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Mort, the Shit Manager is a spin-off fictional series of short stories based loosely on the thoughts of David Mortenson, the tyrannical Kwiksave store manager who features in my auto-biographical series 'The Horrors of Kwiksave'.
Other Articles in this Series:
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Oppression Supreme'
Mort the Shit Manager: 'The Armchair Club'
Mort the Shit Manager: 'The Bloody Nose'
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Fresh Cream'
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Oxidation'
...'1981'...
This morning I had a Kwiksave dre… er, nightmare again. It has been some time and gives me a little fuel for another 'Mort, The Shit Manager' story.
Let me spill it out before it evaporates from my head as dreams do.
10.30 am – ring ring, ring ring (no answer)
12.30 pm - ring ring, ring ring…, ‘Hello’.
Fuck it was Mort, why couldn’t it be Sharon?
There was no 'Hello Kwiksave Rawtenstall, may I help you', simply a gruff 'Hello'.
'Err… hello.., you don't seem pleased to hear from me?', I stammered taken aback.
There was no need to explain who I was, I knew he knew
'I'm not', retorted the brusque voice of Mort, 'why are you not here?', he demanded, the tone in his voice increasing in volume.
'Sorry Mr. Mortenson, I'm not well and…'
Click, the phone went dead.
The next day
With a genuine sense of fear, I walked across the filthy black asphalt floor to the clocking in machine, grabbed my card, pulled the handle, and heard the satisfying clonk noise.
Mort was watching my every move via the one-way window; I couldn’t see him, I could feel him.
I turned my back, stepped away, and immediately the door swung open.
'You… back-shop now...', Mort growled without waiting for me to turn around.
Once inside Mort tugged the dirty white heavy sliding door firmly closed with an audible bang.
'LET ME MAKE THIS CRYSTAL CLEAR, YOU DON'T GET DAYS OFF AT KWIKSAVE, YOU DON'T GET TIME OFF AT KWIKSAVE, AND IF YOU FEEL THE NEED TO TELL SOME LIES THEN YOU TELEPHONE ME BETWEEN THE TIMES OF 9.00 AM AND 9.05 AM TO EXPLAIN YOURSELF'
‘Yes Mr. Morstenson’, I said in my meekest acting voice, 'Sorry Mr. Mortenson', I added with a little more colour than intended.
‘GOOOOOOOODDDD', said Mort with exaggerated glee, the self-recompense in his eyes plain to see.
‘My Office…. NOW!!!!’
He strode off briskly slamming the door behind him not waiting for me to follow.
Back to the Urbex stories, I think. I woke up more than a little uncomfortable after several Kwiksave 'dream free' years.
Mort, the Shit Manager is a Serial Shitposting Fiction Story inspired by Torundel the Shitposter by 
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