Monday, September 7, 2009

The Second Sole

"Is it ready yet?" you bark at the chap behind the counter, "I've been waiting twenty fucking minutes."
 This is a lie. I think you had placed your order just before me, and I was only gone two minutes, fetching milk in the Late Nite shop across the road.
"Nearly," says the chipper man, as he stares intently at the pan, willing the fish to cook faster. I sense you were chatty while I wasn't there, too.

You wear a navy suit, not shabby but not half as suave as you might have hoped. It looks massively incongruous in such surroundings on a Sunday night. You are upper middle-aged and middle middle-class. You are old enough and educated enough to know better than to be an asshole to nice fellows working in chip-shops. Your belligerent demeanour makes me assume drink was playing its part, though you were odourless from where I stood.

And, for a moment, I want to smash your fucking face in.  To decorate the pristine white tiles on the wall with a smattering of your blood. If only to put manners on you.

It passes.

Your order arrrives: two fresh sole and two chips, and you pay with a twenty. "I want all my fucking change, now," you growl, your prey fumbling at the till. You get your fucking change, and an astonishingly genuine sounding thank-you.

You turn to leave, and see me for the first time. I must look strange, freshly returned from a festival, spattered with mud and smelling faintly of rum. But your face speaks of only of contempt, not of bemusement. I resist the instinct to move out of your path and  I make you walk around me instead. You meet my eyes in a way that makes my blood run cold. And you leave.

My food is ready instantly. As I suspected, it was ready before yours but they dared not give it to me first. I leave a twenty cent tip by way of a sympathy gesture and leave. Looking up the road I see you clunking your way along the pavement towards Camden Street.

And I can't help but wonder as to who's at home, awaiting you and the second sole.

14 comment(s):

Sarah Gostrangely said...

cool last line andy.

so many levels...

Radge said...

I wonder what stops us hitting cunts like that. Some stupid fear, most likely. Great post.

She Likes It Loud said...

I can't spectate when I see this shit, my mouth jumps in before my brain can stop it. I would've been all "Wow! How many hours of rehearsal does it take to perfect being a complete prick? You truly are a master, did you study under the same fuckface that my dad did?"

Andrew said...

Sarah - Thanks. I'll be honest and admit that I hadn't particularly meant the last line to have multiple meanings, but I guess the nature of that word meant it was bound to.

Radge - The fear of being like him, only bigger, in this case. Still, I don't imagine I'd have felt too bad about it had I given into that instinct. And thanks.

SLIL - Remind me not to ever piss you off!
The thing is though, if a guy says anything like that to another guy then it's likely to turn into a physical fight anyway.

Kitty Catastrophe said...

What a cunt. Bit spooky at the end there, great post though.

She Likes It Loud said...

Heh, I'm nice to my friends. If I were a guy I'd never get away with what I do. Also, it's not like my skull opens with fire expelling, I say stuff with a sense of humor and the all to necessary sarcasm. Have to be careful when it's a racist though, they will hit a woman I found. Oops.

catherine said...

I was waiting for this to turn into a post about shoes for about three paragraphs.


Rua, not studying said...

In Apriles? The cheak, does he not know the greatness? C U Next fuckin'cunt!

notRuairi said...

Very ominous conclusion. Excellent post. The other sole was probably for breakfast.

Andrew said...

Kitty cat - he was one spooky motherfucker, it's a while since anyone's given the creeps the way he did.

SLIL - good to hear that the racists of the world are still doing their best to be equal opportunities employers in one regard, at least.

Catherine - you want to try the irish daily mail, love. A quarter of their front page the other day was taken up with Lorraine Keane wearing a pair of Jimmy Choos. I was previously unaware of the existence of an Irish Daily Mail, but such a pertinest news story means they will never again escape my psyche.

Rua - he seemed to have little concept of the greatness, from what I could see. if he had done, he would've got battered sausages rather than sole.

NotRuairi - Thanks. I think sole for breakfast might be more unforgivable than casual cuntishness in a chipper.

B said...

It's one of those existential Japanese films, right?

The Shape said...

I want chips

Rua, said...


Rua, said...

testify, sorry, with an 'S'