Raised by Wolves (2013–2016): Season 2, Episode 4 - Working Girl - full transcript

As Aretha enjoys college life with radical Economics lecturer Ruby Della takes Germaine, who claims to be pregnant, to work with her at Pound Lord to show her life in the real life. The pregnancy is a false scare but Della does meet up with old flame Michael and ends the day with a proposition for Lee Rhind. Grampy's attempts to organize a fun day for the babbies end in disaster.

Whoa, that was a tough quiz.

Turns out, if I was a font,

I would be... Wingdings.

Not now, Germaine.

Are you ready?
We'll be leaving in 137 seconds.

There's been an accident
on the Merridale Road

so I need to allow 90 seconds
for an angry bypass.

I am ready.
We start economics today,

so I've been binging all
night on Jeremy Bentham,

which wasn't easy,
as Mariah was sleep-barking.

Here you go, Educating Rita.



My contribution to your exciting
new life in adult education.

A lovely pea coat.

Just to point out...

this covers me
for the next two Christmases.

Where's Germaine's present?

There is no present for Germaine.

All my eggs are
in the Aretha basket now.

She's going places.

What's that smell, Grampy?

Just a bit of fox piss.

You wouldn't believe
I found this in a bush, would you?

I also found this
gentleman's sports hoodie.

It's like an end-of-season
sale down at that hedge.

Don't worry, I'll Febreeze
you in the car, bab. Let's go.



Hey, guess what?

Germaine, if there is a spare
moment between me getting back

from work, forking 37 sausages
and slipping Mariah her Night Nurse,

you can have the remaining
nine seconds of my free time.

But Mum...

I missed my period this month.

Ex-fuck-me?!

Raised by Wolves 2x04
"Working Girl"

See, Mum,

you thought Aretha was
exciting, but actually,

it's me.

Germaine,
this is not my excitement face,

this is my "another five frigging
years of Peppa frigging Pig" face.

Right, here it is, the Panic Box.

AKA the Kit of Regret.
Last time I opened this,

your father was behind me
on his knees,

praying and crying.

Shit! They're all out of date!

These cheap ones have
a shelf-life of a frigging banana.

Oh, well. I guess we'll
just have to wait and see

if a baby comes out in nine months.

All eyes on Germaine!

No, we frigging won't!

You're coming to work with me
to pick up some £1 piss sticks.

A PoundLord pregnancy test?
That's not very Kardashian.

Why don't I just get my ultrasound
done at Cash Converters?

Germaine, until science
gives me two blue lines,

you will not use phrases like
"ultrasound".

You will not describe yourself as
"glowing",

and at no point are you
"eating for two"! You get me?

Christ!

Does no-one else in this
house flush the frigging toilet?

Slow down! I might fall!

Aretha! I'm frigging late now.
You'll have to get the bus.

Don't worry, Aretha.
If I was barren like you,

I'd have to get the bus, too.

Come on, The People's Princess.

Here. You'll have to
Febreeze yourself.

Christ, here we go.

I should have known that Callum
was a fertile bugger.

It's those low-slung jeans
they wear nowadays.

Too much cool air round the goolies,
preserving little sperms.

Grampy, if Germaine
had lost her virginity

I'm pretty sure
we'd have heard about it.

She bought a pinata when
she found her first pubic hair.

I bloody hope so.

A new arrival would very bad news.

We're packed in here like the cast
of Das Boot as it is.

Your mum will be
wanting my nook for the little 'un.

I know how it goes.
Last in, first out.

Just like it was at Leyland DAF.

I'm craving ice cream.
Can we go to Baskin Robbins?

We could discuss baby names
over a Choccywoccydoodah.

Germaine, the only conversation
I want to have is with

the hormones in your piss.

And it won't be over
Choccywoccydoodah.

I updated my Facebook status to
"Might be pregnant lol!"

and it's already got seven likes.
That's the most I've had

since I posted that
photo of Grampy's leg ulcer.

Being pregnant makes you popul-ar!

Drink all of that, now.
I want your bladder full

and ready to talk,
like a pissy prisoner of war.

Baby Love by The Supremes

Della, you're late.
I'm short-staffed here

and Janine hasn't bloody
turned up again.

The powers-that-be at PoundLord
will not stand for this.

I did tell you not to hire Janine.

Anyone with a bra that tight's
bound to get thrombosis.

