Originally Posted: 11:32 PM - Feb 14, 2012

On Monday morning the staff arrived at eight-thirty and began signing the book. Captain Peacock, as usual, stood nearby glancing at his watch. However, as they were all on time he had no reason to admonish them or make snide remarks so he focused instead on their appearances.
“Miss Brahms, you have been told more than once that you are not allowed more frills on your blouse than years you have worked here,” he stated. “Mrs Slocombe, please attend to your junior’s attire. Mr Grainger, you’re missing a button on your waistcoat. Have Mr Humphries repair it for you. I believe he has quite a lot of experience with seamstress work.”
Mr Humphries glared at him and as soon as his back was turned he held up a middle finger. He dropped this when he heard the lift open once more and Mr Rumbold came out.
“Ah, excellent! You’re all here.” Mr Rumbold removed his executive bowler and beamed at everyone. “Mr Smith should be here at any moment. Line up in order of seniority, please.”
The staff quietly took up their positions and waited patiently. Mr Rumbold walked down the line, nodding as he went. He stopped when he came to Miss Brahms and stared at her chest. She’d removed the frills according to Captain Peacock’s command but it had left several inches of cleavage exposed.
“Miss Brahms,” Mr Rumbold sighed, “please cover yourself properly.
“Wif what?” she asked.
Mr Rumbold shook his head and turned to look at the ladies’ counter. He found the frills that had been cut from her shirt and picked them up. Offering them to her, he said, “Perhaps you can pin these to your blouse for now.”
Miss Brahms smirked as she took the frills back and tucked the edges into her shirt, covering her cleavage nicely. Just then the lift doors dinged and Mr Rumbold exclaimed, “Ah, there he is! Now let’s make him feel welcome by calling out to him in a warm, friendly, jovial manner. Ready? Now!”
“Welcome to the first floor!” the staff chorused.
Mr Lucas stepped out of the lift, grinning from ear to ear. He looked much different in a dark blue three-piece and a shorter haircut. “Blimey!” he chuckled. “You lot miss me that much?”
“Mr Lucas, what are you doing down here?” Mr Rumbold demanded. “You’ve been transferred to the Electronics department; that’s on the fourth floor.”
“Actually, Mr Grace transferred me again,” Mr Lucas replied. “They gave the gig in Electronics to some new bird and he sent me to Accounts. I’m just here to collect my textbook, which I forgot to take with me Thursday.”
“Accounts?” Captain Peacock scoffed. “And what qualifies you to manage Grace Brothers’ financial matters?”
“Aside from the fact that I’m back at university studying business?” Mr Lucas replied casually, tugging the sleeves on his jacket. “Well, there’s also the three years I helped out at the skating rink mum worked at, doing book-keeping and pay-roll for the manager. Since Mr Pendley is on medical leave for his gallbladder surgery, Mr Grace thought I’d be the perfect replacement. Sure, it’s a temporary position at the moment but if Mr Turner does retire at the end of the year, well, it could be permanent.”
Mr Rumbold looked confused while Captain Peacock appeared mutinous. The women and Mr Grainger just stared while Mr Humphries tried his best not to burst out laughing as he passed Mr Lucas his book.
“Anyway,” Mr Lucas sighed, “I’d best get down to the basement or Mrs Thompson will have nicked all the coffee. I’ll see you lot at lunch!” With a cheery wave he went back to the lift and was gone. A second later the other lift dinged and a young, tall, dark-blonde fellow burst forth . He nearly tripped on the last step and came to an abrupt halt in front of Mr Rumbold.
“Sorry...sorry I’m late...Mr...Rumbold,” he panted. “Only...my alarm failed to go off...and I couldn’t get a taxi due to the terrible traffic.”
“Never mind that,” Mr Rumbold said, not unkindly. “Allow me to introduce you to the rest of the staff. You will be under Mr Humphries, the sales assistant. He is under Mr Grainger, the senior salesman, who is under Captain Peacock, the floorwalker.” With each introduction the men inclined their heads politely.
