its not what you know but who

Reads: 233  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
a typical worst case scenario

Submitted: June 07, 2009

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 07, 2009

A A A

A A A


ITSNOTWHATYOU KNOW,BUTWHO
Brian had his usual pitch at the Tidton flower and produce show; it was down near the lake under a large and shady oak, a boon on sunny show days. It was not on one of the busiest thoroughfares, but it was next to a burger van which was handy for the endless mugs of hot sweet tea that any workman worth his salt ran on.
Brian was a turner; he made bowls, platters, spoons and all manner of small turned items. He’d been doing the Tidton show for nearly thirty five years, he no longer needed to, his order book was full of loyal and wealthy customers, but this show his, local show had become a family tradition. Joining him this year on the stand was his eldest granddaughter Libby who was shaping up to be an excellent turner in her own right, she was away fetching him a mug of tea from the burger van. He was giving a demonstration on the small lathe that ran off a couple of old batteries, he was turning a bowl, shaping the rough knotty wood into a thing of beauty, a couple of kids watched almost mesmerised as the piece of old firewood was transformed before their eyes into a beautiful elegantly shaped bowl with an intricate and richly coloured grain. Brian felt good, the sun was shining, he was a master of his trade and any moment his granddaughter would return with his tea, all was well with the world.
“Are you the proprietor?”
A tall grey man in a grey suit wearing designer glasses and carrying a briefcase was addressing him from the other side of the red and white striped tape, Brian’s dislike of the man was deep and instant, he switched off the lathe and put down the chisel he’d been using.
“How can I help you sir?”
“Are you the proprietor?”
“Yes sir, I am the proprietor of Armstrong wooden turnings, how can I be of service?” said Brian smiling.
“My name is Edward Waghorn, and I represent the health and safety executive and I’m afraid I’m going to have to serve you with a notice to cease.
“What? The lathe why?”
“I’m afraid it is unsafe and poses a risk to public safety.”
“No it doesn’t, I’ve been turning for nigh on forty years, this lathe is perfectly safe.”
“Splinters and dust could fly off and damage the eyes of bystanders and I’m afraid Mr Armstrong, you are not qualified to assess what is a risk or not.”
“Who the bloody hell do you think you are!”
“Now Mr Armstrong, there’s no need to take that tone, I’m just doing my job, I’m sure you wouldn’t want a member of the public injured because of your negligence.”
“My negligence, my bloody negligence, I already told you I’ve been turning for forty years, forty bloody years, and I’ve never injured anyone. This lathe isn’t spinning more than a hundred and fifty r.p.m. There’s no splinters flying off, nobody’s ever been injured.”
“More by luck than judgement no doubt, now I’m going to serve you with this notice of cessation complete with a list of improvements that will have to be implemented before you’ll be able to do public demonstrations with this piece of equipment.”
“I expect you’ll want a lot of bloody guards stuck all over it.”
“That’s right Mr Armstrong; I will expect at least some guarding on the machine which will have to be passed by a qualified inspector.”
“If I put a lot of guards on it no one will be able to see what I’m doing, there won’t be any point bringing the damn thing if no one can see what I’m doing.”
“This regrettably may indeed be the case, but the public will be safe and that’s progress for you.”
“Progress, progress, I’ll show you bloody progress!”
In a flash Brian ducked under the tape and advanced on the officious little bastard who suddenly began to cower and back away as the burly giant that was Brian advanced quickly on him, Brian grabbed the briefcase which Waghorn held out in front of himself like a barrier and yanked it out of his hands.
“That’s personal property.” Squeaked Waghorn.
Brian strode forward past Waghorn, holding the case by the handle he threw it hammer style far out into the lake.
“I’ll be back.” Spluttered Waghorn as he scurried off.
“I’ll be waiting.” Shouted Brian to his retreating back.
There was a small round of applause from bystanders who had witnessed the altercation
“Granddad, what’s been happening?”
Brian grinned a sheepish grin at his granddaughter, relieved her of his cup of tea and reluctantly told her about Mr Waghorn from the H.S.E.
“Oh no granddad, you’ll get into trouble.”
“No, no he’s run off with his tail between his legs; we’ve seen the last of him.”
“I doubt it granddad, things don’t work like that anymore.”
At this point a very spotty young man turned up with Waghorns briefcase which had been retrieved from the lake, streams of water still issued from it.
“That’s him officer, I want that man arrested for assault!”
Mr Waghorn was back and he towed with him in his breathless wake an officer of the law.
“I thought you said he stole your briefcase?”
“No he didn’t steal it he threw it in the lake.”
“I’m Constable George Goodwin from the west Mercia constabulary and I’d like to ask you a few questions Mr?”
“Ask a few questions be damned, he threw my briefcase in the lake, I want this man placed under arrest.”
“Mr Waghorn, would you please let me get on with my job.”
Brian and Constable Goodwin both rolled their eyes heavenward while Waghorn turned his back crossed his arms and quietly fumed.
“My names Armstrong, Brian Armstrong.”
“And what exactly happened sir?”
“Well I was minding my own business when this little nerk showed up and started causing trouble.”
This was too much for Waghorn who turned on Brian.
“I’m a representative of the H.S.E.”
“Like I said,” said Brian butting in,” This little nerk showed up and started causing trouble, and then I wanged his briefcase in the lake.”
“There you see, from his own lips, I want this man locked up.”
“I got it back for you,” said Brian, handing him the soggy case.
“Its ruined.” Said Waghorn opening the case, it contained little other than a couple of disintegrating sandwiches and a waterlogged banana.
“We’ve got him on destruction of property as well, I want this man arrested right now, this very minute.” Said Waghorn prodding Constable Goodwin in the chest with his index finger while he gesticulated at Brian with his other hand, he was so incensed by this point that clouds of spittle flew from his mouth as he ranted.
Constable Goodwin looked pointedly down at the extended index finger where it still contacted his breastbone and took a large white handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped Waghorns spittle from his face.
“Mr Waghorn, I’m arresting you for behaviour likely to lead to an affray.”
“What?” said Waghorn incredulously?
Goodwin tried to take Waghorn by the arm, but he pulled away and started to back toward the lake, Goodwin spoke into his radio;
“Dave I’ve got a hooligan resisting arrest, bring the van down to lakeside.”
“Right, c’mere you.”
In the next few minutes Goodwin deployed his telescopic nightstick and pepper spray on Waghorn and he was loaded bruised and half blind into the Police van along with a drunk from the beer tent who was now redecorating the interior in various shades of vomit.
“See you in the queens later?” said Brian.
“And the drinks are most definitely on you.” Said Goodwin grinning.
“Sorry.” Said Brian.
“It’s alright,” said Goodwin,” anyway you’re right he is a nerk, just try and keep yourself out of trouble for the rest of the day.”
 
 


© Copyright 2020 Richard M Bromley. All rights reserved.

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Add Your Comments: