Neil Clement… A True Albion Hero.

Wednesday, January 6th, 2010 at 4:42 pm - Dave

There’s a lot I’ve wanted to write about since new year. More retail stuff, a blog about the FA Cup, the usual ideas of world politics. But today I discovered something that I couldn’t consign to the depths of laziness.

Today I found out that centre-half Neil Clement has retired from professional football at the age of 31. In most ways, he was one of English Football’s old guard - crunching, dominating, fiercely loyal and horrendously determined. In other ways, he epitomised everything about Albion’s progression from struggling division one side to a Premiership club… and back and forth between the top two tiers.

Clement joined the club on loan from Chelsea on Transfer Deadline Day in 2000, and after being an integral part of Albion’s successful survival bid that year, moved in a permanent deal worth around £100,000. For the next 10 years, he would be a central player in the club’s trials and tribulations, taking Albion to the Premiership and riding the rollercoaster that came with three promotions and three relegations.

But that’s what you’d see in the newspapers. That’s the story you’ll hear from pundits up and down the country, if they choose to write about it.

I’m not a pundit. I don’t write for newspapers. But I am an Albion fan. And I am one of the new Albion fans that have grown up around this new era of success. Once upon a time, finishing in the top twelve of division one was something to shout about. The year I moved into high school was the year Gary Megson took my underachieving football club and delivered a highly unlikely playoff spot. After throwing away a two goal lead at home to Bolton, the result was never in doubt - and they went on to seal promotion and have never looked back.

Clement was one of the central figures of the miracle that was our promotion season in 2002. He is one of the Albion New Order. He was one of the giants that carried thousands of Albion fans on their shoulders into the promised land. When Michael Appleton retired, it was sad. A great player had his career taken from him. But this is different. It is a player that was moving towards the last years of his career with battles and wars behind him. And he had the medals on his chest to prove it. And this is why it is so heartbreaking - he was denied a final crack at the Premiership through injury. One of Albion’s most loyal, one of Albion’s finest, has had his career cruelly cut short. This was one of Albion’s best. 300 appearances don’t come out of nowhere, and for the best part 0f eight years Clement was one of the first name’s on the teamsheet.

I was gutted to hear Clem has been forced to retire. And no doubt Albion fans everywhere will agree. He knew how to put a shift in and battled and battled. I do hope the club offer him a post in the backroom, and that they give him a well-deserved testimonial… He was only two months away from 10 years service.

And probably most of all, cheers Neil. You were one of the reasons Albion are challenging to establish themselvse in the Premiership, and you were one of the reasons my interest in football didn’t die. All the best.

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Retail Therapy - weeks 3 and 4

Tuesday, November 24th, 2009 at 7:59 pm - Dave

Couple of weeks in one as the novelty is beginning to wear off and the lols are fewer and further between.

You’d think I’d have a lot to say since last week was the store’s quarterly sale week (few pointers again, but I’m determined not to directly mention it…), but actually the customers were on-the-whole very understanding and very happy to wait…

However, both week 3 and week 4 brought around the usual obvservations that only odd men like me ever seem to make… So here goes:

People that act like Dave Worley are commended for acting like Dave Worley by Dave Worley

A fine moment in my retail career as I was talking to a woman who was going to find another size of jeans for her husband in the fitting room (see week 2). I was having a laugh and a joke with her and she was looking back chatting when bam. Straight into a permanent fixture of shirts. This would be funny enough in itself to comment on. But as she turned away she gave it “oh my god…” and pulled an horrendous face. The Trinity crew appreciate people who act like them.

Stock Room incidents bring out top brass…

I’m not going to lie - I’d never seen the store manager before in my life. So imagine my shock to see “Store Manager” under her name on her namebadge on Thursday when she was ringing for an ambulance for a member of staff who had been taken out by a large number of falling boxes. Pleasing moments, but not for Mrs Under A. Box. Best wishes to her, though, for sure…

The Dreaded Christmas Party…

… is nearly upon us, and I have to say I’m not dreading it at all - because there are some top quality people in my department which will only add to the merriment. What won’t add to the merriment is me being taken home after 15 pints of lager. Fortunately, I have not been working in the store long enough to have bonded with any of my fellow team enough to tell them that “I love them” (which I will probably do anyway) or make inappropriate passes at (I am frigging determined that this isn’t going to happen, for once - I like my job, and I like my respect. My dignity is another matter, of course, but that’s why I’m going out with a group of people I’ve only known for 5 weeks with the sole intention of getting trollied).