“And now the ladies,” Mr Rumbold continued. “This is Miss Brahms, junior to Mrs Slocombe.” The women inclined their heads in the same manner. “Everyone, this is Martin Smith. He is from Croydon, I believe, and just left Cambridge where he graduated with a bachelor’s degree in English and Literature. During his years at university he worked for Lally and Willets, in not only their men's department but also Haberdashery and Shoes.”
“May one ask why he left Lally and Willets?” Captain Peacock asked.
Mr Smith shrugged as he replied, “There wasn’t much room for advancement. Couldn’t see myself going anywhere in that place. I’ve got too much ambition, too much drive...”
“Pity you’ll be stuck in neutral here,” Mr Humphries muttered under his breath.
Mr Rumbold clapped a hand on Mr Smith’s shoulder. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be very happy here at Grace Brothers. Now, let’s all give Mr Smith a warm welcome to the department.”
The staff murmured a rather chilly welcome, but Mr Smith grinned broadly.
“Right! Where do I go and what do I do?” he asked.
“I shall leave that to our Mr Grainger and Mr Humphries,” Mr Rumbold replied. “Well, carry on, everyone!” He smiled at the staff and left for his office.
Mrs Slocombe and Miss Brahms started to leave when the junior jumped and squeaked.
“Are you alright, Miss Brahms?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
“Someone just pinched me,” Miss Brahms snapped.
Captain Peacock raised an eyebrow in alarm. “Who pinched Miss Brahms?” he demanded. “Own up or we shall remain behind after the store closes. Mr Grainger, was it you?”
“Certainly not, Captain Peacock,” Mr Grainger replied sullenly.
“Mr Humphries?” Captain Peacock drawled.
“Innocent,” Mr Humphries said. “But thanks.”
“I can only conclude that it was you, Mr Smith,” Captain Peacock said, turning to the new junior. “I will overlook it this time since you are new. However, any future incidents will result in a reprimand then you will be on report. Understood?”
“Understood, Mr Peacock,” Mr Smith said.
“Captain Peacock,” the floorwalker growled.
“Yes sir, Captain sir,” Mr Smith replied, saluting.
“Just get to your counter so that the men may begin your training,” Captain Peacock groaned.
Mr Grainger stepped behind the counter, followed by Mr Humphries, who looked back and beckoned for Mr Smith to follow. He then took out a drawer and placed it on the counter.
“This will be your personal drawer,” Mr Humphries explained. “Inside you will find the previous junior’s tape measure, chalk, and...” He looked inside and sighed. “...his copy of The Magician’s Nephew.” Mr Humphries shook his head sadly and pocketed the tome. “I’ll take this down to him later. Oh...he might also want his spare handkerchief. The rest is yours. You are to keep your tape measure and chalk in your pocket. On no accounts are you allowed to drape your tape measure around your neck. That privilege is reserved only for the senior salesman, Mr Grainger.”
“Got it,” Mr Smith said, taking the drawer and peering inside. “So, when do the customers get ‘ere?”
“The opening bell will sound at nine o’clock sharp,” Mr Grainger replied. “When they arrive they shall be doled out according to seniority. I am given the first customer, then if I am still engaged the next customer goes to Mr Humphries, unless he is assisting me. The next customer after that, if we are both engaged, is yours. However, at any time Mr Humphries or myself may require your assistance. In which case, unless you are with a customer yourself, you are to avail yourself to our needs. Is that clear?”
“Crystal,” Mr Smith nodded.
Mr Grainger looked the junior up and down, sniffed disdainfully, and walked away. Just then the opening bell went off and the lift doors opened, expelling a handful of young women who went right for the ladies’ counter. Mr Smith watched them with a broad grin on his face.
“Cor, blimey!” he breathed. “Check out the birds!”
Mr Humphries glanced over at the women but was obviously unimpressed. “Those shoes are so last autumn,” he scoffed.
“Who cares?” Mr Smith said. “Here, cover me. I’m goin’ in!”
“No you’re not,” Mr Humphries said, catching Mr Smith by the arm. “We’re not allowed to leave our counters.”
