Staring Freaks

Two pairs of eyes hung on my every word, not blinking, not moving, just staring straight at me as I tried to explain what I did for a living. I could feel beads of sweat forming on my brow as I tripped and stuttered over the simplest of words so disconcerted was I by their attention. It was the first time I'd met Tina's parents after 3 months of dating her. We were sitting in a nice little cafe near a busy square ,on a bright blustery day; it should have been a pleasant occasion, it was turning into a nightmare.

To make matters worse, her father was licking an ice cream almost as intensely as he was staring at me - slow, long, lingering licks. Meanwhile, it felt like they were leaning in closer and closer crowding me, making me feel claustrophobic. He was so close I could have licked his ice cream too.  Quite frankly they were freaking me out. They'd looked like such a nice couple - they both had grey hair, glasses, him a greying beard and her with a slight trace of a grey moustache. His staring eyes were milky blue while hers were buglike behind her thick lenses.

It was a vicious circle now, the more they stared the more I faltered and the more I faltered the closer they got, trying to pick the very words from my mouth. My shirt was soaked with sweat, I could feel my eye twitch beneath the stress, I finally got to the end of my sentence and sat back, hoping there would be no further questions your honour. 

‘What the hell were you up to?’ Tina said as we walked home. ‘Why were you being like that?’
‘Me? What was going on with your folks?’ I said indignantly.
‘It wasn't my folks who were monkeying around, showing no respect, they were interested in you, but you were just being an idiot.’
‘But the staring, the scrutiny, the lack of personal space?’
‘What are you on about Rob?’ I looked at her trying to read her face but she really hadn't seen it; maybe she was used to it, maybe she thought it was normal or maybe I was just imagining it or over reacting. Whatever it was I was faced with the prospect of having these two staring freaks as a constant feature in my life, or lose what was potentially the love of my life.

The Coffee Cups

The plane engines hummed their monotonous tune , reassuring me and yet annoying me in equal measures. I closed my eyes, stretched out my long, tired legs and tried to sleep. But the knowledge that my tray table was cluttered with empty airline food containers prevent me from relaxing fully, stopping sleep in its tracks. The old man across the aisle was fidgeting noisily in his seat. I wearily opened one eye to see what he was up to. I watched him carefully clean the last dregs of coffee out of his cup and then, looking around to check no cabin crew were near, he slipped it unnoticed in to his bag, a boyish sparkle belying his age in his eyes. This obviously wasn't the first time he'd done this but what was the point of stealing a small plastic cup? I must have taken over 300 flights in my lifetime and I'd never seen the like before. But he wasn't finished.
He turned to me.
'Can I?' he said in heavily accented English looking at my empty cup.
I shrugged, I had nothing against it but I wasn't going to be complicit in his actions. He picked it up, used his napkin again to make sure there was no coffee left and again expertly slipped it into his bag, a mischievous look crossing his elderly face.
I wondered if the cabin crew would notice the missing cups as they collected the rubbish, but if they did, they didn't say anything, so it had been the perfect crime; no one had got hurt and no one seemed to care.
But I couldn't just sit there and let him get away with it; I had to know why. I leant over, smelling tobacco on his clothes, and asked him.
‘It's my brother,’ he said. ‘He works in the factory that makes these cups.’ His English was good but his accent was thick and so it was a strain to hear him above the hum of the engines. ‘Budget airlines use paper cups so demand is going down, people are losing their jobs.’

I smiled
‘So you steal the cups to keep your brother in work?’
He nodded, that cheeky grin returning to his face.
So now any time I can, I too clean the coffee out of the cup and slip it expertly into my bag, hoping to keep the man with the cheeky grin's brother in gainful employment.

The Waiter Part 2

Part 1 here -

Beth had taken a little bit more care over her appearance than she’d meant to. What was she doing? She was falling into the trap. Her friends would scoff if they could see her now. She'd usually laugh at women like her, but here she was, sitting in a cafe like a stupid cow waiting for a boy half her age to take advantage of her. Madness. 
She looked around the cafe, she was the only person sitting on her own yet the only one not engrossed in their mobile phone. What was the world coming to? She tried to smile, put negative thoughts out of her mind; she didn't want the forlorn look of a constipated dog on her face when the waiter walked in.

