Bunfight

This little piece, a short-short of just over 1000 words, was written in 2004 / 2005 and I never knew what to do with it. It's a little satire upon the behaviour of the modern repressed British male which to me comes under the category of 'cute' or just a bit of fun. In it I set two stereotypes against each other in silent confrontation played in a particularly English manner.

The story plot is based upon an old Douglas Adams gag from 'So long, and thanks for all the fish', I make no apology for that.

Joanna, smartly turned out on her first unsupervised day in her black ‘barista’ shirt, cleared the detritus of spilled coffee and shattered biscuit, quickly wiping the table down. What the hell had those two jokers been playing at?

Ten minutes earlier, she’d been working behind the counter and served one of them, a very elegantly turned out man in his fifties wearing a badge, which read “Mr Richard Sommersbury – Executive Director KLC Corporation.” He’d pocketed the badge while waiting for his double espresso and ginger nut biscuits. Obviously been to a meeting in the city by the look of him, expensively cut suit and carefully knotted tie, looked like real silk to her; neatly folded broadsheet newspaper tucked precisely under his arm. Having collected his coffee and biscuits she’d watched him out of the corner of her eye, not so much sit down at, as take possession of the table with the best view of the destination board. Oh hell, that table needed clearing now! Just behind him in the queue, a tall grey bearded man bid a brief farewell to his partner, a dark haired woman, all new age with her arty dangling dreadlock beads and feathers. “See you when you get back from Birmingham, Dave.” She gave him a showbiz ‘air kiss’ on both cheeks before sweeping out of the coffee bar and taking her jangling beads with her.

Joanna looked sideways at Marcus, who suppressed a snigger while frothing up a new batch of Milk for ‘Dave’s’ coffee. Bet she knows her own star sign backwards, she thought. Piotr, her supervisor tapped her on the shoulder and pointed at the tables that needed clearing before disappearing back into the cold store.

Poor Piotr, his English wasn’t too bad, but he was so painfully shy that he went to pieces every time Joanna gave him her special shy smile over her freckles, the one she reserved for people she really fancied. How on earth was a girl to get a man to ask her out if he forgot how to speak? Checking her sleek dark hair was properly bundled up in its ponytail as per company policy, she grabbed a black polythene sack, hand spray and cleaning cloth before heading over to the worst tables. Maybe if she asked Piotr out instead of waiting for him to make the first move?

Dave spotted the spare chair at the cluttered window table and made his way over. This particular Victoria Station coffee shop was always crowded. Still, it afforded a good view of the destination boards and the bustle of the floor below its historic Victorian clock.

He made brief eye contact with the smartly dressed man in his fifties reading a broadsheet at the other side of the table, gesturing at the chair. The man nodded, barely grudging assent. Dave set down his Latte and pack of three ginger cookies before sitting down. A quick glance at the destination board told him he had a good forty-five minutes to wait. Taking out his dog-eared copy of Proust he slid into the prose.

Richard was engrossed in the Business section of his broadsheet and barely nodded assent to the gestured question from the man in open necked shirt and Jeans. As a token of unconscious self-defence he paused in his reading and straightened his Windsor knotted silk tie.

Joanna suppressed a grimace at the state of each table, swiftly pushing everything into the black rubbish sack as quickly as she could, whilst trying not to think too much about the mess. Besides, if she was quick at clearing away, mightn’t she get a few words of praise from Piotr to break the ice of his Polish standoffishness? Why did she always have to fancy shy men anyway?

Both the men barely acknowledged the black uniformed girl who hurriedly cleared the detritus of empty wrappers off the table. In her distracted hurry to clear, she swept one of the two open packets of ginger biscuits into her black plastic sack.

Dave reached for a biscuit without looking and dunked it in his coffee, savouring the rich bite of ginger nut and extra shot of espresso. Richard did likewise, taking a bite then a sip of espresso with its delightful tobacco edge to counterpoint the crumb and crunch of the ginger. He finished it fastidiously with the slightest licking of lips. Dave dunked the rest of his before washing it down with a gulp of sweetened latte.

Richard lowered his newspaper for a moment and looked aghast at the solitary biscuit remaining. He looked up, glaring across the table at the interloper. Bloody cheek! You let some scruffy greybeard sit down and they immediately help themselves to your biscuits!

Dave looked up, innocently reaching for another of his ginger nuts. What was Colonel Blimp over the table glaring at? Hang on, who’d had the second of his biscuits? His hand paused. Both men looked away, uncomfortable with public confrontation on strange territory.

Richard began to reach across the table. Dave paused, then glared at his opponent, his hand creeping closer to its goal. They each looked sidelong at the remaining ginger nut, neither daring to move. An agonising minute crawled by with neither man daring to blink, staring down at the solitary focus of their attention. All around them the sounds of Victoria station echoed whilst eyes narrowed, staring like gunfighters in some spaghetti western waiting for the signal to draw.

The tension mounted; for a split second Dave’s grip loosened and his paperback slipped from his grasp. Richard dropped his newspaper and snatched. Dave’s hand was closer but slower off the mark.

Exploding crumbs skittered across the tabletop as they both recoiled from the suddenness of warm flesh. Hurried grabs were made for unstable cups as coffee threatened to spill, leaving an isolated torn wrapper and a few ginger fragments as sole evidence of the conflict.

For a moment they glared spite at each other. Dave retrieved his paperback from the floor. Richard picked up his broadsheet and made a disgruntled sound that could have been “Hmph!” Dave grunted an angry obscenity under his breath before they slowly and carefully turned away from each other, furiously concentrating on their respective reading material.

Joanna glanced over – what! She’d only just cleaned that table! Some people weren’t even housetrained!

The end
1049 words excluding title