Waiter on break, Malasana, Madrid.

large

A tale from before my departure from Inverness (the town hall is still flying the flag at half mast, I believe), in which a Robin Hood-cum-Che Guevara character, played by yours truly, saves a struggling civilian, played by some bloke called Liam or something, I didn't quite catch it.

I was propping up the bar folding napkins as the night wore off. A couple of customers, who were unaware that waiters had a separate life in the outside world, took their time over the dregs of a cold cappuccino. I caught a glimpse of myself in the wall of mirrors behind the bar. Nice, I thought, ...the moistosity of my hair, from the busy lunch shift, has worn off .

Behind the reflection of my well proportioned head, I caught sight of a tired looking man with a broken leg slowly making his way up the hill in a wheelchair. As it got steeper he started to roll back. The wheelchair would swivel around and start to descend as if of its own volition before he corrected it.

People were standing around, drinking prosecco on the terrace next to ours, watching the guy struggle. They turned their heads in the same way the some medieval King would if he walked past some bloke selling a ye old Big Issue.

I pondered for a while, would it be professional of me to leave the restaurant floor? Yes, it would. I ran out the door and asked the guy if he needed a boost up the hill.

"Naww pal, I'm alright"

"Sure?"

"Well mebbies aye, then

So I gripped handles firmly, got a toe-hold on the cobbles and ran. He burst out laughing and offered me a high-five but because I was running I missed it. Which looked kind of lame. He laughed even more and we recovered from our social embarrassment with a strange handshake, the kind that happens when you meet someone cool and they try to give you that diagonal handshake and you go for the normal one, and they notice so they change to the normal one, but not before you've changed to the diagonal one and you kind of laugh about it and sometimes exaggerate everything and go for that gansgter hug as if to say "hahahah, we're better than a handshake anyway!!". That's just worse.

Anyway, I was running with this guy. Me, his knight in shining armour. Him, some bloke in a wheelchair who smelled of booze. I could have left him anywhere I wanted. But, pretending that I needed to get back to work, and not because I was out of breath, I left him just before the crest of the hill. It was still steep so I was worried that I'd see him rolling backwards past the cafe again once I got back in.

We high-fived again, this time getting it right first time, as if connected now by an unbreakable bond. And he said he'd come back to by me a beer.

... I ain't seen no beer yet...