I sat at the till for my first day in my first job. My long Richard Ashcroft-inspired locks covering my face, deliberately in front of my ears and semi-covering my eyes, enough to see what was in front of me and enough to hide me away from what was in front of me.
In front of me, by the way, was another till. That till was positioned in the middle of Heathrow airport, stationed by a young chap who was supposed to be facing me. But instead, this chap looked away. Deliberately. It was a difficult feat given the position of the chair. Obviously not a deliberately rude manoeuvre, and clearly one driven by a stifling shyness. I did the right thing and went over to goad and poke fun at him.
…
Vik had come down for a coffee and to discuss very non-important things. It was 1am.
Vik pushed me into calling Tom. ‘If you’re gonna be in a band with this geezer, you need to get in touch and make it happen and stop being a prick.’ I did. The same way he pushed me to meet up with his good friend Sarb. ‘He’s fucking sick man, might be the best drummer in West London’ (though it turns out, he had never heard him play drums, but Sarb was a convincing motherfucker, and he was an amazing drummer, luckily). So I did. The same way he said the girl I was seeing, (whom he hadn’t met at the time, but she sounded like ‘the one’) was the girl I should marry. I did that too.
…
A sunny summer afternoon sets us up. We got in the car and he put on the CD. We drove until we hit a long stretch, and then he hit play. The Vines started screeching out of the car stereo, and we followed suit.
‘I get (I get, I get)
What I own, don’t let (don’t let, don’t let)
The feelings that I choose Aaaaaaaarrrgggghhhhhhhhhh (inaudible screaming)’
The song finished, we acknowledged a job well done, shared a very casual sense of accomplishment, and prepared ourselves for the next song.
…
I stood directly in front of the unintentionally rude, deliberately stationed, chap.
‘Alright?’
‘Yep.’ He avoided eye contact. I laughed.
‘What?’ Was his response, finally looking at me as if his cover had been blown.
‘Fucking hell, where do I start man?’
