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Great Writing - Home > Extended > English Slacker chapter twenty
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Extended Work
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| English Slacker chapter twenty | |
| By chrismorton | ||||||||
| 14 June 2008 | ||||||||
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So when I came back with the drinks Colin had gone, which was no real surprise to me, and after I’d got through the first of the two pints and smoked a couple more fags I wasn’t really that bothered. So I sat there thinking about what the hell I was gonna do with my day. Yeah, my dad used to drink at High Lanes. Not really got anything to do with me sitting there then and I don’t think I even thought about that at the time. But he did; quite often actually. But I’d been too young to ever join him. Anyway after a while I found myself listening to the barman and the old guy going on at each other. They were the only other people in the pub still, standing and sitting in exactly the same place as they seemed to have been doing all day. At the moment I started listening they were talking about the difference between arrogance and confidence, arguing over whether you could separate one from the other and that; where you could draw the line. (Although it was difficult to tell who was for each argument ‘cause they were just sort of like chewing over all the possible points of view without really agreeing or disagreeing on anything). It was when I went to the bar for my fourth pint that I joined in. By then they’d moved on to discussing all the brews of beer they liked. They stopped talking as I approached the bar and both of them looked at me, just like most old men look at you when you walk into a pub in Bracksea, and I said, “Yeah I really don’t notice the difference myself.” Then as they both looked at each other I said, “I guess you’re pretty confident you know more about beer than I do?” and although the barman was kinda like, “Yeah, whatever mate,” the old guy laughed and then said, “You’re a bit young to be drinking at this time of day aren’t you?” And I said, “Well, it is the summer holidays,” and they both like laughed a bit. Then the barman looked at the old guy and sarcastically said, “It’s all right for some,” and the old man said, “The joys of youth eh?” And after that the old guy told the barman to pour me a Firkintons and before I knew it I was at the bar with them, no longer paying for my drinks. They asked me how old I was and why I wasn’t, “Out with some nice young lady today,” and gave me a bit of hassle about my clothes but after that it was more like the same way as their conversations had been before, except this time I was included. What we talked about I don’t really wanna go into because there’s no point or anything. But it was cool to sit there talking to a couple of strangers for a bit. And they were pretty chilled out. After the sixth pint though I was feeling quite tired and had already been to the bogs about a million times (they seemed to find it funny every time I went) and my head kept like dropping and it was getting hard to pay much attention to what we were saying so I felt like it was time to go home. It’s all a bit of a blur as I imagine myself now walking out of the pub. I know I’d taken ages to get around to letting them know that I was gonna go, sitting there like plucking up the courage to say I was leaving and that, but that when I did take off it all happened well quickly. Like, I said, “I have to go,” and next thing I was out the door. When I got in my mum was back from work and there was some pie and chips waiting for me in the oven. I grabbed the oven gloves and took the plate out and put it on a tray and got some coke out the fridge. It was quite cool, pissing around sorting out my dinner. I remember my movements were well quick as I did all the things needed to sort the stuff out. Like, get the tray, flick on the kettle, grab the oven gloves, take the plate out, put it on the tray, grab the tomato sauce off the shelf, decide I couldn’t be arsed with tea so diving for the coke out of the fridge and grabbing a glass from the top cupboard, pouring the coke, putting the top back on and shoving it back in the fridge, kicking open the cutlery draw, grabbing a knife and fork and then grabbing the tray in one hand and the glass in the other. My mum was in the front room on the sofa watching TV when I walked in and I sat down next to her. As I sat down I remember looking at her out of the corner of my eye and wondering whether she might be able to smell my breath and if it might’ve been a better idea to sit in the other chair. And then as I started watching her some more (like at intervals) I began to think about whether it’d be a good idea to talk a bit first or if it was okay to just relax in front of the TV as I usually did – for some reason I really wanted to ask her how her day had been. I started to eat my dinner, saying, “Cheers mum,” and looked at the programme she was watching (pig farmers moaning about how they were all going out of business; pretty boring) and then after a bit said, “So, how was work?” Before she answered me I remember we heard a sudden crash of thunder from outside followed by the sound of heavy rain throwing itself against the windows. My mum said to me (or at least in my direction), “So this is supposed to be fucking summer then?” and then she got up and walked out to the kitchen with her plate and tray and empty glass in her hand.
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