Elizabeth Jasper
George the barman, with nothing much to do, walked round to the customer side that opened out onto the garden and leaned against his bar, contemplating the river. Another Friday afternoon. Actually, it wasn’t that bad. There were only two regulars sitting nearby putting the world to rights. Their voices rose and fell on the light breeze that ruffled the surface of the water, scattering sharp points of light over the riverbank and against the outside wall of the bar.
Summer afternoons at the bar were OK and George enjoyed working his shift - so much he’d been doing it for several years now. He liked to keep his evenings free and was a bit of a telly-addict, if truth be known, but not always and he liked to go out on Friday nights.
The customers weren’t too bad either; most of them, anyway. They certainly got a mixed bunch in there and on early summer afternoons such as this he liked to be able to work in the fresh air and sunshine. When the weather was bad the atmosphere indoors became thick and uncomfortable; particularly when the workers from the nearby car factory came in. They brought the smell of the place with them and if there were a lot of them and they stayed for a long time he felt a bit queasy.
He’d been leaning there for a while almost dozing in the warm air, when the side gate creaked open. There were voices, sharp and grating. He straightened up and walked round to his own side to wait for the newcomers. Once the factory closed, always an hour earlier on a Friday afternoon, some of the workers called in for a few drinks to set themselves up for the weekend.
Eventually they came into view and, with many false starts, decided on the table in the far corner nearest the river. There were two couples and the females sat opposite their partners, settling themselves down with a lot of fidgeting and rattling of bright, expensive accessories. There was no sign of anyone getting up to order so George took his pad and pencil and wove his way between the empty tables until he stood beside them.
He waited. it must have been a long, hard week in that factory. The foursome looked a little worn around the edges and there was a metallic tang in the air surrounding them in spite of the breeze. Too much time cooped up on the assembly line, thought George, as he continued to wait. Finally, they decided on their drinks and he went back to the bar to set them up.
With a full tray, George started once more on his journey through the maze of tables. The two regulars, who had fallen silent, watched as he set out four cans of the very best on offer. There were two glasses for the females and they waited while he poured the golden liquid. The regulars stared. How could that lot from the factory afford to drink the best while they had to do with the regular stuff out of the tap, which looked pale and weak compared to the golden richness of the stuff the newcomers were drinking? Nevertheless, they ordered two more of the same as George made his return journey.
The drinks went down very quickly and the two couples reordered. Another journey through the tables and back. And then again. By the time the third lot had gone down the four of them had mellowed somewhat. Not surprising, considering the strength of what they were drinking, thought George. Their voices had slowed and they were leaning towards each other speaking in confidential tones. Their skin gleamed in the afternoon sun and their movements were becoming smooth and languid as the golden liquid continued to disappear at an alarmingly fast rate.
As George cleared the pile of cans from the table, they ordered more. He began to wonder how long they would be able to keep up such a pace. And the bill was mounting up. The regulars, still at their table, were fascinated by the quartet in the corner. They ordered more drinks, too, determined to sit the newcomers out.
By this time the bar was filling up and George was kept busy. He rushed from bar to tables and back trying to serve everyone as quickly as possible, It was turning out to be one of his better days and he knew his boss would be pleased if the takings were up. He kept an eye on the four in the corner and each time they reordered he scrutinised them, looking for signs they’d had enough. They seemed fine, so he got on with his job, fetching and carrying, wiping and clearing, until eventually he was able to pause for a short break.
The sun had passed over and the shadows of the weeping willows on the riverbank were lengthening before he had a chance to assess them again. He checked the tally and realised they had spent an awful lot of money over the pasts few hours. He hoped they were good for it but when he finished his break and went to clear the table they ordered more and he decided to let them get on with it.
They were slumped across their table in a very relaxed fashion. One of the females was having difficulty speaking and the other kept interrupting, trying to anticipate what the first one wanted to say. The males started to laugh at her and she became angry and turned away, refusing to respond to their placatory words. Then the conversation turned to other matters and she was soon taking part again, the imagined insult forgotten.