire away” I say, in my most co-operative tone. Little does he know. Yet.

“Right, what do you understand by the term ‘stocktake’?”

“Ah yes, that’s the process of putting stock aside to take home with you.”

“Surely you’re getting that confused with a Staff Save?”

“No, that one’s for the mugs that actually pay for it.”

Noticing the power drill under the table I have aimed at his reproductive areas, he decides not to pursue that line of enquiry any further.

“OK, what do you understand by the term ‘Health and Safety’?”

“Don’t annoy me and you’ll stay healthy and safe.”

“Er... I think you’ll find that it’s actually to do with avoiding accidents in the workplace...” he begins.

“...by not annoying me.” I supply calmly.

“OK, how about COSHH”

“Ah yes, very good for hitting old farts who don’t listen.”

Realising that this line of inquiry is going nowhere, he tactfully moves on to the customer service section of the skills card.

“Now, say a customer in a wheelchair came up to you for assistance, what would you do first?”

“Wedge a cane in their spokes and run.” I reply truthfully. It blocks off the aisle so I can get my trolley down there without a coachful of people artfully obstructing passage by looking vacantly at garden gnomes. Being in the way is my job.

“O...K... how about if someone collapsed in front of you?”

“Stand them up with a clothes prop and hang an ‘ask me for assistance’ sign over their head.”

“I’m not sure that’s in the training manual” he starts. “Chapter four covers First Aid, and I don’t remember seeing that method described.”

I hand him my copy of the Bastard Checkout Operator’s Training Guide, opened to the chapter on First Aid, Lemonade and Band Aid. Underneath the “How to use defibrillators on old ladies for fun, profit and getting them to speed the hell up.” and before “101 uses of bandages in gagging annoying babies”, I show him the section on strokes, fainting and general collapsing.

Having accidentally glimpsed the “What to do when management get nosey” section, he decides to skip to the end.

“So... we need to set you some goals for the next year. Upper management have told us to set everybody at least three new goals. Now, is there anything you’d like to learn?”

I realise he’s not going to let me drive the warehouse forklift, and that elevation to management is unlikely while they know I’ve still got two shopfloor supervisors to send mad first, so I go for something mundane.

“Er, I’m fine really. Although I wouldn’t mind going for till supervision training.”

He chokes on his coffee, not surprising since I laced it with chilli powder earlier. Words fail him, but the look on his face says it all.