Impressing The Locals

I had stopped off in Partick on my way home having left work an hour early and strolled up and down Dumbarton Road for a while before I settled upon the Clyde Valley. This was before I used to frequent it with my brother in recent times. It was about 5 years ago.

It was just after 4pm on a weekday and it was relatively busy. I drew a few looks as I walked in. I don't think it's a normal watering hole for men in suits. I ordered a pint and stayed at the bar, standing with my back against it to view the customers. I felt good standing there in my suit. Smart, tidy. I felt quite cool.

The bar area was busy and there was little space. I soon attracted the drunken attentions of two women standing next to me. These weren't nubile blondes. Remember it was half four on a weekday in Partick. Any nubile blondes are either at home or walking along Dumbarton Road with their prams, possibly standing in groups with a few neds standing close by (the fathers?) and giving renditions of their social loves to the passing public ie. "Haw yous.." "Ah says tae him, and he says tae me..." "Ya cunt..." Ya fanny..." etc etc etc.

I think any nubility in this pair vanished several decades ago, if it was ever there.

"Aright pal?"
"Hello" I said nodding courteously to acknowledge their presence...in my presence, sort of thing.

I then directed my eyes back to the high television screen hoping to hell they wouldn't talk to me again.

"Yer lookin' awfy smart rer in yer suit 'n that"
"Uh, thanks...thank you" nodding courteously again.
"Very attractive"
"Oh..uh, thanks" Please fuck right off I thought.
"Aye, yer lookin' awfy smart rer in yer suit 'n that. That's a nice tie you've goat oan"

I thought I was about to get fucking mugged and searched about quickly for the group of accomplices to start furtively looking around and move in on me. Nothing though.

"Thanks very much." I said, still nervous.

"D'yd dae?"
"What?" I said
"D'yd dae?" one said nodding as if to emphasise the question.
"Sorry , what?"
"Whit dae ye dae?". She said louder in that whiny Glasgow voice. It wasn't her accent that I couldn't catch as I like to think I can understand most of the Glesca vernacular. It's just that she was mumbling like a drunken hobo.

"Oh right!. What's my job?" Why the fuck didn't you just say that?
"Aye"
It's not important what I do, or what I told them, but I made up some shite to make myself sound more interesting, and they appeared impressed.

I'd had most of my pint and I was weighing up my options of ordering another and drinking it fairly rapidly and having to visit the bog before I left, and possibly losing the suit and the wallet in the process or just finish up and leave.

One of the women moved closer to me, about as close as she could get without actual fornication taking place.

Suddenly she reached out to the front of my jacket, grabbed my tie, and I thought Christ, this is it, I'm getting mugged, watch for others coming in, watch for the hand going to the wallet, don't let them get my watch, watch my pockets.....wallet, wallet, wallet!!

She said...

" 'Next'....silk....that's a nice tie"
"Thanks", heavy breathing. Watching her grubby smoke stained calloused hand stroking my silk tie. I could just imagine the rough skin ripping the hell out of the silk and grimaced at the thought but kept watching for any sign of movement towards my inside pocket.

To this day I still thank God she never pulled open my jacket to look at the label there.

George from Asda. That would have killed it right there.

Blame Your Shoes

I've known for years that the floor on Central Station is very slippy, especially if I'm in my suit and black shoes with the smooth sole. It's the same at St Enoch Centre and Buchanan Galleries. As soon as I walk in I slip all over the place. I have to slow down, it's as if I'm walking on ice.

I was walking into Central Station at the Hope Street entrance this afternoon just after 5pm and a middle aged guy in a suit was in front of me. There's always a newspaper seller at the entrances and for the last few months there is also the people who give away the free Daily Records as you walk by.

Mr Suit decided that fraction of a second too late that he wanted one, and as he'd already walked past into the station, he turned quickly and strode back to the guy, but too late, his speed, his shoes and the smooth floor were the making of his superb acrobatic manoeuvre.

As he turned his feet went away from him and he pitched forward so much he had to put his hands out and then he overbalanced so his hands went to the ground as he twisted round, and with the quickness of this move his feet flicked up in the air so for a moment there was this middle aged guy in a suit doing a twisted half handstand. His feet were about four feet in the air.

Just as quickly as this all happened he composed himself, stood up a bit dishevelled with his suit bunched up around his shoulders, and casually leant around the newspaper guy and took a free paper, then set off at quite a speed into the station, clearly a bit embarrassed at having made an arse of himself in front of around twenty people. He made a bit of a show at looking at the soles of his feet and muttering 'tch'. That's right, blame your shoes.