English Work.

This was written for my informational writting task; so it is meant to be informative.

The scenario was writting for a school paper about what my work expirience was like, so here it goes.

Pack it in.

Hello, my name is Cameron Alexander Williamson, I shall now tell you about my work experience. I worked in the stockroom of Zavvi Entertainment in the Drake Circus Mall in town.

I started work at 10 in the morning and I finnished at 4 in the afternoon; a perfect day. On my first day, my employer showed me around the stockroom and told me the key code for the door (****). After a small meeting, where all the employees discuss sale values of the new Smiths CD being released, I was sent to lable teeshirts by our employer, a Mr.Pete Webb.

Pete Webb: A strange, goblin like man with eyes an odd shade of brown. His shaved head reveals his tight skin that scarcly covers two lumps high on his forehead, that strangely resemble horns. Everyone who looked in Zavvi was strangely satanic, especially Derek, a man with a goaty and hooved feet that he blamed on tumors on both feet. There was only one man that worked there that wasn't an odd shade of crimson, other than myself ; Franko Traceur was a blonde, blue eyed man that seemed to rebel against his demonic overlords.

My only problem was that he spoke very little English, as he was a French man from Brest. Once, when we were prdered by Pete to pack a box full of Legally Blonde 2, our gaze met. 

"Let me help you lift that box," Franko suggested in a whisper, he had a great talent for lifting boxes. I agreed and walked with him to the corridor to put down the boxes, only to lift some more stock from the lorries. I ask Franko what he thinks about our employers, he answers with a simple "They give me good cigarettes, in boxes," He says, smiling at the memory. He pulls out a cigarette with a pentagram imprinted on the skin. 

Franko was converted, this was it, I only had the choice to leave. I swoop into the staff room and pick up my stuff; it's time to run. I sprint towards the door but see Pete and the gang standing in the doorway - including Franko, the traitor.

"Your not going anywhere with your soul," Pete hisses.

"Oh yeah?" I ask, clutching my pocket; thank god it is still there, my mothers cross. I throw the cross right into Pete's face, he bursts into flames.

Moral of the story: Don't work in Zavvi.