We enter The Professor, which was previously named The Tutor. Not much seems to have changed. Maybe it’s bluer? It’s pretty dead, but I don’t mind. I don’t want to dance or be lost in the crowd, I want to actually hear people and not have my drink hit from me by those who have no spatial awareness, which seems to be everyone – honestly if one more cunt stands on my shoes, I’m going to skin them. I wouldn’t know where to begin, but I’d give my best effort.
There are not many booths in this place large enough for all of us, but while we stand by the bar, ordering one by one because there is only one girl serving, I spot an ideal one that is free, right in the corner. Perfect. We all get our drinks, most have gone for Terminators, because why not, and then Rex says what I feared he would say.
“Smokies?” In his typical rhetorically upbeat tone.
Yes, what a great idea! We have just been outside in the cold, and now let’s go back out there to stand around breathing in vaporised cancer and contaminating all our clothes because you can’t last ten minutes.
I have become what they call a ‘social’ smoker’ or intermittent smoker since Paul offered me one. Since I can’t seem to commit to one camp or the other, the term ‘pussy smoker’ arose. It stuck. I try and say it’s because that’s what I’m trying to get, whereas Rex would say it’s because I am one, but that’s neither here nor there.
I hate how vapers look like when they vape, as if they are somehow cool when they blow all that white cloud, even exhaling all over you. It doesn’t even have the aesthetic of a pipe, cigar or even a cigarette. What are you sucking on, a teat? Are you an infant with a dummy? I think it is a cry for attention from their shitty lives. Same goes for weed users (don’t get me started on them), but everyone else goes, so what can you do. If I don’t go, I’ll miss out on the convo-geist.
We are outside for about ten minutes, enough to get near the end of our drinks and for everyone to light up again. As if this night could not annoy me anymore, a gaggle of girls, students like us it’s clear, come in. The one redeeming thing about this place is that at least I can actually hear people properly, and they’ve ruined that now. Their laughs sound like cackles and it hits my ear like an eek, eek, eek sound. I crunch on the ice cube in my mouth. Odd bunch. Couple of alrighties and beer goggles types, a tall skinny one and then some very short bald emo type. I don’t mean a short haircut and I don’t mean cancer bald, just full metal jacket bald.
Don’t come near us. Don’t come near us. Don’t come near us.
“One of you guys got a cigarette I can borrow?” Borrow? Borrow, you fuck? Borrow = grift and use. She looks at me, all innocent with big and, admittedly, beautiful eyes, the hint of a smile as if she doesn’t know exactly what she is doing. As if that smile hasn’t been deployed countless times whenever she wanted something.
“No.” I say flatly, returning her look without passion or emotion, then turn to get my drink from the counter behind me that runs along the length of the smoking area.
I am looking at Ant and his face looks some of what I feel. I nod my head to motion getting a drink. We finish our drinks and head to the bar to get served. The bar girl is nice, but she could be so much better if she lost the tattoo sleeve on her left arm, and those piercings too. I don’t’ know what goes through the minds of some girls that makes them want to look like an emo cum rag. It’s not cute or unique. The opposite. It’s just trashy. Next time just hold a flag up saying “I have daddy issues and am mentally unstable.”
“This place sucks.” I was not wrong. Student bars are not the highest establishments at the best of times, but tonight sucked. We had definitely picked the wrong day, because it was dead. Yeah, yeah, I know what I said earlier. I never said I was consistent. Well, at least that meant I could get fucking served without being cut in by some big tit Roastie in the queue.
“Yeah, you’re right.” Ant said, not taking his eyes off something on the other side of the room. “Is that Tanya?”
“Who’s Tanya?”
“From our course.”
“There’s no Tanya on our course.”
“Yeah, it’s her, she hangs out with Seb from Politics.”
I try to pick out who he’s talking about in the room.
