As mentioned in part one, the sheer misery of my experience working for HMV was to lead to my joining Swivel Chair, and was a major influence on the Swivel Chair anti-work ethos. Now for (probably) the first time, I can reveal some of the horrors involved in music retail.

Slave Labour

We were hired before the Princes St branch re-opened after a refurbishment, and were used as slave labour to fit out the store. This involved a large amount of heavy lifting, the repetitive peeling off and reapplying of promo stickers to CDs, and the unenviable task of filing the massive A-Z of albums. All this while the smug management, most of whom were barely out of school and had only got the job because they were willing to suck cock for a living, took great pleasure in abusing the little power they had by ordering us around like a van full of refugee workers. Thus by the time the store was opened the majority of staff were already bitter and cynical and fed up to the back teeth of working there.

Pete Loaf

A celebrity was roped in for the grand opening: Meat Loaf. A few desperately out of touch fans turned up, including his number one fan, the even fatter and hairier Pete Loaf. I had to stand beside Meat and hand out signed CDs to the gimps who still thought he was a relevant musical force. When Pete Loaf (who actually had his name changed by deed poll) turned up the 80s rocker obviously recognised him and not with joy- he blanked him, which suggests he was not pleased with this excessive fan worship, and being reminded of his hairy fat era (now he had lost a couple of stone and had a no.2 haircut).

As they were snapped together by photographers from local newspapers (must have been a slow news day) our manager who will simply be referred to by his nickname “Bell-End” was asked by Meat Loaf how he felt. “Very nervous” he said in his broad Hull accent. His voice was to become a much imitated one, with the staff shouting his various catchphrases at each other throughout the day, although not as much as the Geordie team leader Pilchard (see prologue) He would always greet any group of male staff with the hilarious “Hello ladies” and frequently referred to Pilchard as “Beavis” in a way which would have undermined the little fuck’s authority, had he had any in the first place.

Getting on with the Management

My motivation was nil and the full time hours were killing me, after four slothful, drunken years at college with only the odd part time job. I was admonished by Pilchard for regularly turning up late and, horror of horrors, unshaven. I was told never to turn up again without having a shave. I laughed this off, realising what a pathetic power hungry twat he was. He also began to make the odd reference to me being a stoner, presumably because of my lack of energy and enthusiasm. I rarely smoked but he had me labelled as a heavy consumer of the mari-joanna.

I pissed off Bell-End too. He was a real prick who did nothing whatsoever to help the shop floor staff in the running of the store as far as I could see. He repeatedly refused my requests for shelves in the back room rather than having CDs piled up chaotically on the floor, making life hell for the staff. Eventually, about 6 months later, shelves were put in there as if it was management’s idea.

Then I called in sick on Boxing Day. We didn’t know what days we would get off at Christmas until it was announced by Bell-End. He posted the days up in the staff room and to my delight I had been given Christmas day and Boxing Day. I made plans to visit my mum in the Borders. A week before Christmas Bell-end announced he had changed his mind and altered these days off. I was now expected to work on Boxing day. I told him this wasn’t possible as I had already made plans but he wouldn’t budge.

However Christmas day was a disaster and I ended up having a barny with my mum. Tired from over-work during the hellishly busy Christmas period (HMV earns most of it’s profits in the four weeks leading up to Christmas) and the stress of family arguments on my only day off for weeks, I called in on Boxing Day morning and said I couldn’t come in as I was physically exhausted. Perhaps understandably, Bell-End thought I was taking the piss because I’d made a fuss about getting the day off. He used the example in staff meetings, admonishing staff for taking unnecessary sick days and using me as an example, saying I had called in because I was “too tired” to come to work…

Probation

We were on a 6 month probationary period, after which we would be made permanent members of staff. I assumed this to be a mere formality, and despite my hatred of the job, I did work relatively hard and was good with customers etc, and besides, you’d have to do something really stupid to get sacked from such a menial job. So imagine my shock when I was told I was being let go due to my lack of enthusiasm. Obviously Bell-End had held a grudge from the unfortunate Boxing Day incident. I was told I had 2 weeks to shape up and turn over a new leaf or I’d have to get out. I was horrified. I had a degree for God’s sake, how could I get sacked from a Sales Assistant job in an overpriced music store? Okay, it was a 2:2 in Communications Studies, probably the most useless degree ever dreamt up by the academic world, but it was the principal. I couldn’t let it happen.

So for two weeks, I had to pretend to give a shit. I sucked up to the little fucker Pilchard and went about my work with a new vigour and determination. I was kept on- just. I was taken in the office and told that I had completely turned myself around to the extent that I even appeared to be “standing up straighter”. I would be kept on, but I’d better not let them down. The fools.

Coming up soon: The Man Who Listened to Planes

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