Department Loyalty for the megalolswin!

I took an utter verbal battering from a cosmetics girl who disliked my customer service on Sunday (you might have seen this anger directed at her on my Facebook status). Today I received some pleasant comments from my fellow Menswear-ers (the girls don’t wear mens.. But whatever..) which has cheered my week up no end. So thanks to you, if you get round to reading this.

Homoerotic fantasies should be kept to oneself in the staff canteen

After till training a week last Saturday, I was chilling out with a McDonalds in the canteen (I had the worst hangover under the sun) and a couple of girls from womenswear were chatting about that idiot from Twilight. As much as I think he’s an idiot, I find him an attractive man. So in my usual lol-I’m-not-gay-but-I’m-gonna-sound-it-for-huge-lolz nature, I just, outloud, said “Pretty sure he’s one of the few men on earth I’d utterly… destroy”. I said the last word rather meekly, as all three had leaned in expectedly… It was an amazing scene. They fell about laughing and I blushed wildly. Then asked which other men I’d “destroy” (with air-quotes and everything… bastards), before eventually being convinced of the fact I was actually straight…

I’m mindful of the fact this isn’t as light as the last two I must be losing my edge. But not that much has happened really, except being ridiculously busy, oh and selling my first storecard, which gives a very warm satisfying feeling. Till work has been much easier than I thought and has allowed me to be free to talk to the customer about their day, their purchases, etc - something that I find is absolutely imperative in customer service - you need to be part of the customer’s day, not just a peripheral instrument selling them goods.

Even if they are called Cosmetics Bitch.

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Working in Retail… Week 2

Sunday, November 8th, 2009 at 10:09 pm - Dave

Another week has drifted past, and again I have been blessed at my place of work with a number of enlightenments about the world of the retail industry…

Wasps enjoy shopping pissing me off…

In one of the finest “what the fuck” moments of my life, I inexplicably encountered a wasp when rushing down the escalator whilst late on Wednesday. I felt a tickle from my shirt collar, I reached across with my left arm to fix this issue, and felt, as I brushed it away, the feel of legs, and then a horrible shooting pain in my middle finger. A few expletives were uttered in a less-than-discreet way (customers looked, that’s all I’ll say). Looking down, I saw a huge wasp crawling, stunned, on the escalator. I introduced the bastard to my big size 11 and then muttered further swears. Clearly, the wasp has been looking for a home and got itself stuck in the roof windows above the escalators in the store… But that doesn’t excuse its behaviour and it was dealt with accordingly! I was incredulous with anger through my injury (mainly to my pride that it hurt so much; I’m not 6…), and the fact that my mother not recycling is directly (ish) responsible for a fucking wasp being ALIVE IN NOVEMBER!

Department Stores have their ways…

There was this silly little chav-thing in store recently, and he was traipsing around store in a pair of stupid trainers, as you’d expect… So how amazing is it to find that, unlike most other shoes, these trainers create an incessant squeaking sound as he navigates. The concept is brilliant. Not only do you know when one is approaching, but you know where he is at a specific time, and when he’s stopped to sly a pack of Calvin Klein undies (SEVENTEEN OF MY ENGLISH POUNDS PER PACK!) into his coat pocket.

Fitting Room lols

I wasn’t that alien to this concept to be honest, but it is highly amusing… When a gentleman is shopping with his wife, he will enter the fitting room, and then - much to my confusion as I’m expecting him to go - will exit the fitting room wearing the t-shirt/jumper/jeans he and his wife have carefully selected. So there a middle age man will stand, looking meekly at his wife, with a ton of tags and other shop paraphernalia hanging off him going “what do you think?”

“You look like a knob” is still my favourite response. I had to “busy myself” with sorting out the fitting room rail so I could secretly howl to myself.

A name badge is nine tenths of the law

There is absolutely no reason why that statement was included, but I like it, and its staying. Deal. So anyway, I received my name badge on Saturday. I’m now Mr D. Menswear, Sales Advisor. Or David.

It has coincided, predictably, with huge numbers of people now approaching me. One man today asked for a dark blue pair of 36 inch jeans with a short leg. But they can’t be stonewashed. Or even vaguely patterned.

… Predictably, they couldn’t be found. He then went on to bitch about how the store was smaller than most others he had been in… I feel customer service might be talked about at length in the not-too-distant future.

