Monday, 8 February 2010

No drink permitted

Wet Princes Street.

It's miserable and rainy, so I jump on a bus to town centre. The windows are all misty on the inside, and wet from the outside, so it's like travelling in a big aquarium. At one of the stops I am contemplating the sign advertising a Polish Shop 'U Zbycha', when the engine stops. I can hear someone walking up the stairs, muttering to themselves. 'I've got a ticket, it's right here in my pocket.' A man in his fifties, in loose sweatpants and a threadbare sweater swaggers to the upper deck. He's got a floppy hat perched on the top of his head, dark sunglasses, and is holding an open can of lager. Oblivious to his surroundings, he just stops there at the top of the stairs, and continues muttering - I can hardly understand a word, so strong is his Scottish accent. The head and shoulders of the driver appear next to him on the stairway.
- I've got my ticket - the man repeates.
- You're gonna have to'et off if you keep this can.
- I'm not drinking.
- It's open, it's not allowed. Get off now.
The driver disappears, and the bus continues to stand motionless, in silence, lights off, the man muttering incessantly. I would get off, but he is blocking my way, and I have no intention of squeezing past him. It's an impasse. The man continues to mutter, gripping the can, not even drinking, seeimingly just happy to stand there. Then, like an angel's song, from below comes the voice of a woman.
- C'mon now, are you done with that?
It's a voice used to giving commands, it's a voice that will not take no for an answer so don't be silly, I saw you with your hand in the jar, now you will sit in the corner and think about what you've done. All passengers suddenly find themselves sitting up straight and wiping their noses. And it seems to have an immediate effect on the man too.
- What now, I'm not drinking it!
- Ya can't have it on the bus. We're all standing here because of you! If you're not gonna leave it, you have to get off.
- Who are you?
- I'm Nan.
- Nan?
- Aye, I'm everyone's grandma. Now off you go.
In her previous career, the invisible lady I can hear from the deck below must have been a siren. Or a general. The man stirrs.
- Wha, the bus's stopped 'cause of me? Now that's daft that is - he mutters as he
slowly starts coming down the stairs.
- Ye ye, get off now so that we'an be on our way.
- That's daft that is.
- Off you go.
- Daft.
He's off. From above I can see the top of his hat, and his hand still gripping the infamous can, standing on the sidewalk. We're on our way. Long live Nan.

Our savior.

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