Daft Wee Stories

by Limmy

  On her next birthday he tried a bit harder. He didn’t want a repeat of the trainers thing, it had made him feel stupid. He decided he’d get her perfume, but he wouldn’t just get the first thing he saw like he did with the trainers, he’d spend a bit of time. He smelled about ten perfumes before deciding on one, then he changed his mind and decided on another, then he wasn’t sure about any of them. He didn’t like that feeling, he wasn’t used to it, it was painful. He eventually picked one that he thought smelled a bit more elegant than the others, if that’s the term. It smelled classy. He wrapped it up and gave it to Lynn. As she began unwrapping, Barry felt a tension that he hadn’t felt before. Birthdays were supposed to be fun, but now it wasn’t so much. When all the wrapping was gone, Lynn looked at the box of perfume, and Barry could tell by the look on her face that he’d done it again. Even before she smelled it, he could tell that he’d done it again. She thanked him, but she said that Vanderbilt was for old ladies. He’d never heard of it. She said it smelled like a bingo hall, and laughed. He laughed as well, it was good that she was laughing, that’s what he was used to – people made mistakes and people had a laugh. But then she stopped laughing and sighed. Aye, he’d done it again.

  Then he did it again, and again. Every year. It got harder, and it took longer, not just longer in terms of deciding what to get, but the tension leading up to the big day, and the aftermath. That got longer. In the early years, he felt pre-birthday tension for as little as a week, and felt shite afterwards for as little as a fortnight. Now, after sixteen years, the pre-birthday tension lasted no shorter than three months, with the aftermath lasting no less than six. That was practically the whole year. It was poisoning him. It was spreading like cancer to every other part of his life. He used to not give a fuck, now every decision felt like he was defusing a bomb, whether it was deciding where to go on holiday or what colour to paint the walls or what socks to wear in the morning. Then there was the big one itself, deciding on what to get her for her birthday. Last year was the worst year yet. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. He’d bought her a hamper. A fucking hamper. A hamper of food off a shopping channel. She asked him if he was joking. He told her he wasn’t, and then he broke down in tears.

  He couldn’t do it any more. He just couldn’t. He was already dreading her next birthday. Here, on this birthday, he was already dreading her next. So they came to an arrangement. Lynn said that for her next birthday, they could go out together and she’d just pick what she wanted. It would ruin the surprise, aye, but maybe it was better the surprise was ruined rather than Barry’s surprises ruining her birthday. Barry agreed. He felt elated. He felt a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, he felt a sadness leave him that he’d grown so used to that he didn’t even realise it was around. It lasted throughout the year, that feeling. His confidence came back, he didn’t care what socks he put on in the morning, he didn’t even care if they were odd. It lasted throughout the year, right up until a few days ago.

  It was that time again. Lynn had mentioned that her birthday was coming up, as if he didn’t know. Barry asked her if the deal was still on, if she was going to pick her presents, because that’s what she said, that’s what she said last year, if she remembered, was that still the case? She told him to relax, it was. So they headed out and into a shop and she picked a dress and a bracelet thing, and he bought it, right there in front of her. It didn’t seem right to Barry, it didn’t seem how birthday presents should be bought, but at the same time it felt wonderful. They walked out of there arm in arm, and that would have been that. It was perfect, as far as Barry was concerned. But then this morning, the day before her birthday, she had to go and ruin it.

  ‘You know what else I could do with?’ she said. ‘For my birthday?’

  ‘What?’ asked Barry.

  ‘Nail varnish.’

  ‘All right. What colour?’

  ‘You decide.’

  ‘What?’ said Barry, not believing his ears.

  ‘You decide,’ she said.

  Barry felt dizzy. She had asked him to decide. He felt sick. ‘But …’

  ‘It’s only nail varnish,’ she said.

  But it wasn’t, was it?

  If he couldn’t decide on what colour of nail varnish to get, if he couldn’t even decide on that, then he couldn’t decide on anything, he couldn’t decide full stop. But he had to.

  He’d got himself along to Boots, over to the nail varnish aisle, and there he’d stood without moving a muscle for almost ten minutes, gazing at the spectrum of options, at the variety of potential mistakes. He’d picked up a red one and had a look, he was going to get that, but he wondered if that was maybe too ‘tarty’, so he put it back. He’d picked up a green one, because there was a woman in a wee poster above the nail varnish aisle and her nail varnish was green, and she looked kind of elegant and that reminded him of that elegant perfume he got, the one for old women, and so he put it back. And then he saw Lynn’s pal Sandra in there, there in the shop, and she said hello to him as she walked by but he didn’t say hello back because his attention was on her nails and they were yellow so he thought that if it was good enough for Sandra then it was good enough for Lynn but then he remembered that Lynn once said that Sandra ‘hasn’t got a clue’, he didn’t know what about, but he remembered it was said in a way that meant that Sandra hadn’t got a clue in general and therefore that cluelessness would probably also extend to her choice in nail varnish, so he didn’t really know what to get, he was going to get blue, he didn’t like blue, it reminded him of the blue ice poles that nobody liked when he was young because they were bubblegum flavour and they were minging and although that doesn’t relate to the colour of nail varnish he thought he’d go with his gut and put it back because nobody would wear blue nail varnish, he was quite sure of that, then somebody walked by and told him they were shutting so he just shut his eyes and picked one, he just shut his eyes and picked one, and now he was at the counter, the lassie was asking him over to serve him, and he put down the nail varnish but he didn’t look to see what colour it was, his attention was on the nail varnish of the lassie serving him, she seemed quite stylish like she knew her stuff yet her nail varnish was blue, and things went a bit blurry at that point and he started to feel dizzy again and sick and he turned and saw Sandra next to him in the queue, she looked concerned, and then he looked back at that blue bugglegum, blue buggle, bubble, blue bubblegum ice pole flavour and he just walked out of there, he just left his purchase sitting on the counter and he just walked out of there,