I'm not happy, Della.
I've already had to state

the Panda Cola multipack prices
three times now.

Hey, guys,
stop with all the aggro!

It might affect the baby
and it'll turn out ginger.

Chill out, Charlie.
I'll be out in five.

Take these off my wages.

I will!
I will take 'em off your wages!

And I'll use my executive
till key to do it!

And turn that frigging music off,
eh, bab?

How much is this, cocker?

That's a pound, love.
Everything here is a pound.

Mm.

You'll be out on your ear, too,
when the babbie comes.

It's no fun being
the second youngest, you know.

Warps you, it does.

Just look at young Mariah.

Oi, Mariah.

You'll stand up for your old Grampy
when the pregnancy brigade

comes calling looking
for cot space, won't you?

No! You never play with us.

Well, that is straight-up
bollocks, kid.

You're boring, Grampy.

Well, then.

How about we have some
quality time together?

Play some footy, all that malarkey.

And you tell your mum that if Grampy
gets kicked out of the nook,

you'll be emotionally damaged and
most likely end up on the brown.

Deal?

Deal.

Right, then. Drop your glasses
and grab your asses.

It's Grampy Fun Day!

Are you pissing on all three sticks?

I want cross-referenced
data on this one.

Here we go. Knickers down.
The stream of truth!

Mouth shut, bladder open.

Wow, my urethra is not
where I thought it was!

I need to explore myself more!

Oh, my frigging blood pressure!

- Here we go. The moment of truth.
- Let me see the stick.

Tension builds.
What will the result be?

Germaine, open the door.

And the winner is... wait for it...

Mum!

Thank Christ.
The empty piss window of relief.

Well, that was thrilling.

Can you take me home now?

I've got the Which Serial Killer
Are You? quiz waiting for me.

I'm really hoping I'm a Bundy.

Germaine, you have just
dodged a 7lb, screaming,

shitting, fleshy bullet.

You ought to be
Fort Knox-ing your vagina,

not tossing about with a quiz.

Hey, Mum, don't be down on
motherhood.

I know how it goes.

Loads of attention for nine months,
lovely baby shower,

then out pops someone
whose sole purpose is to love you.

Motherhood is
the greatest job on Earth.

I saw that on a mug, out there.

Let me give you the job
description for motherhood.

Year one: five hours a day
shoving a creature resembling

an enraged otter into a jumpsuit.

Years two and three: the creature
now appears to be a lemming

that repeatedly tries to throw
itself down the stairs.

Years four to 12:
shouting, stomping, nits.

13 to 16: wet towels,

self-pity, desperate pleas
for the latest iPhone.

16 onwards:
vast financial outlay,

unreturned calls to the mobile phone
you bought the frigger

and pregnancy scares
in a pound shop toilet!

Do you want that job, Germaine?
You going to submit your CV?

Erm... how's that
comfort break going?

I'm hearing a lot of chatting,
not a lot of flushing.

That Russian Pantene won't
stack itself, Della...!

You know what?

You're going to
learn what having children entails,

which is spending most of
your time away from them

engaged in gruelling minimum-wage
labour whilst not smoking.

I'm going to take you to the heart
of fucking darkness, Germaine.

You're going to do
a PoundLord shift.

Freakum Dress by Beyonce

Oh, chill out, Ronaldo!

Goal! USA! USA!

Come on, Cher!

Some defence would be nice.
We're being annihilated here!

You can't shout on Grampy Fun Day!

Oh, yeah. It's the taking
part that's fun, eh?

Why don't you have some
Grampy Fun Day, Yoko?

I wouldn't want to hog it all.

You've got natural
goal-keeping hands.

They're like shovels.

I don't think
I can have a Fun Day, Grampy.

This book is making me sad.

Over-population? Tell me about it.

I've been on the library waiting
list for Fifty Shades Darker

since July.

I don't think Germaine's baby's
such a good idea.

But if it comes,
I will try to love it.

Like the Christmas I wanted
WALL-E but I got a Terminator.

- Penalties!
- Yeah! Penalties!

Penalties? You must be kidding?
I'm bleeding knackered here!

- We had a deal!
- Yeah, all right.

Penalties.

There goes Woman's Hour.

Welcome to PoundLord, where
everything is a pound. That's right.

Everything you see is one pound.

Now, Della... How much is this?

It's a pound.
Everything here is a pound.

This is Germaine. She's
covering for Janine for the day.