She’d worked out a strategy while she was getting ready; she’d entertain him, let him show her the town but not charm her into bed, she’d pay for his coffee, maybe a meal but she wouldn’t let him milk her dry. She knew the game and would play it by her rules. Mind you in her mind she’d decided not to accept his invite just an hour or so ago yet her mouth had betrayed her. So no matter what decisions she made now, she didn't know if they'd hold up under the scrutiny of his eyes and his smile.

She smiled when she saw him enter the café, he’d changed into his civvies and he looked even younger. No doubt people would think she was his mother, or they would if it were not so obvious he was her toy boy. She felt herself blush as the words crossed her mind like a neon sign. He smiled at her and sat down opposite her signalling to the waiter.

They drank coffee and chatted. Beth laughed at Adin’s attempt at pronouncing her name. Betting Betan, Beton, he just couldn’t do the th sound for the life of him. But other than her name, his English was really good. He explained he was working at the hotel to fund his way through college. He was training to be a journalist. He was not what she expected at all to be honest. He was kind of shy, his voice soft, his face blushed as he struggled with her name. He asked loads of questions and actually was listening to answers and when their coffees were empty he paid for the drinks himself and then offered a walk.

Town looked different with a local guide; he pointed out things she hadn’t noticed, took her down streets she never would have walked down and then suggested going to a restaurant she never would have known was there. It was only after a while that she realised she was smiling and laughing. Adin had stopped asking questions and started telling stories and anecdotes, his initial shyness receding as he relaxed.

The meal was fantastic and at the end he again insisted he would pay, although Beth was sure that there was a nod and a wink with the staff working there. Whatever, this was not in the script, surely she was meant to be his benefactor not the other way around. He was up to something, something didn’t chime quite right. But what was it? 
The afternoon involved more walking, more stories and more coffee, this time Beth insisted on paying. Then Adin walked her back to the hotel and they said their goodbyes.

The bleep of her phone roused her from her slumber, she’d been snoozing contentedly after a tiring day. She’d been a bit disappointed, even offended that he’d not even tried to kiss her, let alone get into her hotel room. He’d been the perfect gentleman. Was there something wrong with her? Did he not find her attractive? But as she lay here now building up the strength to look at her phone and see the message from that sleazeball back home, she was actually glad there’d been no physical contact, he’d made her feel special without making her feel sleazy.

She picked up her phone and smiled at the message on the screen. It wasn’t from sleazeball, it was from Adin.

‘Thank you for a lovely day.’

The smiled broadened at the next line.

‘What would happen if I’d kissed you?’

‘I’d have melted in your arms, my boy, I’d have melted in your arms.’  She said to no one in particular.