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Being the plaything of a High Street giant - week one.

Sunday, November 1st, 2009 at 4:17 pm - Dave

If you know me personally, you’ll know who it is I speak of, but I will refrain from mentioning the large High Street company that I have recently started a seasonal job for, as I quite enjoy it, and I don’t really want to lose it.

However, my first foray into the retail service industry has already produced a few observations of note:

1. Regardless of how old I am, I still laugh when I see a bra, the word bra, a box of bras, or any related female undergarment paraphernalia.

I’m sorry, I thought I’d grown out of this … oh, about five years ago. But I was sorting through some delivery boxes on Wednesday when I came across an old label on a box that just read “bras”. I had a little giggle to myself, and opened the box. Alright, it contained jeans, with the face of a five-time Olympic gold medallist (should give you some ideas of who I’m working for, cryptically…), but still. All I can say is, thank god I work in menswear, away from the big crowds, because if I had to walk past, or worse stock, the lingerie section, I might give myself an aneurysm.

2. I am not going to lose any weight whilst working.

… Because when I’m stocking the tables near the lower entrance, all I can smell is the Maccys NEXT DOOR. THANK YOU, LUCKY STARS, FOR PUTTING A MACCYS NEXT TO MY PLACE OF WORK. REALLY, THANK YOU.

3. It’s true.

Working in retail really does turn you into a woman. Going round the store is now like constantly shopping. I want that and that and that and that and that and…

4. I’m still fucking terrified of spiders, even when I’m being “formal”.

There was a spider in fitting room 3 yesterday. I refused to go anywhere near it, and scarpered when it ran down the wall at me. Like genuinely had to suppress a girly scream, and run. To the other side of the shop.

5. Shoes are the way forward.

In the first hour yesterday I sold £400 of shoes. Enjoyable times.

I have to say I’ve never been thanked by my supervisor for everything I do. I really enjoy the ethos of the department and the “family” feel I get out of it all, which is a bit soft, but I wouldn’t enjoy it if I didn’t feel I couldn’t have a laugh with the old colleagues. It’s all very promising for the next few weeks!

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Poker: My Greatest Moment?

Tuesday, October 6th, 2009 at 2:23 pm - Dave

Right so I was playing at Source League last night. There was this terrifying Scandinavian/German guy called Mathias who really put the fear of God into me - he just looked hard as nails.

Anyway, as I’m directing the tournament, I obviously - sod’s law dictates this - end up on his right. First hand is a misdeal and I get AJ. The flop was dealt just to piss me off and it comes like 4-9-J and I have a little bit of a tilt. This guy goes “you think that was strong?” and I was like “yeah in this case”. And nothing more was said.

Now, I’m not a brilliant poker player - I get the game, and I can play it well, but for me the concept of pot odds, equity/value and even the basic maths are pretty much foreign. What I can do well, is judge a character, and this guy was the typical Scandinavian - ice cool. He was sharp as a pin and I was trying to avoid him.

So much for that, I get dealt 88 and I’m compelled to raise the 300/600 blinds to 2000. Mr Scandinavia calls, as does the small blind; the big blind folds. The flop comes 8 high and I’m checking so hard I almost knock my chips everywhere. Icecool also checks, as does the small blind. The turn is the 8 of hearts. Quads. Thanks. Another tap of the table, and the Scandinavian bets 5k. Small blind gets out of the way. I call, not instantly, but quick enough to give him the idea I’m there for a reason.

River is obviously a brick. Here’s the kicker - I CHECK. Everyone since has been like “thanks for checking quads on the river”, but here’s where I think my approach to the game comes through: I KNOW he’s going to bet.

I have no reason. He has no reason to bet, but I know he is - its more than a hunch, I would bet with anyone before the river that he is going to bet. I have just called 5k and have only 8k behind, this guy appears to like the situation, or he wouldn’t have bet the 5k (which for me is about right for the size of the pot, and isn’t suggesting any sort of deviance - he might have spiked two pair after a floaty call pre-flop or something). This guy looks at my stack, and looks down at his own, and announces that he’s “all i-CALL”. I flip my quads and the table recoils. This guy smiles and says “ah”. I walk away for a hand to tell the world about it. When I return he shakes my hand and says “excellent slow playing of the 8s” and fixes me with a piercing stare.

I might just have beaten the bastard, but I’m still fucking terrified of him.

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