Mr Ferguson asks away

Date: 25th May 2021

The latest creative piece from SFSA writer Donald Stewart:

It has been a long shift down at Dunking Donuts drive thru…

Having managed to rescue the franchise when it went down the Swanee, owner Mr. Cormack had controversially introduced the savoury bagel into the repertoire, having made a deal with a local bakery to stock and promote their goods.

As it was outside the franchise agreement with Dunkin Donuts, Mr. Cormack renegotiated the lease on the shop, added a g to the name and relaunched. Dunkin Donuts were no happy, but they were by then, waning in their international commitments and just withdrew discretely, leaving Mr. Glass in sole charge of the sole outlet serving doughnuts, bagels, sweet and savoury polo mint style bakery products to all those and such as those in the Aberdeen area.

Mr. Cormack had followed up one change with another switch which had been far more recent.

Mr. Glass, now appointed as the manager, had swanned into the shop from a stint in the US and not all staff were happy…

Picture the scene…

It is 4am in the Dunking Donuts Drive Thru, and the staff have gathered for a showdown with Mr. Glass. Top of the agenda is the American style practices Mr. Glass had decided should be part of every shift.

A Mr. Ferguson decides he is the mouthpiece of the staff.

Mr. Ferguson has a family steeped in the traditions of alternative fast food, with an uncle who was a mainstay of the MacDougall’s of Glasgow – not to be confused with MacDonald’s, though it constantly was – and a father who was a trailblazer of sorts with his Hamilton branch of Kentucky style Fried Dinners or KFD’s for short – not to be confused with KFC’s, though that was the point, and gloriously the headquarters of a “global brand” that almost managed to stretch out to Wishaw – Mr. Ferguson has plenty of seasoned advisors to … advise… him…

Mr. Glass comes and sits at the Formica topped table with a pad, a pen and a frown.

Mr. Ferguson clears his throat. He begins. “Mr. Glass a few of us are no happy.”

Mr. Glass writes nothing. He looks up and scowls. He looks a little as if the frown has never lifted but he has moved from the frown to the scowl though he does think that people can see the difference, nobody really can.

Mr. Ferguson, who thinks nothing has changed, continues. “I, for one, would like a move.”

Mr. Ferguson is a man of few words. He thinks his words are wasted if they go on too long. It is a technique he learned from his father including a number of expressions from “ooof” to “me, personally.”

Mr. Glass still writes nothing. He now grimaces. He looks a little as if the scowl has never lifted but he has moved from the scowl to the grimace though he does think that people can see the difference, nobody really can.

Mr. Ferguson is a key member of his fry team. He read that somewhere. He is not completely sure why they need a fry team in a bagel and doughnut shop, but he has not quite managed to get round all the stations. One of things he has read is that Mr. Ferguson is one of those rare things: an asset.

Mr. Ferguson is emboldened in the silence and tries again. “I know that there are a few places that would take me on, and I would like the chance to try them out.”

Mr. Glass again writes nothing. He smiles. He looks a little as if the grimace has never lifted but he has moved from the grimace to the smile though he does think that people can see the difference, nobody really can.

Mr. Glass speaks. He too comes from the say little, mean tons department, but his news is devastating when it pours from his mouth. “Ye mean this?”

He lifts a sheet of paper from behind his pad. It had been folded so it could be hidden from prying eyes. He wafts it in front of everybody so they can clearly see the address is some place called Watford.

Mr. Ferguson is crestfallen. He thought it was a secret that kitchens down south had been offering him the chance to move and work for them. He realises his goose may be cooked, or his bagel deep fried.

Mr. Ferguson nods weakly, as he looks round the room to see a series of confused faces. They had all backed him because they thought he could negotiate increased wages, better terms and a longer tea break for them.

Now they realise they are being used to get a move for their colleague. They feel used and they feel dirty, and you can feel them metaphorically taking a step back, leaving Mr. Ferguson exposed.

He has lost the room and he is now about to get a dressing down.

Mr. Glass writes something on his pad. He frowns again as he raises it for all to see.

On it is a single word – NAW!

He looks a little as if the smile has never lifted but he has moved from the smile back to the frown though he does think that people can see the difference, nobody really can.

He speaks once more. “Anything else?”

The whole room decide to look at each other’s trainers and murmur a collective, naw as they start to move back to their stations, leaving Mr. Ferguson alone in the room, with a mop and twenty Formica tables to clean. He is not best pleased. His phone dings. He opens it up and smiles. The future may well be more than a Saturday night celebrating nothing in Aberdeen after all… looks like there is a real offer on the table for him.

Mr. Glass watches from afar and realises this battle is one he may well have lost but puts his pad away ready for the war that this absence might create in his fry team. Then he resolves to find out what the bloody hell they do…


Whilst the author asserts his right to this as an original tale, there is no evidence that a Dunking Donuts exists in Aberdeen, or anywhere else for that matter, so this is clearly untrue. However, in Aberdeen there is a belief that a Mr. Ferguson has spoken to a Mr. Glass about a move

During the week, Lewis Ferguson, has apparently handed in a transfer request to Aberdeen which has been rejected. Apparently, a derisory offer, believed to be from Watford has been received, however Mr. Glass is too inscrutable to confirm or deny…

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