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A little while ago I endured endless
cycles of Pavarotti’s nessumdorma, whilst drinking ridiculous amounts of
black gloopy filter coffee.
“Is Sara here?” the woman in white asked.
I looked up from my coffee
“I’m sorry she had to leave early today she had an appointment.
“She said she’d be in all day”
That was a lie, Sara had been expecting her at lunchtime, and it was
gone four already. I smile ignoring the bare faced cheek of it. The
woman in white was middle aged, pear shaped in a loose trouser suit,
petite; her grey hair was cut in a boyish bob.
“Well do you have my roll of fabric?” She demands.
“I’m sorry - I don’t.” I drank the dregs of my coffee.
“It’s in her workshop – I can see it” the Woman said slyly, I could see
her eyes close halfway she leaned forward, rolling on her feet. “I want
you to get it for me.”
“Sara has gone… her workshop is locked… I’m really sorry… clearly there
must have been some sort of a mix up… you’ll have to come back…”
“That’s not good enough; surely some one
has a key?”
She looked at me hard, clearly she expected me to acquiesce.
Thinking quickly, all the time smiling broadly, “yes I have a key – but
that’s just for emergency purposes, I can’t just let myself in, Sara
sublets that space, it hers.”
“That’s my roll of fabric, I need it, just open the door, and I’ll get
it.”
My charm was getting me no where fast.
“Ok” I say putting plan b into action, “wait here, I‘ll call her, if
she says it’s ok for me to get the fabric then I will.”
I’m putting the phone down. I can see the woman in white hasn’t waited;
she has followed me into the office – right through the door with
PRIVATE etched across the glass in big letters.
I lean my ass on the desk, fold my arms, and smile, again. “Sorry Sara
is out, but I have spoken to her partner, he doesn’t know about this,
so he says I shouldn’t open the door, I’m sorry but you’ll just have to
come back another day.”
The Woman in white seems to grow a couple of inches.
“That’s my fabric and I want it… I am not going to stand for this…” I
switch off, she’s ranting at me now, really shouting, her face is
puckering up; the rant pauses – now I’m dragged up polite but she has
just crossed the line, and I take my chance.
“I’m sorry, but no one speaks to me like that,” now I’m speaking slowly
and deliberately “I have done all I can for you, I am going to have to
ask you to please leave now.”
Quiet - a long pause. Then quietly she says “You want me to leave”
The woman in white is like a sail without wind.
“Yes – I am not prepared to be bullied and verbally abused, I am asking
you to please leave these premises now.”
I’m still speaking slowly but firmly, no anger, but no doubt in my
voice either - she seems confused, I realise she wasn’t expecting me to
stand up to her, I’m realising people don’t stand up to her, she’s
obviously used to bullying people, and she thought this guy with silly
smile would fold.
She turns and storms away, I’m following, thinking how glad I am that
this is all over, I’m thinking about a shop full of people who have
just heard her screaming at me, but then she turns on me again, facing
me. Without thinking about it my arm is raised to block her path back
into the office.
“Don’t you touch me!” she bellows.
I’m thinking, but lady you just walked into me.
And then she’s all over me, hitting me, left, right, like a punch bag -
she’s pummelling my chest with her fists, girlie slappythwumping sound like some tribal drum.
I’m stood there, my chest is taking an beating, and I’m at a loss what
to do, ok she’s not really hurting me… but it’s bang, bang, bang, on my
chest, like a wind up toy, she’s still in
a spitting rage.
I look up; around me the shop has stopped.
Everybody is looking at us, faces are peering at us from the balcony
above me - faces from above on three sides, faces from the shop floor,
and the girls in tabards are coming out of the coffee shop.
punches, but it makes a loud
“Stop that” I say after what seemed an age of pummelling, “you’re
hitting me - you shouldn’t do that.”
I realise a small bearded man is running down the stairs, he’s moving
like a thing possessed, and suddenly he’s grabbing hold of the woman in
white pulling her back.
Release.
“I’m sorry but unless you leave immediately I’ll be forced to call the
police” I’m saying this while not quite believing I’m saying it.
Now the bearded man’s whispering to her, he’s must be her husband I
decide.
“It’s all right where going now… sorry...” He says - he’s so sorry he’s
dragging her red face away and out the door.
It’s over.
“Ok” I say as they leave. I smile at everyone, everyone’s coming over -
they can’t believe it, me – well I just go and grab another fix of some more
strong black coffee.
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