Paedos and nymphos.
Thursday, 19 April 2007
First things first: when I arrived at work tonight I was informed that not only had the Octopaedo been warned again, he'd actually been banned from the complex. Turns out the last straw was a visit paid to him by the head of security at 9.30am this morning, and when he opened the door to his caravan he was blind-drunk on whisky. Well, that just wasn't going to do at all, and at 6pm we were informed that under no circumstances was he to be allowed into any of the buildings.
Well, OK. All's well, etc. However, about 10pm, I casually walk outside just to have a look, and would you Adam and Eve it, here he comes. I quickly walk down to meet him and it's pretty obvious he's still drunk. He even has a little pocket of spittle in the right corner of his mouth.
He says something then immediately starts to look for his pass. "Sorry mate," I say, "You can't come in here tonight, and I think you know that." Well, at least, that's what we'd been told - that he'd been told - but now I'm not so sure.
He mumbles some stuff, asks me for the time and we exchange a few meaningless sentences. "I just wanted to go to the shop, really," he says, nodding towards the grocers behind me, "To get a drink."
"Why don't you leave it for tonight mate?" I say.
"Yes. Probably for the best. I have some coffee at home, actually," he adds, rather abstractly.
I nod.
Beat.
"I've had a hell of a day," he says.
Then it hits me again - what if this guy is just an innocent old man? What if he is just an eccentric? A man stuck in the past? He's been labelled an outcast and treated like one and, yes, some of the things he did were quite fucking dodgy, but still... what if we were wrong?
"Well," he states, "I'm leaving tomorrow. Going to find somewhere else to stay. Thanks for treating me with respect. That's all I really wanted." I had been respectful and polite to him; first of all, it's my job, and secondly, as I said, there is no real proof here. Just a grim suspicion that's hard to shake. Still, part of me remained unsure.
He held out his hand, and I took it. "See you later," I said, and off he went.
I walked back to the complex, and then it hit me: had I done the right thing and treated an elderly person in the correct and proper manner. Or - crikey - had I just shaken the hand of a paedophile? And does it matter either way? God only knows, and he's too busy being omnipresent and looking at kids in the showers after P.E.
The other highlight tonight was some 4ft10, Ronnie Corbett-a-like absolute nymphomaniac wandering around the main bar asking every person she saw in a uniform for sex. She even offered Jabba and myself a threesome. Believe me when I say this was about as welcome an offer as Jabba himself giving me a nudge and a wink. But she wouldn't take no for an answer. It didn't help that the bar staff later told her the security staff would walk her back to her caravan, which she took as a way to get us back there for some Corbett-style nookie. It wasn't happening, of course, and eventually we had to tell her to leave. Telling a nympho to leave!? I'd never have dreamed such a reality could exist.
Okay, so she goes, and about half an hour later we get everybody else out, close the place down, and I lock the main doors. She only fucking comes back and tries to physically pry the doors open with her fingers. For a full ten minutes! I actually started to fear for my health. Thankfully, she gave up and fucked off before my only viable option became suicide.
(As usual, my two days off have now commenced; be back in some hideous hour on Sunday morning. Until then, watch your back.)
posted by Sheamus @ 2:30 am