“Say what?” Mr Smith exclaimed. “What if we’ve got to drain the lizard?”
Mr Humphries blinked several times before replying, “First, we do not use the phrase ‘drain the lizard’. We excuse ourselves politely before attending to our bodily functions. And should the need arise you are to alert myself or Mr Grainger before leaving the counter. You are allowed up to five minutes and I hope I needn’t explain the necessity for you wash your hands properly before returning to your position.”
“I quite understand, really,” Mr Smith nodded. “So, would it be alright if I, er, attend to my bodily functions, then?”
“Oh very well,” Mr Humphries sighed, waving a hand in exasperation. “Go on.”
Mr Smith smiled and straightened his tie, then started toward the gents’ toilet. He looked back at the last second, saw that both men had their attention elsewhere, and changed direction, headed for the girls. A moment later there was a loud ‘SMACK!’ and Mr Smith was propelled backwards into the centre display. He crashed into the male dummy that was displaying the same blue Y-fronts, sending its arms flying.
Captain Peacock whipped around when he heard the crash and quickly sprinted over. When he saw Mr Smith looking dazed and confused atop the broken centre display unit the floorwalker flushed scarlet with rage.
“Mr Smith, what on Earth do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
“Trying to get a date for Friday night,” Mr Smith replied. “So far no luck.”
“Get up!” Captain Peacock growled. “And get back to your counter this instant!”
Mr Smith stood up and brushed himself off. Then he picked a pair of underwear from his shoulder and offered it to Captain Peacock, who snatched it from him and pointed to the men's counter. Mr Smith did as he was told, slouching the entire time.
“What were you playing at?” Mr Humphries hissed.
“Just wanted a bit of crumpet, that’s all,” Mr Smith shrugged.
“I told you not to go over there,” Mr Humphries said. “Oh! Mr Rumbold’s going to have a fit when he sees that lot!”
Captain Peacock looked over the damage and sighed. Then he went to the men's counter, holding up a dismembered plastic arm.
“Mr Grainger, are you free?” he asked.
Mr Grainger looked left then right before replying, “Yes, I’m free.”
“Would you please gather your assistant and junior and meet me at the centre display?” Captain Peacock requested.
“Certainly, Captain Peacock,” Mr Grainger replied. He waited until the floorwalker stepped away then turned to the others. “Mr Humphries, Mr Luc-, I mean, Mr Smith? Follow me.”
Mr Humphries gave Mr Smith a nudge and they queued up behind Mr Grainger, who led them to the centre display. Captain Peacock glared at both men rather nastily.
“Mr Smith, did you ask for permission to leave your counter?” he demanded.
“Yes sir,” Mr Smith replied.
“Who gave you permission?” Captain Peacock inquired.
“Mr Humphries did, sir,” Mr Smith said.
“Mr Humphries, did you give Mr Smith permission to leave his counter to address those girls at the ladies’ counter?”
“Certainly not, Captain Peacock,” Mr Humphries replied. “He asked to be excused to the gents’ toilet and I said he could go.”
“Is this true, Mr Smith?” Captain Peacock asked.
“Not really,” Mr Smith answered. “I asked if I could attend to my bodily functions. There was no mention of the toilet.”
Mr Humphries rounded on Mr Smith. “You implied that you were going to the gents’!”
“Ah, you assumed I was going to the gents’,” Mr Smith grinned. “Remember, when you assume you make an ass of ‘u’ and me.”
Now it was Mr Humphries’ turn to be livid but before he could say anything else Captain Peacock interrupted.
“I will not have this sort of behaviour on my floor.” He thrust the arm into Mr Humphries’ hands. “You two will clean up this mess while I go see Mr Rumbold about replacing it and docking both your wages.”
“What, mine as well?” Mr Humphries exclaimed.
“Yes, yours as well,” Captain Peacock said. “Perhaps from now on you will assert more control over your junior.”
Mr Grainger shook his head slowly and tutted. Captain Peacock heard him and added, “And you, Mr Grainger…where were you when all this occurred?”
Mr Grainger looked up and blinked. “I was at my post, waiting for a customer.”
