And The Winner Is? (610 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.85 on 26 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by BillyGoat (View user info) at 2008-04-14 21:02:51 EDT
Ian waits nervously by the magazine shelves, shuffling his feet and riffling through the magazine. His mind is somewhere else and focussing on the images on the glossy pages is hard. Each time, he will pick one up and set it down again, whilst stealing glances at his mark, who is finishing her business at the far end of the post office.
It's been 5 minutes and she still hasn't left the counter. Her protestations about the closure of her local post office are audible even at this distance and though he sympathises (his granny also uses such the post office), he is in too much of a hurry to fully appreciate her sentiment.
"Oh for fucks sake," he mutters under his breath as she prattles on about how she has been using this same post office for 60 years and the lady behind the counter, is equally annoyed and is anxious to let her go as the queue of other customers is becoming restless. She dismisses the old lady with, "ahh, it's this poxy government, you see, they can't seem to get anything right," adding gravitas to her comment by letting it trail of as she hands over the old lady's pension money. The old lady takes this as a cue to leave, much to the delight of the other customers. Her arthritic fingers clumsily stuff the money into a polka dot purse, which she places in her handbag.
Having let of steam, the old lady potters to the entrance, appalled b y the lack of politeness towards her. She walks past Ian, noting the low slung jeans and the undone shoelaces. She remembers the days before denim took over and men dressed in suits for all occasions, not least when visiting the respectable post office. Outside, she breathes in the warm spring air, turns and makes her way towards the bus stop opposite Sainsbury's. She doesn't see Ian's darting eyes, scanning the perimeter as he follows her round the bend to the zebra crossing by the traffic lights.
He is tetchy; he has ever stolen anything before, not even a sweet when he was younger. He has grown up knowing that stealing is bad under whatever circumstance, but he needs the money to pay for the baby clothes that he's promised Carly. He watches the little old lady slowly moving towards the crossing, her feet never 3 centimetres from the ground. How can he rob such a lovely woman? The restlessness shows in his arm movements, folding and unfolding, in pockets and out again. Sometimes he breaths into his hands to calm himself down and the alcoholic air lingers reminding him of the pub lunch he had about 2 hours ago.
At the traffic lights , he deliberately budges into her and she jolts fowards.
"Sorry love" he says, "are you alright". The crumpled face turns "yes dear". He notices that she has pulled the bag tighter to her chest, but by this time the damage is done and the purse is in his pocket. With that, she shakily crosses the street and hurries as the bus approaches. He casually takes a right towards Mothercare. The only other person that might have noticed this incident looks away when Ian eyes him.
He keeps having to adjust his jeans every 5 paces or so, making the journey to the shop embarrassingly slow. As soon as he enters, the PA announces that the store will be shutting in 10 minutes. Luckily for him, he is one of the last people to be allowed in as the shutters are already being lowered.12 minutes later he emerges having dispensed off £50 and heads for the train station about 10 minutes away. Carly will be proud he thinks as breaks into a light jog to catch the 5pm train.
She will be proud indeed, after all this would be the most useful thing he has done since she found out she was pregnant with his kid. There had been the initial shock of the pregnancy, followed by the inevitable forensic investigation into what went wrong. He blamed himself for not wearing a condom, she for not taking her 'pill.' Neither could be too sure as it had been a spur of the moment thing done in a mist of cigarette smoke and excess alcohol, after a house party held next door.
The months that followed were full of nagging, accusations and her threats to return home to her parents; in essence she had almost given up on him. However, after much deliberation, she decided that the verdict on whether he'd be a good father would come after the baby was born. She'd at least give him a chance after all both parties had been responsible for the pregnancy.
She stayed, tending to his every need, almost mothering him. She still cooked breakfast daily, right through her most violent bad bouts of morning sickness. She'd diligently clean the their little 1 bedroom flat though her back was killing her and even now, 8 months in, she worked hard to prove to herself that she'd be a good mother. Now it was up to him to do the same.
And to be fair Ian tried. The initial recriminations were set aside and he has continuously looked for ever since his uncle's business-where he worked -folded. He trawled the local papers for any job he could find. He would go to careers managers and pay with the little money he had, for advice on how to get a job with his minimal qualifications. He'd stay up night after night noting down every virtue he had to create a more robust CV. And countless hours were spent at the local library computer filling in agency forms for work and after each session, he'd go to the job centre to try his luck. Each morning he'd make his way down the 6 flight of stairs to the basement level which housed his pigeon hole and those of 399 other flats on the Ruffles estate.Inevitably each reply...would begin with 'we regret to inform you...,' he didn't bother with the rest and continued persevering with his quest for a job.
