Take the Dunnes Test….
I was in Dunnes Stores the other day on the hunt for a new pair of cheap trousers for work. Finding black trousers that are both generous in waist and short in length is no easy feat let me tell you. I am one cream pie away from having to shop at a specialist vendor. There was a young woman nearby re-folding the recently dishevelled stack of stripy jumpers. Two wee lads, fresh from school had slipped from their mother’s leash and were terrorising the various displays. I think they were actually agents sent in by the management of Primark because by the time the two of the shaven headed little hoods had finished the place did resemble that most horrid of shops.
The young woman folding jumpers nearby spotted my struggle with the various black trouser racks and came along to offer help. After I had whispered to her what size pants I was looking for she rooted around in a rack and produced a non-shiny pair of slacks that were both wide and short. Tremendous! I grabbed her by her slender waist and rubbed her ass against my crotch and then slapped it as she walked away. She looked mortified but what the fuck, I got my jolly’s and that’s all counts eh. Plus she wanted it the little minx what with the way she smiled at me and offered to help.
What?
Did I do something wrong?
You aren’t gonna tell me that’s inappropriate behaviour are you? Why is it out of order? Is it out of order because I’m not half drunk or because it’s a clothes shop? People do it in restaurants and bars all the time so why is it not acceptable to do it in Dunnes Stores or Primark or Tesco? Eh explain it to me? Why cant I call the nice woman in my local bakery, “sweet tits” as I order my espresso and croissant? It looks like fun! Awh man, you guys are so dull, lighten up a little. Here rub your ass against my crotch, you’ll feel better for it. What if I, and my twenty mates, get our cocks out for the ladies? Would that help?
Obviously I am metaphorically pulling your plonker.
We had a couple of tables a couple of weeks ago that finally diminished any hope I had for the human race. It wasn’t the daily bombings, murders, rapes, massive cases of corporate thievery or political toadying that done it. It wasn’t the sanctimony of religious leaders nor was it the wanton greed and corruption that so pervades every facet of modern society, no, no it was just a couple of tables in a mid priced Belfast restaurant that finally made me realise that people suck. People suck so hard.
The first table was a group of twenty or so work colleagues out for an evenings entertainment. They dined well and seemed like a fairly civilised bunch. Little did I know what a few of them were up to. Every time they would pass through the restaurant a couple of the older chaps would time it so that they had to pass by Waiter Chum the Younger. And every time they passed her they would grab her by her waist, rub themselves against her and dander on. I only found this out at the end of the night. But if I had known about this earlier I would have put a very definite stop to it. What the fuckity fuck is that all about? Grown men, old enough to be her father, actually some of them were old enough to be my father, rubbing themselves up against a young woman for cheap jollies. The dirty fuckers.
I was dismayed but Waiter Chum the Younger was both horrified and angry.
Twenty four hours later and we had a stag party in. They were in our private room and as it happens Waiter Chum the Younger was working it. She volunteered for it and wouldn’t be dissuaded from doing it even after the previous night’’s encounter. Huzzah for her. They were a bunch of sweater wearers from Galway, all heavy breathing and red faces. Again they weren’t young but rather they were old, dad old. And again after a few minutes they, like the chaps from the previous day, got a bit frisky. Waiter Chum the Younger backed out of the room for a moment and Waiter Chum number Two and I moved in. Waiter Chum number Two is a fearsome woman at the best of times so there was no real need for me to be there but as I cant keep my nose out of a fight I was. With gusto too.
One of the red faced finger sniffers made a bold and very stupid move, he went for a quick grope of Waiter Chum number Two. Uh oh. I swear to Gordon Ramsay my heart stopped. Looking the guy square in the eyes she warned him what would happen and where they would be stuffed if he did it again. He, suitably chastened, went even more red and dropped his wandering hands to his side. Of course his mates roared with laughter finishing with one suggesting they all get their, “cocks out for the waitress.” They hadn’t seen me behind the velvet curtain. There then followed a very stern lecture about not getting their cocks or any other part of their anatomy our for the waitresses or anybody else’s amusement.
