Two Sides : A Friday Night Out In Hull (1/6) By Joe Hakim

(1/6), (2/6), (3/6), (4/6), (5/6), (6/6).

Katie:

I'm just finishing off at work, watching the clock and loading the pot-wash with plates and cups, waiting for Sarah to start her shift so I can go home. It's been a really busy day, so I'll be glad to see the back of the fuckin' place. I've been working at Sparks cafè bar on Newland Ave for over a year, but it's only been in the past couple of months it's got really busy. Fridays are the worst. Packed with suit-wearing tossers who think they can speak to you like shit just because you're serving them food and drinks: "Yeah, I need to be back in the office soon, so make sure you're snappy with my latte, love, ok?" Fuck off - you'll get it when I get the chance to make it, can't you see how busy we are?

My apron is stained with milk from the cappucinos and sauce from the lasagnes and meatballs and I've picked up that sour beer smell from the glass-wash, so I'm heading straight home for a bath before I even think of doing anything else. My feet hurt like mad, so it feels really good slipping my comfy shoes on. Eventually, Sarah wanders in - ten minutes late, the fuckin' lazy cow. I wave goodbye to everyone in the kitchen and then I leave. Usually I'd have a quick half at the bar, but not today - today I just want to get out as soon as possible.

I step out into the sun, which makes me squint, and I get my mobile from my bag and there's a message on it. I check it, and it says: What u up 2 bitch? Ring me. It's from Heather, my best mate. We're supposed to going out tonight, and even though I'm tired and I can't really be arsed, I know I'll end up going anyway. I get the bus home. It's full of little tossers, shouting and carrying on, and this one kid - who can't be much older than my younger brother - shouts, "Fancy a fuck, darlin'?" and I can't even be bothered to respond.

Dean:

We always fuck about for the last hour or so on a Friday, I mean you have to don't yer? I'm still operating the press, putting the sheets of cardboard through, but I'm not sweating for no bastard. Mark, the crazy fucker is full of it already. "You ready for tonight, Deano?" he says, slapping me on the back. "Hey, check this shit out." He's got a copy of this week's Nuts magazine and he opens it up and shows me a double page spread of this 'real babe' from Manchester. She has long dark hair, and she's bent over a desk wearing this dental-floss thong and she has a fantastic arse. "I would fuck that until me cock dropped off," I say.

"Fuckin' tell me about it," he says, grinning. "Are we pickin' some tash like that tonight or what, Deano?" "You bet we fuckin' are."

I'm sick of the glue and sawdust smell, and I just want to get out, but we have to wait another half-hour before we can clock off. I've been working at Pete English's Packaging down Holderness Road for a couple of years now. It's a shit job, but it's a fairly decent wage and there's plenty of overtime, so I put with it. You just gotta make through the week and then cut loose on a weekend. Everyone hates their job here, but it's a good bunch of lads and we all have a laugh.

Continued...Next Page (2/6)

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