“Why weren’t you supervising these two properly?” Captain Peacock growled. “Instead of wasting time standing around?”
“I was not wasting time,” Mr Grainger snapped. “And I shall not be spoken to like that in front of my assistants!”
“Then I suggest you set a better example for them,” Captain Peacock said firmly. “You two – get to work! I want this lot cleaned up before I return. Mr Grainger shall attend to any customers while you two are working.” He then stormed off to Mr Rumbold’s office.
Mr Humphries waited until the floorwalker was out of earshot before shoving the arm at Mr Smith. “A fine mess you’ve gotten us into. If you can’t keep your hormones under control I will be more than happy to castrate you myself!” He went to the stock-room to get a broom and dust-pan. As soon as his back was turned Mr Smith gave him the two-finger salute before busying himself with the broken bits of mannequin strewn on the floor.

At one o’clock the staff queued up for some of the dreariest looking bangers and mash they had seen in years as well as pilchard salads that looked like they had been made three weeks previously. The tea was translucent, even when you added milk, and the coffee’s viscosity was similar to that of tapioca pudding – complete with lumps. The staff paid for their food and filed into their seats looking quite disgusted. This time, however, it wasn’t just because of the food.
“I wonder what’s going on with Captain Peacock,” Miss Brahms said. “I mean, he’s been ever so horrible lately. You’d think with Mr Lucas gone he’d lighten up a little.”
“Is he always like this?” Mr Smith asked.
“Not always,” Mrs Slocombe replied, looking upon the junior with much distaste. Turning to the others she added, “I wonder if things at home aren’t exactly peaceful these days?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Mr Humphries said. “Remember at the last Christmas party, when he kept chasing Mrs Thompson from Accounts with his blow-tickler? Mrs Peacock found out and he slept on the sofa for a fortnight.”
“That blow-tickler of his will cause him quite a lot of trouble one day,” Mr Grainger grumbled. He shovelled a forkful of potatoes into his mouth, spilling half of them into his lap.
“Feeding bag for Mr Grainger,” Mr Humphries sighed.
“He does bring it all on himself,” Miss Brahms remarked. “Don’t none of us ask to be pinched or tickled or molested. He and half the other men in the store do it on their own.”
“What do you mean, half the men in the store?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
“Well, there’s Captain Peacock what does it,” Miss Brahms replied. “Mr Lucas, of course. Then there’s Mr Bentall, Mr Franklin, Mr Davis, Mr Lewison, Mr Franco, Mr Theobold, and Mr Bradford.”
“Is that the same Mr Bradford what works in Bathroom Fittings?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
“The very one,” Miss Brahms said. “I went up there to buy a ball cock unit and I know he did not misunderstand me!”
Mr Humphries had been drinking from a glass of water; when he heard this he accidentally sprayed a mouthful of liquid, then stared at her in horror.
“Disgusting,” Miss Brahms snarled.
“Well excuse me!” Mr Humphries exclaimed, wiping his mouth and face with a napkin. “I wasn’t prepared for that part of your story.”
“Not you,” Miss Brahms grumbled. “I mean the way we women get treated. I mean, surely there’s something in the tribunal about sexual harassment and misconduct in the workplace. We should try and look it up.”
“I quite agree, Miss Brahms,” Mrs Slocombe concurred. “I shall speak to Mr Rumbold and see if we can do a bit of research. Then we’ll complain to management and they’ll put a stop to it!”
“Mind you, Mr Grace won’t care, will he?” Miss Brahms pointed out. “I mean, he’s the worst one, innit he? And since he’s the owner he figures he can get away wif anyfing.”
“Absolute power corrupts absolutely,” Mr Grainger said.
“You know why Captain Peacock does it,” Mrs Slocombe muttered. “He’s probably not getting what he needs at home. Either that or he’s suffering from…well, you know.”
“Know what?” Miss Brahms asked.
Mrs Slocombe looked around then whispered into her ear. Miss Brahms’ brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean, he’s imported?”
