No smoke without fire...
Many years ago, I used to work in Burger King. This particular branch was the one in Glasgow Central train station, which if you've never visited is pretty big, and pretty busy. The West Coast main line, all the trains in the West of Scotland, they all start from there.

At the time our story takes place, we'd had a few bomb scares. They removed all of the bins from the station so nobody could leave exploding packages around the place, but even so every few weeks the fire alarms would kick off and the station would evacuate out onto the surrounding streets. Trains would be backed up for hours, replacement bus hell would ensure, it was a Big Deal. Of course for those of us who worked there, it got pretty old pretty quickly, and every time it happened you'd end up enjoying the sunny climate of Glasgow for an hour or so while the station got checked out by police and firemen before you could get back in. God forbid it happen near the end of your shift, you'd be there ages...

Anyway, that's all background. It's a Saturday afternoon, I've started work at 3pm and am just settling into a happy day's burger slinging when the alarm kicks off. Out we go, into the windy rainy shithole. My colleague, who for the purposes of no anonymity whatsoever I shall call Dave, who had finished his shift at the same time I started, is spectacularly unhappy about this turn of events. He's left his bag and civilian clothing in the manager's office, and can't go home without them (even if the trains hadn't all stopped for the alarm), because the manager wouldn't let him nip in and get them on the way out. Truth be told he gets a bit shouty, in the guttural and creative way that only a Glaswegian really can.

Given his outburst, you can probably imagine the manager's reaction when, after being told that the fire alarm had come from the Burger King staff gents' toilet, saw the security camera footage from our staff room... which showed Dave heading into the cubicle with a pack of fags, presumably having forgotten that the new integrated smoke alarms had been fitted that very morning despite us all being warned not to smoke in there any more on pain of death.

I've got no idea what the cumulative cost of that ciggie was, but Dave got to spend quite a long time in the manager's office before he got to go home, and never set foot in BK again. The daft prick.
(Sartori is moving to Canada, eh?, Thu 3 Mar 2011, 22:13, Reply)