One does not simply
"cover for Janine", Della.

What about our rigorous
PoundLord training scheme?

If there's a fire,
run out of a door.

If there's a flood,
run up some stairs.

Those are the shelves.
That's a customer.

No paper towels down the bog.
And everything's a pound.

That cover it?

It was more dynamic with my
PowerPoint slides, but fair enough.

I can't afford to pay her, though.

I'm not being a wageless intern.

Wageless intern's fine by me.

The extra sense of
futility'll be educational.

Oh, well, in that case,
welcome aboard, Lorraine.

Germaine. My name is Germaine.

And given Lorraine is female,
perhaps you could

start off by clearing up that
spillage in Feminine Hygiene?

Yeah, you go and enjoy
your intact perineum

while you scrape up knock-off
Vagisil, Lorraine.

And do wear gloves, Lorraine.
That Vagulon is corrosive.

No, dude. Your patriarchal
attitude is corrosive.

- Germaine, out!
- Germaine...

Stop With The Chatter
by Rizzle Kicks

Welcome to Economics, think-ateers.

Learners of the world, unite!

I'm Ruby Wheelwright and I'm here
to demonstrate, as Marx did,

that economics permeates everything.

The invisible hand
of the free market there.

Point proved, I think.

She's rather young.

Age is no indication of intellect,
Brenda. Just look at Walt.

Can I smell fox urine?

Right, let's get started.

What say we pile in with some
cold, hard economic theory?

Let's start with Jeremy Bentham.

Bentham?! Get in!

It's a pound, dude.
Everything here is a pound.

Jeez! Get with the ethos.

If you were being paid, you'd
have earned enough by lunchtime

for a pack of 20 Pampers
for your baby to shit in.

Lorraine to aisle three
for a tampon restock.

That's Lorraine to the tampons.

What a day! Nine to five, eh?

Glad that is over. So... home time?

Pick up a couple of cold ones on the
way and bitch about Charlie's hair?

Germaine, it's 10.17am.

You've been employed
for exactly 11 minutes.

11 minutes?!

Oh! Time goes so slowly in here.

It's like watching Grampy
get out of a chair.

I'll tell you about
time going slowly.

My labour with you was 72 hours.
So if your contractions started now,

you'd be just about pushing the head
out during Saturday Kitchen,

screaming in agony while James
Martin tucks into some pulled pork.

And then next week
you'd be back at Pound Lord,

selling 1 pound wet wipes
to pay for 1 pound wet wipes,

while your nips leak milk.

You get me?

Can anyone break down the components
of economic growth for me?

Aretha, what have you got?

Economic growth equals
the product of capital investment

and labour hours worked.

Great stuff, Aretha.

But can I make one
tiny addition?

You absolutely can.

Total factor productivity is also
a component of economic growth.

Always remember
total factor productivity.

I will always remember
total factor productivity.

She's a bit full-on, isn't she?
In English we just play Scrabble.

Step off, Brenda,
cos this is pure gold.

It says here we could all survive
the population bomb

if we just practise birth control
and become vegetarian.

That's never going to work, Yoko.

Mankind is hard-wired to sacrifice
everything

for the prospect of nookie and
bacon.

Mum's gonna kill me.

You know what, kid?
She probably will,

unless you've got
somebody on your side.

So what say I cut you in on the deal
I've made with Mariah?

When the baby comes, you tell your
mum that you want to keep Grampy...

and I'll take all the blame

and put it on Mr Sanghera next door.

Capisce?

Hey!

I'm the opening credits to 24,
starring Kiefer Sutherland!

I wouldn't know, Germaine.

I spend my box-set time
fishing Lego out of the toilet

and working out how to make a pound
of shit mince last three days.

I'd bulk it out with peas, myself.

All right, chief?

That's a massive bag of jerk.

I'm flame-grilling three chickens
tonight.

You never called me, Della.

I've had a shitty couple of weeks,
Bab.

I've got asbestos in my nook,

Yoko's gone Goth, Mariah tried to
put a bagel in the DVD player,

then Juno over here had
an hysterical pregnancy.

Sounds like you could do with
some R&R.

Rum and rotisserie.

You're right.

I would give my left tit
for a good spatchcocking.

- You doing your decking?
- Yup.

I'm going to get in all the cracks

with my industrial power hose.

You'll want a tight nozzle
on your end, then.

