Publicans

So check this out:

Tonight I was in a pub in Cambridge, and I had a massive rucksack with me because I’m staying for a week for me ma’s birthday. I put the rucksack in a corner by a games machine, and thought nothing of it. My friends and I were chatting and all that, but at some point I began to get paranoid about my bag. I glanced over at it, and saw a couple standing near it. I thought nothing of it because they seemed fairly involved in each other, not my rucksack, and I went back to the conversation.

A couple of minutes later I checked again, and the couple were now leant against the wall. Over my rucksack. This bothered me a little bit, so I was shooting them sideways glances all the time until I noticed the lady’s arm.

It was bent, hidden by her torso, and going up and down.

The man’s face was totally blank, so I thought “Nah, they can’t be.” But she did not at any point stop this up and down motion in front of the man’s crotch. Except for the point when she kneeled down, maybe to pick something up? No. Actually to move the up and down motion to her head.

At this point I notified the friends I was with, and we spent some time giggling and trying to figure out if what we thought was going on was going on. She was back on her feet with fiddler’s elbow again.

At this point there was no doubt. She was giving the bored faced man a princely polish, right in the middle of a busy pub. Right over my rucksack.

“Well, this won’t do,” I thought, and started complaining about the situation. We decided I should probably say something, but, terrified of confrontation, and wary of catching a terrible glimpse, I went and spoke to the barman. He laughed heartily and told me to tell the doorman.

I told the doorman. Eventually he came in and told the couple to stop it. They guarded themselves as they tucked away, and the doorman leant down and grabbed my bag, beckoned to me to come over and take it, and said loudly “There you go mate!”

He ratted me out! I ratted them out, sure, and it’s not cool to rat, I know. But to rat out a rat is twice not as cool!

On English impulse, I said sorry to the couple. I suppose I felt bad for ruining their methodical, boring fun-time. But I didn’t want a rucksack covered in spaff. No way. Not many people would, probably.

So that was that. I retrieved my luggage and we left the pub. Awkwardly, my friend Ned and I had to follow the dour couple into a badly lit park to retrieve a bike, but we soon left them alone to finish off their magical evening.

At one point during the evening’s events I made eye contact with the man as he was receiving his reward. Only from tonight can I say that I’ve looked a man dead in the eyes while his salad gets tossed.

Still, at least my rucksack isn’t covered in spaff. It’s not every day you can feel relieved about that.

~

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