I had an hour to kill before my train back home, so I decided to take a stroll around Edinburgh Waverley. As I passed the window of Cafe Nero, a beautiful girl smiled out at me from her seat, her fingers wrapped around a mug of funny looking tea.
My heart went FUCK. My brain went YOU'VE GOT AN HOUR TO KILL GO IN AND GET A DRINK MAYBE SHE'LL MARRY YOU IF YOU GET A FRAPPE CREME. But I'd already walked past the window, and the door to the cafe was long gone; that was ancient history, that ship had sailed. How could I execute a flawless turnaround without looking like a damned fool? But life threw me a spongy orange safety ring - you know, those ones you get on boats? A cash machine lay just up ahead! Not one to ignore a sign from Satan, like a flash, I waddled to the cashhole and stuffed my card into its slippery goodness, just like a real person would do. Acting casual, like I was just your ordinary run of the mill card handler, I checked my balance, using all my residual acting talent to fake an interested expression. Things took a turn when I accidentally hit withdraw - Mary Mother of God this wasn't part of the plan. Had I blown my cover? I could feel the people around me stop in their tracks. One particular old woman raised her pointed finger at me and let forth a hideous alien shriek. But I cancelled the transaction and the world was set right again. Seamless, motherfucker. Now that everybody thought I had come this way just to check my balance, I could turn back and get to what, as far as they knew, had been my plan all along. I hoofed the door to Cafe Nero open - it flew off its hinges and shattered into sparkling shards against the sandwich cabinet. I took the slab of Tarmac out my bag that I always keep on my person for situations such as this, slamming it down on the counter.
My heart went FUCK. My brain went YOU'VE GOT AN HOUR TO KILL GO IN AND GET A DRINK MAYBE SHE'LL MARRY YOU IF YOU GET A FRAPPE CREME. But I'd already walked past the window, and the door to the cafe was long gone; that was ancient history, that ship had sailed. How could I execute a flawless turnaround without looking like a damned fool? But life threw me a spongy orange safety ring - you know, those ones you get on boats? A cash machine lay just up ahead! Not one to ignore a sign from Satan, like a flash, I waddled to the cashhole and stuffed my card into its slippery goodness, just like a real person would do. Acting casual, like I was just your ordinary run of the mill card handler, I checked my balance, using all my residual acting talent to fake an interested expression. Things took a turn when I accidentally hit withdraw - Mary Mother of God this wasn't part of the plan. Had I blown my cover? I could feel the people around me stop in their tracks. One particular old woman raised her pointed finger at me and let forth a hideous alien shriek. But I cancelled the transaction and the world was set right again. Seamless, motherfucker. Now that everybody thought I had come this way just to check my balance, I could turn back and get to what, as far as they knew, had been my plan all along. I hoofed the door to Cafe Nero open - it flew off its hinges and shattered into sparkling shards against the sandwich cabinet. I took the slab of Tarmac out my bag that I always keep on my person for situations such as this, slamming it down on the counter.
"A pint of tea please," I bellowed, "and one for the road." Pretty-Girl, who will henceforth be referred to as PG dropped her tea in sheer amazement. In one fluid motion she was out her chair and on me like a fly on Sam Smith's debut album.
Except that bit was a daydream. In reality, I quickly parked myself at the end of the queue and observed the menu board above. How the fuck was I supposed to play this one? I longingly eyed up the frappe milkshake board. Some of them had whipped cream and chocolate flakes and sprinkles. They were like a party in a cup. One of those parties where you all inhale helium and put a hat on a dog. But not a sophisticated drink. "Mum, how did you meet Dad?" "Well, I saw him trying to use a coffee stirrer to get the whipped cream from his Grande Frappe out the gap in his teeth." It just doesn't happen. I gotta think outside the box here. The Rabbis in front of me had already finished their order. Fuck, I was up to bat.
"What can I get you?"
"Tea, please!" Playing it safe.
"English Breakfast?"
"Pardon?"
"Do you want English Breakfast?"
"No, just the tea, thanks."
"Yeah, what type?"
"What types are there?"
"Uhh... English Breakfast, Earl Grey, Green Tea, Chai Tea..."
"English Breakfast, please."
"Milk on the side?"
"Um..."
She looked at me with the kind of look you give a cat that's just shat out a mouse.
"Yes."
Seamless, you shit. Across from PG was a little single table with a chair facing her direction. I parked myself there with my tray, upon which was my tea and all the other bullshit they give you to make you do all the work. PG had her earphones in, still clutching her tea like I wish she would me. While she was distracted with her music, I got to work on that fucking tea procedure bullshit all you cunts go through every day. Adding the milk while pressing the bag while stirring in the sugar like a fucking octopus radio DJ. Just as I finished, PG looked up and threw me a small smile. OW FUCK. JESUS. Take a sip of the tea, Joe. Do it for the grandkids.
*sip*
Now that my oesophagus was peeling away from itself in chunks, I had time to reflect. In a hurtling wave of realisation, I remembered why I didn't drink tea anymore. It's fucking rank. Unless you're in the right mood. Unless it's brewed just how you like. Maybe my tastebuds are just late bloomers, but unless I ensure the ratio of tea:sugar is a decent 30:70, tea pretty much makes me want to wretch. But luckily I remembered: girls hate that! I held everything down until the tea sludge had slithered to a rest in my stomach. I took another sip, and another, and another. My mug was nearly empty. My body was struggling to take anymore of this Guantanamo-worthy torture porn. I risked a glance at PG to see what she thought about my sacrifice. Something was wrong. She frowned down at her phone. The announcer woman said something about a train leaving in ten minutes. PG had heard enough. She whisked all her belongings up and was out the door. As she breezed past me in a flurry of butterflies and perfume, I heard the dying screams of our never-were children and grandchildren as their very existence was being torn from them and the world around them that never existed faded to dust.
Anyway, this is why I'm single.
Anyway, this is why I'm single.
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