It was a very demoralising 24 hours at work I can tell you. What gives eh? What makes people think they can do that? I know this post isn’t very funny but then again being manhandled at work isn’t very funny either. But if you are out in a bar or restaurant and thinking about what your are about to do is maybe inappropriate just think to yourself, “Would I do this in a Dunnes?”
Also, I should add no Dunnes shop workers were harmed or in any way bothered for the purposes of this story.
The workers at Dunnes stores are sexy Old Knudsen rubs his crotch over everything whether it likes it or not its the way he rolls. Think about that next time you buy a toothbrush.
That sort of behaviour is right out of the Middle Ages! I think society is moving backwards with their morales.
You’re just jealous that you’re not getting groped at work, aren’t you?
I was working as a waitress (I will not call myself a waiter, you can bugger right off) when I was 16, and there was this geezer that would come in for coffee every morning, and every morning he would make double entendre comments and hit on me, etc., and I was not allowed to say anything about it because my day manager was a fucking male chauvinist pig and I would have been reprimanded 6 ways from Sunday if I had dared defend myself against mild sexual harassment from a customer. So one day the geezer just happened to be hitting on me when the manager wasn’t hovering, and ended his chat up line with “You remind me of my daughter.” I put on my best “Fuck off you cunt” face and replied with “Well, just think of it as incest then, every time you’re coming on to me.” Strangely enough he always sat in someone else’s station after that.
Those Morales were always a bit backward
You know what I object to? The blatant Galway-bashing in this article.
You feckin’ racist, Manuel!
Thanks for re awaking long repressed memories of working in Dunnes stores about ‘87/’88 while in college!
This was in the days before the general public discovered anti-perspirant deodorant……..apparently.
galwegiaphobes everywhere Sweary
Racist? Phobe? oh my!
Manuel shoots straight from his apron….I could have lied and said they were from Donegal or Cork or Waterford….but the truth is more important than that….they were big red faced men with bad sweaters and dodgy hair….Listen I like Galway and some of my best friends are Galwaywegians…no really
Too little too late!
actually it was more a case of too much too early….heh
well put Manuel, well put!
Cat: thank you……are some of you best friends from Galway too? hehehehehe
Cunts Manuel or aunts predicatively .
But bar the cunts .
@ Sparrow, working as a waitress in a cocktail bar , maybe ? When I met you ………..
And Dunnes and trousers – strawberries and cream – three pairs wide and short – €75 – sorted.
I think you misunderestimate (to use a Bushism) the amount of depravity to be found in a typical Dunnes Stores Manuel. I once saw a woman doing unspeakable things to a donkey in the household goods section.
‘Live and let live’ was my first reaction. But then the donkey turned the tables on the woman in question, and I had to intervene. You don’t know pain until you’ve been hoofed in the groin by an irate mule with an erection.
Sometimes I have to take clients out for a meal and drink. I find myself doing it less and less. The ones from the sticks are always the worst. It’s not just confined to men though and drunk leery groups of women are equally as menacing in my experience.
Well….
Some men….doesn’t matter where they’re from….will try to take a mile even when they aren’t even given the hint of an inch….and drink just exacerbates the problem.
Up Galway!!! I do miss Salt Hill…..
I had a Saturday job in Marks and Spencer when I was a young girlie of 16. They made me work in the menswear department.
Every Saturday, the same man came in “to get measured for a new suit”. He would leave afterwards, sweaty and palpitating, with not so much as a new pair of socks to his name.
Nasty old pervert that he was.
too much pain to respond…..but rest assured i agree and/or am horrified…carry on
Ah, me granny thinks that your colleague should rediscover the useful art of having a hatpin – or indeed a needle – about your person.
Anyone who makes their own clothes might wear a needle by accident, but who on earth would find occasion to brush their hand across one?
Sadly, Dunnes Stores don’t sell them : )
Now that I think about it, she did grow up in Galway …
The male in pack formation reaches the lowest common denominator faster than the speed of light. I don’t know why that is. I take it there were no women in either group?
I used to work as a store detective for marks and spencer some years ago i was assigned to keep an eye on an employee who continually groped the male customers while measuring for suits
it was project lucy
i never knew the outcome i was reassigned
this was also in galway