Prose

All Right Jack

            ‘How’s you the day, Jack?’

            ‘I’m alright. In fact, I couldn’t be better. I’ve got the foreman’s job, at last.’

            ‘Aw, well done, son! Is that you wan o’ the bosses noo? Pairt o’ the establishment?’

            ‘Hey, none of that. I know where my roots are.’

            ‘Aye, and I ken’t yer faither, but it disnae mean that you cannae move oan in life, son. Make something o’ yersel. Yer auld man would be richt proud of ye.’

            ‘Well, I don’t know about that. He was a union man through and through. I can just hear him now, “Poacher turned gamekeeper.” You know what he was like.’

            ‘I dae indeed, son. He wis the salt o’ the earth. Ay putting ithers afore himsel’.

            ‘Yes, before himself and his family. I honestly think he cared more about the starving wee black kids in Africa than he did his own kith and kin. Charity begins at home. That’s what I say.’

            ‘Ah well, I see noo that you might jist fit in wi’ the bosses richt enuff, son. Noo whit dae ye want to eat along wi’ yer brew? I’ve oanly got cheese toasties and bacon rolls left on the trolley, but I don’t think you’ll be hauving oany o’ them when you stairt eating in their  fancy staff restaurant. I can see ye noo, sitting there in yer Slaters suit wi’ a Windsor Knot in yer company tie, no’ knowing whit cutlery to use to eat yer avocado salad.’

            ‘Well, you better make it one of each then, since this is going to be my last meal on the factory floor.’

            ‘Mair like yer last supper, ya Judas.’

Author

ian9657@hotmail.com

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