Source: Image by @katharsisdrill
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'.
Mort the Shit Manager Complete Chronology
- Mort as a Stock Lad -
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Flat Arse' - (March 1974)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Mort's Interview' - (March 1974)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'The Armchair Club' - (May 1974)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Fresh Cream' - (November 1978)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'The Demise of Reginald Bulge' - (January 1979)
- Mort as a Manager -
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Oxidation' - (July 1979)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Fart Councilling' - (July 1979)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Mandy's Curves' - (November 1979)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'The Bribe' - (November 1979)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Agnus' - (December 1979)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'The Bloody Nose' - (July 1980)
- Mort as a Manager with @slobberchops -
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Oppression Supreme' - (December 1980)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'The Heat Machine' - (March 1981)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'The Day Off' - (April 1981)
“I don’t get it.., I was the store manager and now suddenly I am not?”, said Mort angrily.
Mort was flustered beyond belief. After an extended session of Oxidation the realisation of the title 'Trainee Manager' was settling into his head. True management was coming, but had not yet arrived, that.., he had to tell himself repeatedly.
“There needs to be a period of counselling besides training you to hold a pen and board which requires around 85 IQ. I for one am not convinced you are remotely that intelligent.”
Mort raged inwardly. Mark Murk, the Hawkish Manager with those ridiculous glasses containing jam jar bottoms fresh from the back shop damages section was telling HIM that he was a brainless twat with little intellect?
The counselling Mort had grudgingly agreed to. Several weeks of some overpaid psychiatrist telling him that ‘inhaling methane from your bosses' arse daily is bad for you and quite abnormal’ was not what Mort had in mind but he had been forced to agree or remain a stock lad.
Maybe he would have to write lines like in school before that fact could emanate into his brain?
- ‘Always fart outside if possible.’
- ‘Don’t cock your leg when letting one off.’
- ‘Don’t talk about farting to anyone, EVER.’
- ‘Try never to fart’
- ‘If in need, ensure you have spare jocks in case it’s a squelchy one.’
- ‘Don’t think about farting’
- ‘Never ever fart’
It went on and on and was all quite ridiculous, humiliating, and preposterous. There was nothing wrong with him, he wanted to manage and be successful.
To make matters worse, Sharon the bad-toothed supervisor had somehow got wind of Mort's counselling details and was throwing him ever-so-subtle smirks.
How could he ever get any respect from his future staff with this knowledge being already branded and widespread? Next, the checkout operators would know, and then Brent, that new useless incompetent Stock lad that Murk had hired during this transitional phase would be sending him sly sneers.
Mort glowered at Murk with undisguised loathing. It had not been Murk’s’ decision to promote Mort. If that short-arsed bespectacled cunt had been the decision maker, he would still be stock lad, or possibly fired.
The feeling was mutual though Murk had a little more self-control over his opinions.
Elton Welsby, the feared and ruthless Area Manager had made a decision Mort would never forget.
He was also an unstable, unhinged boss liable to furious outbursts if anyone even slightly disagreed with him.
"Listen Murky boy, we need to give the lad a chance. He's been working in the store for over five years now. That's some dedication and after a full dissection of his troubled past I feel he needs a break”
Murk loathed the disrespect but sycophantically smiled after a noticeable pause and agreed with Elton.
"Yes Mr. Welsby, but I think he needs a period of training before I can leave"
“Listen to me you short-arsed little toad.., you forget yourself. I am the fucking Area Manager and you do what I say.., do you understand me?”, screamed an enraged Elton, his tone and volume increasing with every word.
“You train him, tell him he’s a Trainee Manager, boost his confidence, and let’s put all this ridiculous farting business behind us?", Elton continued gaining a measure of control back.
"Of course Mr. Welsby, No problem Mr. Welsby", said Murk visibly shaking, his glasses now slightly unhinged.
Murk silently ground his teeth promising to re-direct this anger toward Mort in some form after this irritating meeting. Area Managers deemed themselves gods and NEVER spoke directly to Stock lads. It would be up to him to break the news to Mort.
Source
Mort assumed incorrectly that the demise of Bulge meant automatic promotion. His narcissism had taken him there, thought Murk with a little satisfaction.
Boost his confidence. What.. was he now a fucking councillor? The paltry salary that Kwiksave Managers’ were paid didn’t include such specialised skills.
Once Welsby left his store to torture the next store manager, Murk would continue to belittle and diminish Mort's confidence, wearing him down.
Oh yes, he would boost his morale no end.
Mort, the Shit Manager is a Serial Shitposting Fiction Story inspired by Torundel the Shitposter by @katharsisdrill, Ren du Lot, the Shit Lawyer by @vcelier and Nordlute, the Shit Sysadmin by @steevc.
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