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Garages Bullies
I worked in a Ford garage in Rochdale. There were some real bar stewards there. Two in particular bullied me. They stuck together and picked on me, name calling, pushing me about, messing with my head, going through my stuff in my bag. I was one, they were two. I couldn’t do anything but take it. They never broke me.

Slowly other bar stewards who worked there started to bully me. I was new to the garage and job, they shouted and swore at me when I did something wrong. No one else was bullied, just me. I was eighteen years old and green as grass. Shame I never had my current life skills back then. I’d talk sense to them or use my fists on them.

I ask myself why it happened. Me, in that hell hole garage in 1989? It was the third and final garage I worked in and the worst. Working conditions were fine but two fellow apprentices were real jerks. A third one was marginal, I could handle him. Aggression was everywhere. Everything was off the rails. Including me.

Many times I was trusted with brand new Ford cars, taking them to customers or picking up parts or running an errand. This ended as it only could. I and one of the bullies were street racing in Ashton, he braked and I did, too late! I ran into the back of him and wrote a Ford Orion off. The garage fired me. I was saved from that hell!

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