Mrs Slocombe rolled her eyes. “Not imported,” she said. She whispered again into her junior’s ear. Miss Brahms’ expression switched from bewilderment to horror and she clapped a hand to her mouth.
“Thank you for the mental image,” she cried. “Ugh, I don’t think I can eat these now.” She pushed away her plate of bangers.
“I’ll trade you,” Mr Humphries said, offering his pilchard salad.
Captain Peacock came over just then with his own plate of dismal sausages and lumpy potatoes. The staff went back to their food quietly. The floorwalker tapped a pair of sugar packets with his fingers, looked down the table, then said, “You’re being awfully quiet this afternoon.”
No one said anything for a moment, then Mrs Slocombe spoke up. “We were actually discussing you just a moment ago.”
Captain Peacock raised an eyebrow. “Do tell?”
“We hoped you might do that yourself,” Mrs Slocombe replied. “We’ve noticed you’ve been in a rather cantakerous mood lately.”
“And you’ve been takin’ it out on us,” Miss Brahms said.
Mrs Slocombe softened her expression as she leaned closer, whispering, “Is there anything you want to tell us, Captain Peacock? I mean, you and I do go back many years. If there is something bothering you we’d like to know.”
Captain Peacock shook his head and waved her concern away. “There is something, but I’d rather not discuss it.”
“Come now, Stephen,” Mr Grainger said, patting his arm in a brotherly manner. “You and I have been friends for twenty years now. We’ve shared all sorts of troubles and tribulations with each other. Not to mention the good times. Remember back in 1965, when Mr Prentice was about to retire? Remember the prank we pulled on him his last day in the shoppe?”
Captain Peacock managed a small smile. “Ah yes, the fake crime scene in his office. It took us an hour to get that chalk outline out of the carpet.” He chuckled a little at the memory. “Such good times! However, I’m not terribly keen on venting any issues at the moment. Perhaps later. But thank you, Ernest. Betty.” He raised his cup of tea to each of them before sipping it.
“Oh come on, Captain,” Mr Smith chimed in. “Tell us what’s wrong. Is the missus not givin’ you any again?”
Captain Peacock’s eyes bulged and he sprayed hot tea from his mouth. He turned and glared at the junior, who had his head cocked to one side in mock concern.
“How dare you?” Captain Peacock demanded.
Mr Smith looked very taken aback. “Sorry, I’m just curious, that’s all. I mean, this lot’s real worried about you. They’ve been trying to figure out if you’re not happy at home or…”
Mr Humphries shook his head fearfully and made a cutting gesture across his neck while Mrs Slocombe silently formed the words ‘Shut UP!’ Miss Brahms merely pressed a finger to her lips while Mr Grainger scowled. Still, Mr Smith went on.
“…or maybe Mrs Peacock was making you sleep on the couch ‘cause you groped some girl. Then they were wondering if maybe you were impotent or something.”
Captain Peacock stood up so quickly that the table was jettisoned forward six inches. Mrs Slocombe rose from her seat as well and had her right fist up like she was about to wallop Mr Smith. Mr Humphries became very pale and could be heard muttering a certain four letter word under his breath.
“Oh dear,” Mr Smith said quietly. “I think I may have offended some people at this table.” He got up and slowly moved away. “Perhaps it would be best if I finish my meal elsewhere.”
Mrs Slocombe made like she was about to pounce and he jumped, then quickly retreated to the furthest table he could find.
Captain Peacock said nothing but it was obvious he was absolutely livid. He straightened his tie, tugged his jacket into place, and stalked away from the table. They watched him leave and Mrs Slocombe reclaimed her chair while Mr Humphries pulled the table back into place.
“That boy has got to go,” Mr Grainger said.
“For once I agree with you,” Mrs Slocombe said. “He has to be the stupidest, most sexist, chauvinistic, pig-headed twit I have ever had the misfortune of encountering in my life!”
“Sorta makes you appreciate Mr Lucas, dunnit?” Miss Brahms remarked.
Mrs Slocombe closed her eyes for a moment before replying. “Sadly, you are correct, Miss Brahms. Even I will admit that we never had this much calamity with Mr Lucas.”
