Shout
I’m in Cafe Nero, which is quite unusual for me as I like my coffee strong enough to make a bull elephant charge a rutting rhino, and you usually need Costa for that. Although Ramsgate doesn’t have a Costa (tick tock, tick tock), the town is blissfully quiet at this time of day, so I’m relaxing and just letting the world wash over me. I love Ramsgate: it’s my home town, a place I’ve been beaten up in more times than I care to remember. I occasionally gaze lovingly at a section of pavement I landed on several years before while brawling with the other nocturnals who used to congregate outside McDonald’s after midnight.
Anyway, I’m in Cafe Nero when it happens:
“Her face was some size!”
It’s a strange thing for a guy to say out loud, and the hairs on the back of my neck are suddenly standing up. This is because I looked around the cafe when I first came in, and I’m almost 100% certain that only one other customer was occupying a table.
The answer is quite obvious: it’s a guy on a mobile phone.
However, this idea becomes null and void when he fails to say anything else.
I continue to drink my coffee, trying to create a funny scene in my head for the new Illmoor project….but I’m too curious now. I have to turn around and take a look, especially since the staff have evidently noticed nothing. He really did say “Her face was some size!” very loudly, and I’m starting to think I might have imagined it.
At length, I give in and glance around. Sitting behind me is an exceptionally well-groomed guy in his early thirties. He’s wearing an immaculate business suit and has a personal organiser open on the desk. He seems deep in concentration, so I just return my attention to my drink and let it go: my imagination, maybe.
The cafe starts to get busy.
I think of a great idea for a story, and am just jotting it down when the whole thing happens again.
“Milkshake! Milkshake.”
It’s no exaggeration that I practically s**t my pants this time: it’s very loud. The first word was practically screamed; the second was like an echo.
I look up at the staff and the customers waiting in line, and they’ve all heard it because they’re looking at the man in a not looking at him sort of way.
I’m looking at him too, only this time he looks back at me with a hint of ‘Is there a problem?’ in his eyes.
There’s no problem, because I immediately decide that the guy has Tourette’s Syndrome, and I know how much of a nightmare that can be. I just decide to mind my own business, but I am waiting for the next outburst.
There isn’t one.
Moreover, an attractive woman in her early twenties arrives, orders a latte and then sits down next to Mr Shouty and has a conversation with him. A conversation I overhear.
It’s a conversation about some sort of finance meeting.
It’s an ORDINARY conversation.
There are no loud shouts, no strange noises: none of the things you would associate with someone who has any sort of compulsive behaviour. It goes on for ten minutes, and then they both leave. He’s flirting with her on the way out, very successfully by the look of it.
My Mocha is now cold, but I’m only halfway to finishing it, and I’m completely baffled by what just happened. The cafe is now very busy, but I can’t get my mind off the situation. This obsession is quickly exasperated when I look over at the place he just vacated to see a small, cheap-looking jewellery box wedged between the table edge and the wall.
I’m on my feet in a second, getting a scowl from an old woman who was making for the same table and now thinks I’m just some spiteful arse who waits for people to pick a table and then beats them to it for no good reason. Looking confused, she takes the seat I just left.
I sit down at the other guy’s table, quickly take a swig from my Mocha and then open the box.
Inside is a piece of paper. I race to unfold it, feeling like one of Enid Blyton’s Secret Seven (although I’m not sure if there was a ginger one).
The piece of paper has two lines of scrawl on it. They are: “Her face was some size!” and “Milkshake! Milkshake.”
I sit back and try to process this: the sheer surreal absurdity of it is absolutely fascinating. Did he bring this in with him, or did he find it here? Why did he say those things out loud? What’s his story? Then I get it: what if the dude just found this box, exactly like I did, and decided it would be bad luck not to verbally pay it forward, so to speak?
I take a deep breath, because the cafe is now PACKED.
I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I’m definitely going to. I’m an author: most people think I’m eccentric anyway.
“Her face was some size!”
Three people look at me, but the rest just carry on with their conversations. I’m quite annoyed, and I make a conscious decision that the next one is going to make an impact.
I wait a bit.
When it comes to ‘Milkshake! Milkshake,’ I totally BOOM it. One young girl near the front of the cafe almost jumps out of her seat. The staff are giving me looks now and muttering to each other, but I don’t care. I’m leaving….
….but not before I take out a pen and add ‘I STINK, YOU STINK,’ to the list.
If you’re going to pass it on, the least you can do is contribute something.
