Sheffield's "Finest"
Some time ago, I used to work for that fine purveyor of fast food, MacDonald's. I guess a good number of us here have done our time at the Golden Arches, or similar, when we were students.

For my sins, and ability of dealing with large numbers of people on a superficial basis, I was on the tills. Well, it beat being in the kitchen running round like a loony flipping burgers for 8 hours a day.

Of course, with the smooth, also comes the rough, or in this case, Sheffield's fine selection of tramps, drop-outs and other housing-deprived individuals.

One that always sticks with me is an elderly gentleman who looked like Gandalf, but smelled worse than Foul Ole Ron. You could tell when he was about to enter the restaurant because the metalwork started to tarnish and the air was filled with the sharp odour of something like TCP and urine. He'd always order the same thing- a small icecream and a coffee- and spend up to an hour just watching the world go by. I never did find the time to get his story, as he seemed like such a lonely individual, rejecting and rejected by the world around him.

And then one day, he didn't come in. And now to my shame, I was at the time relieved. I wouldn't have to endure the smell and the complaints from the customers.

He never came in again.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Mon 6 Jul 2009, 14:04, Reply)