Tanya is not Tanya. ‘Tanya’ is in fact Tasha – I think – because this apparent Seb looks very much like Olaf. Easily done since they’ve both got that tall, slim, mop of hair and trendy beard look going on. They’re the kind of boys that wear festival wristbands because they think it will get them attention from their crush they hang out with. The kind of person who owns at least three Apple products and two hoodies from Jack Wills; someone about as controversial as a ham sandwich, ready-salted crisp and bottle of water meal deal.
“I think you mean Tasha.”
“That’s what I said.” Now I’m confused. Has this music gotten louder? Ant laughs at something on his phone.
I change the topic. “Let’s bug out and get something to eat.” I know if I convince him, everyone else will most likely follow.
“Ok, but after we do one last round of Terminators.”
“Urgh, ok fine, but only if you’re buying.”
“Well, since I’m in a generous mood, and maybe the fact my student loan has just come through, I will.” The optimism of money.
I feel slightly bad for making him pay, but he’s going to spend it on drinks or something worse anyway, so may as well be me. My conscience is helped by the sweet taste of the beverage. £3.50 per drink – good deal. We return and the girls are still there with our group. I could have sworn there were less people here before?
“Looks like we aren’t getting out of here any time soon.” Says Ant.
“Rex will get hungry or need to buy some fags soon, so he will come with us.”
“No, not Rex. Paul’s talking to the baldie.” Shit. He was.
“I thought Paul was into weird hair coloured goth chicks.”
“Eh, I guess she’s pretty gothy, minus the hair. I don’t know what goes through Paul’s head.”
We are in a hard situation. On the one hand, you never want to stop a bro from making progress with a girl. On the other hand, I really cannot be bothered with tonight, we should have picked somewhere better, and Paul can do better. Paul has done better, although how still remains a mystery to me. His pale skin, short stature and skinny body is not what you tend to see on the front of a mens’ magazine, but then that’s a testament to his skill – according to him anyway.
I head over to Rex. “Me and Ant, want to head to Jaspers and get food.”
“What? Now?”
“Can’t now, just bought a fresh round and Paul is over there talking to the emo-lesbo.”
“That’s a dude.”
“What?”
“Yeah, totally a dude.”
“You mean a dude-dude or a tranny-dude?”
“A rose by any other name would still have a dick”
I look over. Maybe Rex is right? “You sure? I swear she’s got boobs.”
“Na, that’s just the baggy clothes she’s got.”
“He”
“That’s what I said.”
“No, you didn’t, you said she.”
“Ok, the THING over there talking to Paul.”
“Wait, trans like a guy trying to look like a girl, or a girl trying to look like a guy?”
“Guy looking like a girl.”
“Shit, Paul’s getting done by a trap. I got to tell Ant.”
It’s harder to speak now, as the club has filled up and the music seems louder, or is that because of the all the people speaking? I am unsure when this happened. I have to search for Ant, who’s with Jack and a girl from the group that joined us. I think I might have seen her before, maybe on campus or just shopping in town.
“Is your friend a guy or a girl?” I ask, having to challenge the chorus of sound.
“No, sorry I’m seeing someone.” She’s polite enough to smile, and make it look genuine. Useless. I turn to Ant. “Is Paul with a dude or a girl? Rex thinks it’s a trap.”
“Oh yeah, didn’t I tell you that?”
“No.”
“Oh, I’ll go find him.”
I’m stuck with Jack, we discuss some shit about university and how maintenance will mostly go to cancelling his overdraft, then turn our attention back to Paul. Jack pops the question. “So, are traps gay?”
“Well, that’s a very interesting question and one that has a degree of nuance to it. However according to Broticus 13:12 ‘He who falls for a trap, has only been deceived. But upon revelation of a trap being a guy, he must tell his sexual ambitions goodbye. Waymen.’”
“Waymen”, he nods, drinking his double vodka and coke. “Is everyone getting another round?”
“No. Me, Ant and Rex all want to go Jaspers.”
“Oh, thank fuck. I can’t be asked tonight. Plus, I have some Grouse at home.”
