An Ode To Ray

Ray, I wish you were dead. More than that, I wish that I could be the person that deals the final blow that knocks your dermatitis-ridden head from your fat, greasy shoulders. From the moment you entered my life you have caused me nothing but trouble and tainted the very air that I breathe with your foul stench of batter and sweat.Not long after I started working at Video Drama you entered my store, your dirty baseball cap covering your balding head – chubby red cheeks stretched upwards in a smile that revealed your yellowing teeth. You were a carnie. A “man of the fair”. You had decided to give up the gypsy life, as romantic as it was with its swindles, dodgy deals and lack of plumbing, to settle in my town after you knocked up some local girl.Not having any proper identification to open an account with us I thought I had perhaps seen the last of your cheap gold chains and sovereign rings but unfortunately the girlfriend (and a nice one too) had all of the papers needed and you were free to begin annoying all the staff five minutes before closing every night by coming in to choose a game – perhaps in the hope that we’d give you one free out of frustration. You can take the boy out of the funfair, but you can’t take the lecherous cheating scumbag out of the boy.You told my boss that it was your dream to work at Video Drama. I overheard you and shuddered at the thought, but sure enough when a position came up you were there, brown nosing your way in with the then manager who wasn’t much of a bright spark anyway. I protested, all the other members of staff protested but there was nothing we could do. Your stupid remarks and thick accent had reached the other side of the counter. Little did we know you’d be as hard as bowel cancer to root out.When I returned to college you were given my old job automatically due to your new “seniority” in the store. They had overlooked the fact that you had stolen games from another branch a few years before that because, hey, Video Drama are fucking morons. When our manager had to leave you were temporarily given her job, not a smart decision considering you can’t seem to count or spell. For the following 8 weeks I received either no pay, or less than half of what I was due because you couldn’t get the hang of the time sheets. You spent your days eating cream buns and flirting on the phone with managers from other stores who, luckily for them, had never seen you. Every evening the night staff would have to do your work as well as theirs. The towels in the bathroom stank of feet and we found out why after we caught you wiping your stinky feet in them. You didn’t do any stock checks, you didn’t do any vault checks – you let the place fall apart. Almost a year later we’re still trying to get it back on track. And you’re still here.Before you arrived there was a great family feeling in the store. We trusted and liked eachother. You squealed on anyone who had a mishap – even on our manager which was pretty dumb considering she was told about it. Even though you had done this we still felt bad about reporting your imbecilic antics but there’s only so much people can take before they snap. When we did snap we began writing down your worst blunders and presented them to our district manager. He gave you a verbal warning – the same thing given to people who forget to sign out in the diary. We have guessed that in true carny fashion you have something on our DM and that’s why he can’t fire you.That’s why I’ve decided that you have to die. I hate you Ray. I hope you choke the next time you shovel a battered sausage down your throat. I hope you have a heart attack the next time you stare down a young girl’s top. I hope the fungus on your feet is somehow lethal and you wake up one night to find it suffocating you and poisoning your lungs.It’s either that or you get another job.