I love my job.

Evening dear readers, or more properly morning, since it is currently 1:10am according to my "Internet synchronised" computer clock.

I'm far too tired to even try to write in the flowery language that was so neatly embodied in my inaugural post, but I feel that I must tell you how my day has been.

To tell you the truth, I'm glad it's over. It started off well, I met Lisa as she finished work, we walked around the shops for a bit, had a delicious cheese scone courtesy of the fresh-baked section of M&S, but the hands soon approached the hour of 4, which could only mean one thing... Work.

Work has grown progressively harder to bear, over the recent weeks. The constant Saturday night shifts, the long hours, the short breaks, the bitchy customers, the even bitchier managers, have worn this tooth down to the nerve. So much so in fact, that this evening, unknown to all the staff that work there, I handed in my notice. A plain white envelope with the words "Rob Kendall" are still sitting on the managers desk, waiting to be discovered, the contents of which are my carefully written words explaining my want to resign.

And after tonights performance, I'm pretty glad I did. I don't need this kind of stress at my age! The evening, the VERY BUSY evening was puncutated by 2 events. I was just settling in to the Saturday night shift, which through sickness of another member of staff I was forced to work on my own, yet again, when an obviously intoxicated scrot in a black shirt appeared at the front desk.

"Can I er, have f**kin', some games for f**kin' 8 adults and me' daughter mate."

The time at this point was 6:30pm, and I explained to him in a polite manner that although there were empty lanes at present, they were reserved for customers bowling at 7pm, and there were no lanes available until 9:30pm, which is not unusual for a Saturday night. Of course this didn't wash with the drunken fool.

"They're f**kin' empty mate! So are you gona tell me daughter that she can't f**kin' bowl then mate."

Having had enough of this particular conversation, I called on my manager, ex Royal Marine Steve Searle to take charge. And so the evening, starting as it meant to go on, progressed. Mistakes made in the sales department as usual found their way onto the lane planner, and we at reception as usual had to take all the rap. At 7pm over 130 people piled in through the doors all expecting to be on by 7pm, since the sales department had oh so cleverly booked 25 odd lanes worth of parties to come in at the same time. I felt so small.

But the piece de resistance was yet to come. At around 10:30pm I think it was, as I was performing the monotonous task of clearing the bowling balls from the ball returns and back onto the shelf, I noticed some commotion at the front entrance to the bowling centre. The bouncer (yes even in a "family" bowling centre we still have the need of professional security on a Saturday night, such is Bowthorpe) was assisting the exit of a particular youth who had obviously had far too much to drink. A shove here and a push there, the end result was that Tony the bouncer received a nasty head wound and a bite (!) to the arm, while the other scrot sported a rather good head wound of his own. I should mention that although Tony is much more than capable of handling one person in head to head combat, he was set upon by maybe 5 or 6 idiots who had lay in wait at the entrance to the bowl. The front doors were locked, and we were trapped like rats in a cage, as the baying mob banged on the glass, and threw their drinks bottles at the windows. Naturally the police were called, and I nipped behind the desk and pressed the special panic button which we have for such emergencies.

Now I had always assumed that one press of the button would send half of Norfolk Constabulary + an armed response unit straight to Number 10 (the name of the bowling centre where I work) within minutes. But how silly of me to assume that. Of course, what could be more helpful upon pressing the emergency panic button than to be called on the telephone a few minutes later by a poorly spoken Asian sounding fellow asking if I had pressed the panic button by mistake. Silly me! This chap asked me for passwords, telephone numbers, to which I tersely questioned what good it would be for him to call up asking if the panic button had been pressed by mistake and did we need the police if I was being held at gunpoint.

However some more clearly thinking members of the public, not being in posession of a panic button, or maybe having left them at home, had simply dialled for the police, and although they took their time (having naturally to finish their bacon butties and cups of tea before responding), arrived in style. This was not the end of the altercation however. Sensible people, when the police arrive, might calm themselves down and put an end to the commotion. But these guys were not sensible people. Although I did not see, apparently one of the police officers met the same fate as the bouncer and the offending youth was sharply arrested and thrust into one of the 6 waiting cop cars. The other 4 or 5 youths however, were not charged with any affray, since the CCTV evidence was "inconclusive". Lucky us, eh. So I spent the rest of the evening feeling a bit afraid that they might come back later to finish what they had started... I won't be at all surprised to hear tomorrow that all the windows have been smashed and havoc and mayhem prevailing.

I suppose I had better get to bed now and put in a few Z's, Lisa wil be arriving early tomorrow morning and I will need to be bright as a button for when she arrives.

Night night friends,

Danneh :)