“Yeah, we just need Paul to stop talking to the trap and we can dip.”
“Make sure to let Wayland know we are going.”
“Shit, where did Wayland go? I haven’t seen him since Swift.”
“No, he entered with us here.”
“Really?” I look around in the hopes of half-heartedly finding him, but I can’t see anyone I recognize besides Paul and the trap leaving the smoking area to buy another round. “You get him, I’ll get Ant, Rex and Paul.”
- Find Ant
- Find Rex
- Help them help me rescue Paul
- Finish drink
- Get out
- Get food
“Ok” He downs his entire glass, switching it for another full one while that drink’s owner has his back turned. He makes his escape and I head off too, not wanting to catch the blame and to move closer to the goal of getting out of this place. As I look for the guys, first in the smoking area, then the various club rooms, I take sips from my drink. Looking down, I notice I am no longer nestling a Terminator but some blue drink. Not too bad, but it’s no Terminator.
- Ask what drink this is from the bar
- Find Ant or Rex
- Use the one I find first to find the other
- Rescue Paul
- Ask that blond girl who just looked at me for her number
- Down drink in front of her to look ‘cool’
- Get out
- Get food
Where the fuck have Ant and Rex gone? Rex can be hard to find, him being relatively short and often wearing brown and dark blue clothes, but I can’t even see Ant’s distinct curly hair which he has recently grown out to give off a Jeremy Clarkson vibe, nor his tall frame with signature Barbour jacket and glasses finish. I finally check the toilets, to no avail. They must have dipped. I want to go after Jack, but I am betting that Rex and Ant have just headed straight to Jaspers.
- Persuade Paul
- Fight of trans thing
- Trip someone up
- Find Ant and Rex
- Get food
- Oh, finish drink…
- Girl not interested, maybe…
- Get Paul
- Leave
- Get food for real this time
“Get Paul – drink – food.” I drunkenly list to myself. I head over to Paul. “Paul, c’mon, we’re getting food.” He waves me off. I have to shout in his ear, partly due to frustration and partly due to necessity. “Paul that’s a dude!” He waves me off again. “Paul! It’s a dyke, a lesbo, a fag, a trap!”
He waves me off again. I guess you can’t help some people. Fuck it. I’m getting food. I head out of the club through the narrow doors that are too stiff to be handled well. There’s a bouncer at the door having a smoke. At this point I realize how drunk I am and I have to really focus to make sure my words come out well. “Sorry, did you see where two lads went? One short, one tall. Short one has a beard.”
“Na, sorry mate.” Who’s he looking at so weird?
Oh, come on it can’t be that long since they left. He must have seen them. Look left, look right. I hear faint voices at the fair end of the street disappearing into the shadows surrounding a street lamp. Some help you are, you fat chud.
“No worries, thanks.” I will run you over with a fucking Mercedes and cut your ball with a box cutter and mail it to Gweneth Paltrow – prick.
I head down the street. It’s in the direction of Jaspers anyway, which is where I’d expect Ant and Rex to go, but I can’t catch them up immediately, due to there being a build-up of ice on the pavement. I avoid some bins and parked cars on my way down the small hill, nearly falling several times because of the ice.
I get down to the street corner and turn right, heading towards Jaspers. It’s a tiny place so the small queue has already extended outside. Rex stands at the end.
“Where’s Ant?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were with him just now.”
“Was I?”
“Oh my God, you’re fucking useless!”
He’s too busy on his phone looking at stocks and Wikipedia. I look around and see a tall figure fingering a metal railing on the other side of the poorly lit road. “Ant!” I have to yell twice more. Eventually he turns around, maybe seeing me as I wave him over or just honing in on my sound, like the world’s worst bat. Lumbering across the street, without checking for cars, he trips over a road cone. After kicking it in frustration and calling it some sort of racial slur, he stumbles to us and we order our food.