You can get a lot done
when you've got the right equipment.

It's not my first rodeo, Della.

Della to the sex office.

That's Della to the sex office.

Give me a tinkle
if you want to come over.

I'll give you a buzz
if I'm free, big fella.

Though, to be fair,

I've got this massive
bag of jerk to take care of.

I'll leave you to it, then.

You know where I am if you...
fancy a spatchcock.

I tell you what, Germaine.

I missed Donington
Monsters of Rock in 1999

because your skull was
stuck in my cervix

and you have been rammed up there
ever since.

Is there a sex office
I don't know about?

And that is why this scholar is
anticipating capitalism's

next phase, post-capitalism.

Thank you.

That's where we'll pick it up
next week, so I'll see you then.

I can smell fox.
I think it's you, Aretha.

I love the smell of foxes.

They're such noble creatures.

Oh, and, Brenda, can you work on
your definition of fungibility for me?

Some people never grasp fungibility.

Channel 4 economics correspondent
Paul Mason!

Oh, the badge? Yeah.

He is my favourite
economics correspondent.

Mine too! He totally owned
the economic meltdown.

Would you like it? I've got loads.

I, er, over-estimated the general
level of interest in Paul Mason.

I have a high level of interest
in Paul Mason.

My APR is 263%.

I'll Look Around
by Billie Holiday

That shift, eh? What a doozy!

Customers - grr!

Er, Della,
do you fancy some overtime tonight?

There's a pretty juicy
stocktake up for grabs.

Nah, not tonight, Charlie.
I'm otherwise engaged.

You want to get on the blower to
Janine, give her a bollocking.

Tell her to go up to a 38D.

She's kidding no-one in a 32.
She's got a swimmer's back.

Can we go home now?

I'm ready to leave
the heart of darkness.

I get it.

Employment is not what
Working Girl promised.

My hair is relatively small
and there's no Harrison Ford.

Then here is some protection

against both teenage pregnancy
and the Pound Lord.

I've bought you a week's wages'
worth of contraception.

Now hear this, Germaine.

Any fluid emitted by a man can make
you pregnant.

Any fluid.

You need to know where in the room
the sperm is at all times.

You get me?
Maintain visuals on the sperm.

It's like the Weeping Angels
in Doctor Who.

You close your eyes for one second

and then BAM!

They've got you.

Come on, let's get out of here,
so in 14 hours I can come back.

It's like Groundhog Day in pink
polyester work wear.

Germaine.

Meow.

Meow.

Eat your cat food.

Oh, Johnny Lennon, look away now.

This isn't what you died for.

Sh...

She's not pregnant.

Oh, thank God.

Bad cat! Eat your food!

Remember the deal!

Sorry, kid. Never trust a hippy.

This cat just quit.

Oh, and, Del, your greenhouse took
a bit of a battering this afternoon.

I'd take it up with
young Wyatt over there.

Go on, then, start talking.

Hey, Aretha, I'm not pregnant!

Little Germaine won't be
bunking in with us any time soon.

I thought Little Germaine was
the name you'd given to your... area.

You know, the funny thing is,

Callum's never actually met
Little Germaine.

I hand-panted him, and there was
some form of clear juice on my hand

at the end, but I simply wiped
it on a duvet cover.

Whose duvet cover?

Aren't you going to tell Mum
you're one of the unsullied?

She's chain smoking
furiously down there.

Nah, not today.
I'll wait for her cool down.

She was talking about taking me
to the PDSA

and getting me spayed
on the way home.

Besides, I've thought it through and
I've decided I'm going to keep it.

You're not pregnant, Germaine.

Not my baby. My cherry.

I'm going to lock my flower away -
roll a rock across Wookey Hole.

There's a lot of freaky stuff
you can do without penetration

and I intend to do it all.

Anything that prevents you from
reproducing is fine by me.

So, Aretha, what's the latest
on your sexuality?

I was wondering if you might be
one of those asexuals -

they're the latest thing.

I'd be a bit jealous if you were one
of them.

You're right...

I am asexual.

I have no sexuality.

You've taken all the sexuality.
There's none left for anyone else.

You have won.

Yes.

Yes. I have taken all
of the sexuality...

and I intend to keep it all.

Mummy's date's here.

Hello.

Thanks for coming, Bab.

Now, I've been googling
DIY vasectomies

and the good news is
you've got a 50/50 chance...

If you keep nice and still.