“D’ya think we could get him back?” Miss Brahms asked.
“I doubt he’d come back,” Mr Humphries sighed. “His new position pays better and technically he now outranks both Rumbold and Peacock. One word from him and their pay could be docked. Or worse! He could easily have them sacked.”
“That’s it!” Mrs Slocombe exclaimed. “Mr Lucas could get rid of that Smith boy. Course, persuading him to come back will certainly be a challenge.”
“Not really,” said a familiar voice behind them.
They all turned to see Mr Lucas standing nearby with a cup of tea in his hand. He took his old place at the table, smiling kindly at them the whole time. “Miss me?”
“Oh yes!” Miss Brahms cried, flinging her arms around his neck. “Oh, it’s not the same without you. That stupid boy’s got us all into trouble and he hasn’t even been here one whole day!”
“Makes you appreciate what you had, doesn’t it?” Mr Lucas grinned. “So, what’s the plan?”
“What do you mean ‘what’s the plan?’” Mr Grainger asked.
“You lot want me back, don’t you?” Mr Lucas replied. “And to be perfectly honest I want to come back.”
“Are you serious?” Mr Humphries said. “Aren’t you getting paid more?”
“And what about all that authority you have now?” Miss Brahms said.
“Not to mention the fact that you don’t have to deal with Captain Peacock’s vicious mood swings,” Mrs Slocombe pointed out.
“Yeah, but it’s not all it’s cracked up to be down there,” Mr Lucas sighed. He started to speak again when a look of sheer terror crept across his face.
The others turned to see an older overweight woman with a moustache similar to Captain Peacock’s. She was beckoning to Mr Lucas, smiling sweetly at him and suddenly made a kissing noise. Mr Lucas gulped and raised a shaking hand in greeting. She was soon joined by a very homely-looking girl who had large, thick eyeglasses and orange frizzy hair. Both made kissy-faces at him as they waved, then they ran off giggling.
Mr Humphries turned and gave Mr Lucas a slight smirk. “Someone’s popular.”
Mr Lucas stared him and shook his head. “That was Miss Baker and Miss Yearling,” he said. “They won’t leave me alone. Mrs Thompson is the worst, though. She’s not bad-looking, but she’s very bold. So very bold.” He shuddered a bit then sipped his tea.
“Is that why you want to come back so bad?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
“That and the giant rats down in the basement,” Mr Lucas joked. “Nah, I miss you lot. I miss sharing stories with you, Mr Humphries, and hearing your war tales, Mr Grainger. I even miss getting bitched at by you, Mrs Slocombe.”
“What about me?” Miss Brahms asked, pouting slightly.
“I definitely miss you, Shirley,” Mr Lucas nodded. “I miss trying to chat you up, even though you always turned me down.”
“I miss telling you to sod off,” Miss Brahms smiled. “Oh, do come back!”
“Well, like I said – what’s the plan?” Mr Lucas said.
“I should think it’s quite simple,” Mr Humphries replied. “In your new position you have much more power than we do. All you’ve got to do is give Peacock and Rumbold an ultimatum: they can give you back your old job or lose theirs. Then it’s just a matter of sacking that stupid Smith lad.”
“What, Edward Smith?” Mr Lucas asked. “The one who lives in Carshalton, and works in Do-It-Yourself?”
“No,” Mr Humphries said. “That bloody Martin Smith from Croydon, who just came from Lally and Willets.”
“Oh yeah, that one.” Mr Lucas scratched his chin thoughtfully, then stood up. “Right. I’ll take care of this. Don’t you worry! I’ll be back at the men's counter before you know it.”
“Here, here!” the staff chorused.

At five-thirty the closing bell sounded and the last few customers wound their way toward the lift. Captain Peacock watched them go and when the lift doors closed on the last one he turned to retrieve his hat and coat from the stock-room. He passed the men's counter without a word; he hadn’t spoken to any of the staff since lunch. This was almost preferable to his former attitude, but it did make for a very tense atmosphere.
