yelled. ‘I’ve had it with men like you.’
He started to laugh. ‘Na lass, you can get oot o’ my flat, reet now. Yer lease has expired.’
No, no, no. That wasn’t meant to happen. Great negotiation skills, Jennifer. I wanted to plead, I wanted to beg, but I was too enraged. The events of the previous days had culminated in unadulterated female fury.
‘With pleasure,’ I yelled. ‘I’d rather live in a cell in Alcatraz than pay rent to you.’
‘Aye, well, ask if they’ve got a padded one. Give me yer key before you leave.’ He turned on his slip-on leather-look heels and left me standing at the door dumbfounded.
‘Shit, shit, shit.’ I stamped my foot and hit my head on the door frame. ‘Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.’
Across the corridor a door opened. I looked up to see a bemused Mrs Diasio looking my way. She waved, then laughed. ‘
Arrivaderci,
’ she chuckled and slammed the door.
Chapter Five
8th January, 12:30 p.m.
‘Gis a packet o’ tabs an’ two pickle’t eggs,’ he shouted. He threw his empty chicken pie wrapper at me, I gathered as a sign of affection.
‘Aye, an’ a pint of Exhibition,’ yelled his missus, from the opposite end of the bar. This sparked a heated response.
‘Howay woman, get yer own chuffin’ pint. I’m not ganna pay fer you to get fatter than you are.’
‘Piss off, ya bleedin’ scruff.’
‘I’ll smack ya if yer startin’ on us like.’
I turned away and busied myself with fishing the putrid-smelling eggs out of the jar that stood on the counter behind the bar. Another typical lunchtime shift at the Scrap Inn, especially when Denise and Derek were present. I glanced at the clock above me – 12:32 p.m. Maz probably wouldn’t be back for at least another two hours. I was starting to feel tense. This was my first time going solo behind the bar andI would admit to being absolutely terrified. Maz had finally decided to go for her first talk-show host audition and, in a moment of madness, I had agreed to do the shift alone. ‘Yeah, sure Maz, no problem. It’ll be good experience for me.’ Good experience, my arse. Having my teeth forcibly extracted without anaesthetic would have been more enjoyable. My original bravado was starting to dwindle.
The eggs and cigarettes had just changed hands when the pub door burst open, smashed against the wall and sent the recently hung ‘No smoking section’ sign crashing to the floor.
‘F’kin’ na smokin’ section. What a load o’ shite,’ shouted ‘Auld Vinny’, the pub’s eldest regular, as he stumbled through the door and kicked the sign across the floor. He tripped down the stairs and wobbled towards me, as I hurriedly uncapped his bottle of ‘broon’. Auld Vinny was not one to be kept waiting.
‘What f’kin’ time d’ya call this to open eh?’ he yelled, waggling an ancient finger vaguely in my direction. ‘I was ootside at eleven o’clock and ya wasny open. I cannot believe it disny open at eleven. I’m ganna call the f’kin’ brewery, man!’
I decided against explaining the intricacies of licensing laws and instead smiled inanely as my third customer attempted to climb onto the bar stool which was nailed to the floor. Auld Vinny definitely had an individual style. He wore a dirty brown jacket, black trousers tied with string, white socks, and lime-green deck shoes. His house key hung on a string around his thick neck. As always, the ensemble was finished off with a neon orange cap bearing the logo‘The Ultimate International Sex Machine’.
‘A bottle o’ broon an’ a pint of arsenic,’ yelled Vinny. ‘I’m sick as shite.’
‘Here you go, Vinny.’ I put the bottle in front of him and watched his bunch of ring-clad, tattooed fingers shakily clasp the bottle.
‘Chuffin’ hell,’ Auld Vinny exclaimed, spitting a mouthful of beer all over the bar, ‘what the hell d’ya call that, man?’
‘Umm,’ I stuttered. ‘Umm.’ I pointed nervously at the label.
Vinny
He started to laugh. ‘Na lass, you can get oot o’ my flat, reet now. Yer lease has expired.’
No, no, no. That wasn’t meant to happen. Great negotiation skills, Jennifer. I wanted to plead, I wanted to beg, but I was too enraged. The events of the previous days had culminated in unadulterated female fury.
‘With pleasure,’ I yelled. ‘I’d rather live in a cell in Alcatraz than pay rent to you.’
‘Aye, well, ask if they’ve got a padded one. Give me yer key before you leave.’ He turned on his slip-on leather-look heels and left me standing at the door dumbfounded.
‘Shit, shit, shit.’ I stamped my foot and hit my head on the door frame. ‘Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.’
Across the corridor a door opened. I looked up to see a bemused Mrs Diasio looking my way. She waved, then laughed. ‘
Arrivaderci,
’ she chuckled and slammed the door.
Chapter Five
8th January, 12:30 p.m.
‘Gis a packet o’ tabs an’ two pickle’t eggs,’ he shouted. He threw his empty chicken pie wrapper at me, I gathered as a sign of affection.
‘Aye, an’ a pint of Exhibition,’ yelled his missus, from the opposite end of the bar. This sparked a heated response.
‘Howay woman, get yer own chuffin’ pint. I’m not ganna pay fer you to get fatter than you are.’
‘Piss off, ya bleedin’ scruff.’
‘I’ll smack ya if yer startin’ on us like.’
I turned away and busied myself with fishing the putrid-smelling eggs out of the jar that stood on the counter behind the bar. Another typical lunchtime shift at the Scrap Inn, especially when Denise and Derek were present. I glanced at the clock above me – 12:32 p.m. Maz probably wouldn’t be back for at least another two hours. I was starting to feel tense. This was my first time going solo behind the bar andI would admit to being absolutely terrified. Maz had finally decided to go for her first talk-show host audition and, in a moment of madness, I had agreed to do the shift alone. ‘Yeah, sure Maz, no problem. It’ll be good experience for me.’ Good experience, my arse. Having my teeth forcibly extracted without anaesthetic would have been more enjoyable. My original bravado was starting to dwindle.
The eggs and cigarettes had just changed hands when the pub door burst open, smashed against the wall and sent the recently hung ‘No smoking section’ sign crashing to the floor.
‘F’kin’ na smokin’ section. What a load o’ shite,’ shouted ‘Auld Vinny’, the pub’s eldest regular, as he stumbled through the door and kicked the sign across the floor. He tripped down the stairs and wobbled towards me, as I hurriedly uncapped his bottle of ‘broon’. Auld Vinny was not one to be kept waiting.
‘What f’kin’ time d’ya call this to open eh?’ he yelled, waggling an ancient finger vaguely in my direction. ‘I was ootside at eleven o’clock and ya wasny open. I cannot believe it disny open at eleven. I’m ganna call the f’kin’ brewery, man!’
I decided against explaining the intricacies of licensing laws and instead smiled inanely as my third customer attempted to climb onto the bar stool which was nailed to the floor. Auld Vinny definitely had an individual style. He wore a dirty brown jacket, black trousers tied with string, white socks, and lime-green deck shoes. His house key hung on a string around his thick neck. As always, the ensemble was finished off with a neon orange cap bearing the logo‘The Ultimate International Sex Machine’.
‘A bottle o’ broon an’ a pint of arsenic,’ yelled Vinny. ‘I’m sick as shite.’
‘Here you go, Vinny.’ I put the bottle in front of him and watched his bunch of ring-clad, tattooed fingers shakily clasp the bottle.
‘Chuffin’ hell,’ Auld Vinny exclaimed, spitting a mouthful of beer all over the bar, ‘what the hell d’ya call that, man?’
‘Umm,’ I stuttered. ‘Umm.’ I pointed nervously at the label.
Vinny
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