I’m the last to exit Jaspers since I bought a jumbo English breakfast, while the rest got various portions of chips. I look for my friends who, by some miracle, are all still present. Somewhere a car alarm is going off. We head back home, all munching on our food. Ant burps out loud and closes his takeaway box. “Rex, help me out. We need to do some council work.”
Somehow, Rex knows exactly what he means and they both give their food to us to carry. Us being Wayland, Jack and myself. I have no idea when Wayland and Jack caught up to us. Rex and Ant kick off the sandbags holding down a large yellow diversion sign in the middle of this junction. They pick each end but begin to walk in circles, rotating on the spot, walking with the sign sideways each talking over the other on what and how to do.
I look over at Wayland and say, “We gonna stop them?”
He looks back, chewing chips for a few moments, “Why stop chucklevision?” Me, Wayland and Jack loudly laugh, getting more and more hysterical to match the scene, half chewed food falling out of our mouths. Maybe the night was worth it after all?
Rex persuades Ant that they really, really, really must get some sandbags for ‘security’.
“From who?”
“Who knows. The sort of people who live around here, they get up to all sorts of things.”
“Like stealing?” Wayland suggests.
“Yeah! Exactly!”
“Don’t forget the government.”
“If our house becomes Waco 2.0 Rex, I swear to God…”
“God is dead!”
Jack leans over to me. “He killed himself rather than watch this.”
They pile up the sandbags on their shoulders while carrying the sign. This doesn’t work. They try and give it to us, but we don’t want anything to do with this. Eventually, they figure out to turn the sign sideways and carry the bags on top.
“Did you guys see the knocked over bins?” Asks Jack.
“You know, I loved that show.”
“Wuh?”
“…Chucklevision.”
“Oh yeah, loved it.”
“Wait which bins? Where?”
“There.”
“Na, wait, where?”
“Rex, watch the glass!”
We’re halfway, keeping an eye out for any police patrols, when tragedy struck. Jack dropped his chips. I had to carry everyone’s food as Wayland consoled Jack all the way back home and Rex and Ant were adamant on their mission to rearrange the city councils’ signs, or as they put it: ‘To emancipate all oppressed under the boot of the tyrants.’
“Why didn’t you get one of the cones?” I ask.
“Well, we already have like three. You know, you got to add some variety into the mix,” explained Ant between breaths as if describing gardening arrangements.
“Yeah, Anon, don’t be xenophobic. This is a multi-sign society were are creating,” laughed Rex.
“Boy, I need to go to the gym,” huffed Ant.
“Or lay off the cigs?” I suggest.
“Fuck-off!” Both Rex and Ant say in unison. My mistake what was I thinking.
Eventually we make it home and I hand out everyone’s food. Jack cradles the remains of his meal in his arms as if he had just lost an infant child and walks off to the kitchen at the back of the house. Everyone else sits in the living room. There are a few minutes of silence as the parts of our brain that are still functioning are engaged with making sure the greasy food from the box gets into the mouth.
“Greasy food to a pisshead is like coke on a stripper’s tits to a hedge fund manager,” I say in between mouthfuls.
Everyone laughs. Ant chokes on his food. “You should have done English Anon, that’s pretty good.”
“That should be on a poster,” adds Rex.
“I’d buy that for a dollar!” Yells Wayland. After a while, as we finish our meals, he asks everyone, “Wait, where’s Jack?”
As if on cue, Jack enters holding a dirty spade with muddy boots, dirt on his knees and somehow on his face.
“Hey Jack, anymore and you’ve got a good black face going on there,” laughs Rex.
“What the fuck are you doing?” asks Ant.
“Digging.” We give each other amused and puzzled stares. He’s still sniffling.
“What?”
“Burying…the chips. They deserve a good end.”
Ant is shaking his head trying to comprehend this. “Jack, our garden is all paved with tiles.”
“Then whose garden did I just bury chips in?”
“And we don’t own a spade!”
Thought Horizon 