Mr Grainger and Mr Humphries had nearly finished covering the counters when Mr Rumbold appeared on the floor, closely followed by Mr Lucas. The younger man gave a subtle wink to his co-workers as well as a thumbs-up.
“Ah, I’m glad you’re all here,” Mr Rumbold said nervously. “I have a very important announcement.” Mr Lucas cleared his throat, prompting Mr Rumbold to correct himself. “Er, that is, we have an important announcement. Where is Captain Peacock?”
“Over here,” the floorwalker replied, returning to the floor. He saw Mr Lucas and for a moment his expression softened slightly. Mrs Slocombe saw this and nudged Miss Brahms.
“I’ll bet he hasn’t heard about Mr Lucas’ ultimatum,” she whispered. Miss Brahms shook her head.
“Well, first of all,” Mr Rumbold began, “I’m afraid to say that we will no longer require your services, Mr Smith.”
“What?” Mr Smith cried. “You’re givin’ me the sack?”
“I am, actually,” Mr Lucas spoke up. “You see, the damage you caused earlier today with your little stunt amounts to more than most new juniors make in a month. Believe me, I speak from experience!”
“Yes,” Mr Rumbold agreed. “And none of us can justify docking Mr Humphries’ wages as well as yours to pay for the mannequin and the centre display unit. Therefore we believe it would be best if you were no longer employed here.”
“Nice,” Mr Smith grumbled. “Real nice.” He muttered several vulgarities as he ascended the stairs to the lift, where he jabbed the call button repeatedly until the doors opened. A moment later he was gone and the staff breathed a collective sigh of relief.
“I cannot tell you how grateful I am,” Mr Humphries sighed. “Not only for not docking my pay but for sacking that horrible boy!”
“Yes, well, this now leaves a vacancy on the men's counter,” Mr Rumbold said. “However, Mr Lucas has graciously offered to return to his position and I have already made the necessary arrangements.”
The staff were delighted with this news. Mr Humphries even burst into tears while Mr Grainger shook Mr Lucas’ hand. Captain Peacock, however, still had a sombre look about his countenance.
“May one ask when Mr Lucas will be resuming his post?” he asked.
“Tomorrow morning, Stephen,” Mr Lucas smirked. “And may I add that Mr Grace has made it quite clear that I may return to Accounts at any time I please. Given what you lot have gone through today with that bloody Martin Smith from Croydon, I think it would be wise to learn to appreciate the junior you know rather than the junior you don’t know.”
“Here, here,” the staff chorused, except for Captain Peacock. He merely rolled his eyes and asked, “Is there anything else?”
“I believe that’s all for today,” Mr Rumbold said. “I shall speak to you in the morning, Captain Peacock. Well, good night, everyone!” And with that he left them on the floor. Captain Peacock shook his head and went upstairs to the lift without a second glance behind him. Once he was in the lift the others crowded around Mr Lucas, congratulating him on his return.
“Oh, you’re too kind,” he grinned.
“We’re so glad you’re back,” Miss Brahms bubbled.
“So am I,” Mr Lucas said. “Cor, you wouldn’t believe that Thompson bitch from Accounts. Bold as brass, she is! I really feel for you girls, I do.”
“Did she insult you?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
“Or make rude, sexist comments?” Miss Brahms added.
“No, but she certainly left her mark on me,” Mr Lucas replied. He turned around and revealed a pair of black handprints on his rear. “She got me while she was changing the toner in the Xerox machine,” he explained.
Mr Humphries shook his head and chuckled. “Well, I did warn you, didn’t I, that that sexist attitude would come back to you in the end?” he cracked. “I was right, too, wasn’t I?”
Mr Lucas turned back around, smiling. For once he didn’t mind being the butt of the joke.

Fin.

Disclaimer: Are You Being Served? belongs to the BBC, David Croft, and Jeremy Lloyd. This is just a fan-fiction written for fun. No animals were harmed in the making of this fan-fiction, but Aidan the American Bobtail was irritating. No money was or will be made from the creation of this fan-fiction. A bunch of names were ripped off, but in all honesty, does anyone care?