DON'T BE KIND.
Sep. 3rd, 2009 10:10 pm
‘Sure,’ the man he was talking to shrugged, looking half interested and half not. Laura couldn’t tell if he was blond. In some lights it looked almost silver. Weird.
‘Oh come on. You don’t think that I have a right to be fucked off?’ the first snarled, as if the other had insulted his mother. ‘You’d be throwing a fit if this was Bayern Munich we were talking about!’
‘Aha!’ the second man smiled knowingly. ‘And that’s where you’re wrong. I don’t give a <i>shit</i> about Bayern München because, my friend, you should know that I always hated that cunt Bayern, not that I should have expected you to remember that, since you were busy playing “la- la- la- not- listening” at the time that I kicked West’s arse into shape. Point is you used a shitty example. Now… Berliner FC Dynamo? That’s a football team,’ he said emphatically, accompanying it with a slam of his palm, flat onto the surface of the bar.
‘Umm… can I get you lads anything?’ Laura interrupted, seizing upon the momentary lull in order to get a word in edgewise.
They blinked at her, as if they had momentarily forgotten that she was there. She didn’t take it personally. It often happened when men got talking about football (which, in a pub, was often.)
The blond(er) one spoke first. ‘Sorry, love. I’ll have a pint of Newkie Brown, please.’ Laura had to fight back the eye roll at how cliché it was when non- Geordies ordered Newkie Brown in her pub. It was pathetic and probably how the Irish felt when people ordered Guinness in their pubs. Still, she considered as she turned to the other man, blondie was obviously English, but fuck if she could place his accent. He was probably a southerner, she reckoned, though he sounded like no southerner she’d ever met before.
‘Do you have Beck’s?’ the not- English one said.
Laura glanced at their beer selection. ‘We have Grolsch?’ she offered.
He pulled a face at that. ‘Just give me whatever then. As long as it’s beer I don’t really care.’
For the ease of it, she decided to pour him Newcastle Brown Ale too, stealing casual glances at the two as she did so. Much as the English guy was dressed like a ponce, and the… German? was dressed like he was trying to look like a teenager going through an awkward, and half- arsed Goth phase, they were both pretty lush. Personally, Laura preferred the one with weird- coloured hair. She liked foreigners. They always had such sexy accents.
‘So…’ she said with a well- practiced, flirtatious little smile as she handed him his ale. ‘You German or something?’
He pulled a strange expression, but it quickly faded into an oddly proud look. ‘Prussian, actually,’ he corrected.
Laura, having left high school three years previously with four level A- C GCSEs, (none of which being in History), cocked her head prettily to one side as she pulled the other pint. ‘Is that like being Russian?’
The English guy snorted in laugher as the German guy immediately deflated. ‘No. No it’s not.’
‘Look, don’t worry about it, Laura,’ the English man said, having recovered from his laughing fit, leaning over to drop a ten pound note into her waiting hand. ‘Keep the change.’
He pulled his companion (definitely German. “Sheiße” had been one of the first words she’d learnt in her first German lesson back in high school) away by the arm and settled into one of the booths opposite the bar.
She smiled after them. At least this shift she’d have a nice view.
She was startled out of her thoughts when she felt nothing but the softness of her left breast under her hand. Looking down at herself, and patting across her chest, she realised that, as usual, she’d forgotten to put her nametag on.
She stared at the two men in confusion for a moment. Weird.
==============
‘Anything else?’ she asked as she handed them their third pint.
The German bloke looked to Arthur (‘Arthur!’ she’d heard the German shout five minutes earlier, almost making her drop a bottle of Aftershock on her foot, ‘you can’t seriously think that you’re going to win Eurovision next year!’) with a questioning look.
Arthur shrugged. ‘Crisps?’
‘Ah!’ the other said with a comical widening of his eyes. (They were red. Must be some weird contacts or something. Whatever. He was still fit.) He turned back to her and slapped his hand against the surface of the bar again. ‘Crisps!’ he demanded.
‘What flavour?’ she asked politely. ‘We have Ready Salted, Ba-’
‘All of them,’ Mr. Red Eyes interrupted with a slightly manic grin. ‘Oh! And a bag of nuts too.’
Laura excused herself for a moment in order to raid the crisp boxes in the stock room, taking a good minute to gather all of the various flavours up and balance them properly in her arms.
‘But fuck, really,’ Red Eyes was saying as she returned, not noticing as she piled her armful onto the bar. ‘You should have seen Romano’s face. If Spain stopped buhyoo-ing over him for five seconds, he’d realise that the little shit’s practically giving him an open invitation. You don’t blush like that if you don’t at least want to fuck. Well,’ he said, taking a swig of his beer. ‘I don’t blush full stop, but you know what I mean.’
Arthur shrugged. ‘What the fuck can we do about it anyway? Romano shits his pants the moment you or I so much as look at him, and talking to Spain is like talking to a retarded puppy. Either way, I don’t give a fuck about the pathetic state of their shitty love life.’
‘Then why did you bring it up?’ Laura couldn’t see the German guy’s face, turned, as she was, to pluck a packet of nuts off of one of the shelves behind the bar. She could practically hear the smirk in his voice.
‘B- because they piss me off! Just looking at them dance around each other like a pair of school children drives me up the sodding wall. It’d be bad enough if it was just in UN meetings, but it’s in the EU meetings too and—urgh,’ he finished with an irritated huff.
‘The EU?’ Laura joined in as she set the nuts down on the bar. She couldn’t help it. Part of the reason why she was a barmaid was because she was a naturally chatty person. ‘Is that like the European Union?’
Caught off guard, the two men glanced at each other cautiously. ‘Uh… yeah,’ Arthur said slowly. ‘We work for the… commission.’
‘Government types, eh? Can’t you, like, stop that thing that makes us pay for France’s farming or something? I don’t like the French.’
The German guy smirked and rolled his eyes. Arthur chuckled around something that sounded vaguely like ‘That’s my girl.’
Gil (‘Go and get the next round in, will you, Gil? I need to take a piss.’) was the one to approach the bar next. Rather than order their sixth pint, as she was expecting, he instead looked thoughtfully at where the schnapps hung above the bar.
‘Same again?’ Laura pushed after a few drawn out seconds of silence.
Gil shrugged and grinned, turning his attention back to her. ‘Nah. Get me two shots of peach Schnaps, will you?’
‘Sure.’
She was pouring the second shot out when Arthur rejoined them, sliding straight up to the bar to lean against it next to Gil.
‘Do you have a beer garden?’ He asked, knocking the shot back almost before her fingers had left the glass.
‘We don’t, unfortunately. Just the car park outside,’ she answered.
Arthur nodded, and then inclined his head towards the empty glass. ‘Same again, please.’ He turned to Gil, who mirrored his gesture, and stared right back at him. ‘Fancy going for a fag?’
‘Outside?’ he grimaced.
‘Yes, well, if I don’t adhere to my own laws, then it won’t look very good will it?’
‘Stupid law,’ Gil muttered (Laura had to agree. Alcohol laws were down since the smoking ban) before clinking his newly refilled glass of schnapps against Arthur’s, gulping it down and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Come on then. Let’s enjoy the cold, summer air.’
They were gone for more than five minutes before they returned, laughing raucously and talking in stuttering German. It made Laura wish that she’d taken her language GCSE further. She’d all but forgotten everything but “danke” and “kaput”.