However, with the birth near, he has to fulfil his promise to Carly. He will be a surpotive boyfriend and a loving father to their child and will do everything it takes to make that happen. That's why he is panting his way towards the station, with £10 stolen money in his baggy jeans.
Its rush hour and everyone is in a mad rush to catch the train which comes once every 30 minutes. Scores of suits and tracksuits pile in, jostling, jabbing, even punching their way towards the platform. Ian joins the melee, digging hard into the asphalt as he descends down the dimly lit-piss stinking corridor that leads to the sunken platform. Little puddles of water/piss make manoeuvre tricky and each time he dodges one, he's in the path of another or another commuter. A curious concoction of smells feels the corridor as torrents of verbal abuse rain in from every direction.
Though his closer to the platform and can see the train coming, his movement is impeded by the jeans which by now are almost to his knees making him look like a chimp as he struggles past the piss and commuters whilst trying to keep his bags from the asphalt and close to him simultaneously.
The train is close enough now for him to see the driver, a middle aged man, pot bellied, bleary eyed from doing the same route for 7 hours. The driver proceeds to pull on the lever, which Ian can only imagine to be the brake. This brief lapse in concentration causes him to step onto his shoe laces and he stumbles to his right, almost falling on a be speckled lady who swerves out of his way.
He is still tumbling uncontrably towards the platform. The bags have loosened from his grip and he can hear alternate thudding sounds as commuters behind him trip over. He has no time to say sorry, the tilled wall which would have broken his fall has ended and he emerges into the bright spring sun.
His flailing arms try desperately to grab at anything or anyone-still they swerve out of the way. Foot movement has ceased due to the jeans, now languishing at his knees. The last thing he sees is the terror on the driver's face when his face splatters on his windshield.
+++
The driver was acquitted of all charges, there was no way the driver could have stopped in time the papers said...Jack Ian Smith-Moore was born 2 weeks after the accident.
User Reviews
Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2008-04-18 05:46:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2008-04-16 05:34:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Oh bugger, I did this the other day too on LM's post, +2 not +1. Damn you bart and your blonde proof rating system.
Submitted by TheGoat (user info) at 2008-04-16 04:55:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Top marks for effort there Orph!
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2008-04-16 04:22:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
god, yeah, fewer typo's. i thought english wasn't your first language!
oh, those were the days.
you are consistently good and entertaining.
i never found my specs, i went to the trouble to print it out and read it.
Submitted by TheGoat (user info) at 2008-04-16 04:07:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
still less typos than my first few posts.
Jack Ian Smith-Moore. Or JISM for short, this kid is gonna get bullied for sure.
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2008-04-16 03:39:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
this made me sad.
jolly well done all the same.
don't worry about typo's, no one is perfect.p
Submitted by Lib (user info) at 2008-04-15 12:22:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Crystle (user info) at 2008-04-15 12:18:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
zebra crossing - didn't know ol blighty was overrun by zebras.
Also you write alot of stories based in African type roots. The whole village judgement story, and I know I've picked up flavor in others
Submitted by TheGoat (user info) at 2008-04-15 12:03:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Crystle no why?
Submitted by Crystle (user info) at 2008-04-15 11:52:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
are you saffa?
Submitted by monkeyswithguns (user info) at 2008-04-15 11:37:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2008-04-15 11:14:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2008-04-15 09:27:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2008-04-15 09:02:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I can't find them so +2 until i do! I know it is the right rating!
I'll be back!
Submitted by jigglypuff (user info) at 2008-04-15 08:26:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I enjoyed this.
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2008-04-15 06:46:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Velcro? My God man! Why not simply cut the arse out of your trousers and hobble yourself to the toilet?
Submitted by TheGoat (user info) at 2008-04-15 06:06:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
...and tied shoelaces or velcro if you are too lazy...
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2008-04-15 06:00:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
An excellent endorsement of belts.
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2008-04-15 05:57:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Trés bien.
Submitted by LittleMonster (user info) at 2008-04-15 05:10:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Very good
Submitted by BeforeEmily (user info) at 2008-04-15 01:24:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
http://www.gabbly.com/www.ubersite.com/
Submitted by DonovanMD (user info) at 2008-04-15 00:39:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by X54 (user info) at 2008-04-15 00:34:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I enjoyed it despite a few too many typos. At first I thought Ian seemed out of character by robbing the old lady. Despite his baggy jeans and untied shoes, it sounded like he was really trying to do the right thing. But you convinced me that, in his convoluted mind, he WAS doing the right thing.
No winners here--if only he'd splattered himself before breeding you could at least believe society came out ahead. Now we're stuck with his progeny.
Submitted by firefly (user info) at 2008-04-14 21:35:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by TheGoat (user info) at 2008-04-14 21:11:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
25 posts woot!
Submitted by rob_berg (user info) at 2008-04-14 21:05:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
ME!