The Taxi

My first mistake was getting into the front seat, no my first mistake was getting into the taxi in the first place, my second mistake was getting into the front seat. What was I thinking? I like to consider myself as a streetwise, smart, savvy traveller, I know the rules, and rule number one is don’t get into the front seat of a taxi, so why I was acting like an idiot.
I'd been told taxis were safe, just flag one down, get in, don't worry, they'd told me in the hotel. So that's what I'd done, my feet were tired and I wanted to get back to the hotel, so I'd flagged a driver. And what a driver, his English was perfect, old school, colonial English. He seemed so friendly, so kind that when I went to get in the back and he chided me and told me to hop up front with him, I just did as I was told.
'You don't trust my driving?' He said as I went to put my seat belt on. Apparently wearing a seat belt was an insult here. But I never travel upfront without a seatbelt, so even at the risk of upsetting him I pulled the black nylon across me and plugged it in.
'Yes I know where the hotel is, but have you seen the square at night,' he said. I told him I'd only seen it during the day and he said he'd take me there for just 2 euros more. I agreed - mistake number three; I really wasn’t thinking straight.
'Traffic terrible, backstreets better,’  he said, as we bounced along the poorly maintained roads.
I smiled, I genuinely believed he was doing me a favour.
There's a certain Schardenfreude about being in a taxi and watching others hail them, or maybe it's smugness, whatever it is, it’s nice to know you have a cab while others are trying to get one. The last thing you expect is for your cab to stop and pick up another passenger. But as my driver pulled over he explained it was standard practice, the norm for this busy, bustling city where people are plentiful and cabs less so.
I shrugged and smiled my acceptance and said hello to the young woman who had climbed in to the seat behind mine.
At the next set of lights my foolishness began to dawn on me. We were in dingy backstreets away from the prying eyes of the throng; I was up front with a stranger next to me and a stranger behind me. I was a sitting duck,  waiting to be robbed and I didn't have to wait very long. As the lights turned green and the driver sped off I felt the cold blade of a knife touch my left love handle.
'Empty your pockets,’ the woman said to me.
I could see the driver smiling his smile as he drove, his plan had worked perfectly, another gullible tourist, easy prey. I cursed myself. What an idiot I'd been.
My brain did the mental calculation, in my pocket I had my phone and wallet which had some small change and two credit cards, but of course there was also my hotel key card, which led to my passport, my computer, my iPad, my world.
‘Empty’ she said again. And pressed the cool steal further into my fat. The warm damp feeling at the top of my trousers suggested she'd drawn blood. There was no way out of this, they were going to rob me dead or alive, I had to empty my pockets. The driver was speeding now, he obviously knew the roads like the back of his hand, gliding around potholes, and skipping through nearly red lights. His timing was perfect… almost.

Just as I was getting my phone out of my pocket to hand to the girl there was a screech as he hit the brakes but too late to avoid the car that had pulled out from a side street. We were all thrown forward, my driver hit the steering wheel while my mugger was thrown into the windscreen. I was wearing my seatbelt so despite being shaken around, I was fine. Both my companions would live too but they were no longer in mugging mood, in fact judging from their moans of pain, they weren’t in the mood for much.

Ps and Qs

Cliff hated work dinners for three reasons, one, they always went to posh restaurants where the food was all pomp and circumstance, about how impressive it sounded in the menu, how good it looked on the plate and not about how good it tasted or how filling it was. He looked at the menu now, arms of Octopus on a swede puree with a carrot jus, quadrille steak with Vandyked vegetables and a pepper reduction. What the fuck?

The second reason was that the bosses always ordered expensive wine which the waiters poured each person a trickle of and then kept at arm’s length. This meant that Cliff couldn’t drink, he could only sip and he spent half the evening waiting for the waiter to refill his glass.

The third reason was because there was fifteen of them it always took an age to get served, they’d already been here 20 minutes and the wine hadn’t even arrived yet, and they hadn’t come close to taking th food orders. To top if off tonight the restaurant was packed, so the likelihood of getting anything substantial to eat in the next 90 minutes was zero.

Cliff closed the menu and put it on the table.

‘What're you having?’ Ali asked him. That was number 4 on the list of work do hates who you sat next to. But tonight that was no problem. Ali was Cliff’s mate and they were the other end of the table from the bosses so they could gossip and have fun and not mind their Ps and Qs.

‘I don’t think I’ll bother.’ Cliff said. ‘It’s just too poncey for me.’

‘Really’ Ali looked shocked, he’d never seen Cliff turn down a free feed in his life.

‘Yeah, You?’ Cliff said.

‘I’m going for the octopus arm I think.’

‘Good luck.’ said Cliff smiling and fiddling with his phone.

‘Texting Lucy?’ Ali teased Cliff. Cliff always had to give his girlfriend updates on his whereabouts.

‘Something like that.’ Cliff said, and put the phone facedown on the table, smiling.

It took the waiter 5 minutes to just gather the orders from the assembled mass; god knows how long it would take to cook it all. Cliff was hungry but he didn’t regret not ordering, he just couldn’t be bothered with it.

20 minutes passed and still no food had arrived but then the restaurant door swung open and in walked a man in a motorcycle helmet.

Cliff grabbed his jacket and went to meet the newcomer, chatting to him for a moment before coming back smiling at his astonished colleagues and carrying a box with a pepperoni pizza steaming inside.