  he started to cross the road outside and he heard a woman shouting to him from behind so he turned around and it was Sandra again and she was waving with one hand and in her other hand was the nailv, nailv, nail vaaarnish and she was shouting something about him leaving something at the till but he couldn’t quite hear her for the traffic, then her eyes widened as she pointed to something to his side because he’d forgotten for a moment that he was standing in the middle of the road and something was heading his way, he didn’t know what, something big, something casting a big shadow, and he supposed that he’d better make a decision, he’d better decide if he was going to run to this pavement or that, if he was going to run towards this side or that, if he was going to run towards the shop and Sandra with the nail varnish or run to the other side towards Lynn the birthday girl who wants the nail varnish but wasn’t going to get any,

  he supposed he’d better make that decision pronto because that was a big shadow and it was loud,

  he looked at Sandra, at the present, in her hand, at the nail varnish, the one he bought,

  he could see what colour it was,

  it was quite nice, especially considering he picked it with his eyes shut,

  or was it?

  he didn’t know, he couldn’t quite decide,

  he wondered what Lynn would have thought,

  anyway, as for that decision, that decision that he had to make pronto in relation to being on the road, n
o, he just couldn’t do it any more, he just couldn’t,

  so he waved back to Sandra from the middle of road, and smiled.

  He’d made a decision after all.

  And a pretty big one at that.

  JANICE’S FACE

  ‘Janice!’ said Tracy, as they were about to pass each other. Tracy had just stepped into the shopping centre as Janice was about to head out.

  ‘All right? How’s it going?’ said Janice, giving Tracy a kiss and cuddle. ‘What you in for?’

  ‘Oh, I’m just taking a top back,’ said Tracy, opening her bag to give Janice a glance. ‘It’s too wee. I didn’t try it on at the time.’

  ‘Oh, that’s really nice,’ said Janice, looking at the top. ‘Are you going to get a bigger size or get something else?’

  ‘I might get something else,’ said Tracy. ‘I’ve already got a top like it anyway, I don’t know why I got it. I think I just fancied grabbing something.’

  Janice’s scalp began to tear open. It started with a small rip near the top of the head, before extending all the way down to each of her ears. Blood trickled down her forehead and neck.

  ‘Where did you get it?’ she asked Tracy. ‘New Look?’ Her scalp slid forwards slowly towards the front of her face. Her hairline crept down to where her eyebrows used to be, causing her forehead to fold into a flap that rested above the top of her nose like a bulldog.

  ‘Monsoon,’ said Tracy.

  ‘Right. D’you know there’s a half-price sale on at New Look?’ said Janice, her face now hanging inside out off the front of her skull. ‘I don’t know if you like the stuff in there, but if Monsoon gives you a refund, you could just nip across to New Look. Maybe leave with two tops instead of one!’ Her face hung upside down from her chin like a beard.

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ said Tracy. ‘I like some of the stuff in New Look, I’ll give that a shot. I’m sure Monsoon will give me a refund, I haven’t worn it. Anyway, what about you, what d’you get?’

  ‘Just grabbing a few essentials,’ said Janice, saying ‘essentials’ in a funny voice, in a kind of ‘essentials, as they say’ way. Her face was red and wet like half a tomato. ‘T-shirts for bed, that type of thing.’

  ‘I might grab a few myself,’ said Tracy. ‘Well, I better get up there before there’s nothing left.’

  ‘Good luck,’ said Janice, as her face tore away from her chin and dropped on the floor with a slap. ‘I hope you nab yourself a bargain!’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Tracy, as Janice turned to walk away. ‘Oh, by the way …’

  Janice turned back. ‘What?’

  Tracy took a step towards Janice, lowering her voice to a whisper. ‘Your face fell off.’

  Janice touched her skull. She looked at her hands and saw the blood. She looked down and, sure enough, there was her face. She put it back on.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Janice, rolling her eyes at herself. She gave Tracy a wave and headed out.

  Tracy headed up to Monsoon. They offered her a refund, but she just swapped it for something else, something in Monsoon.

  She didn’t like New Look.

  SEXUAL HEALTH CLINIC

  Alec hated coming here. Why the fuck did they have to call it a sexual health clinic? Why did they have to have a big sign above the door that said ‘Sexual Health Clinic’? Anybody could see him. Anybody.

  ‘I saw Alec going into that sexual health clinic,’ they’d say.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure, there was a big sign above the door that said Sexual Health Clinic. That means that Alec’s penis has a disease of some kind.’

  Could they not change the sign to something else, like ‘Caledonian Airlines’ or ‘Machine Factory’? There were buses that passed here, for fuck’s sake, buses full of people who looked out their window to see if they could see anything interesting, people who probably crane their necks when they see that ‘Sexual Health Clinic’ sign, hoping to spot somebody they know. It would only be a matter of time before that somebody they know was him.

  And those were just the problems you faced on the outside, before you stepped through the door. When you got in, there were people everywhere who knew exactly why you were there. A whole waiting room full of them. In a way, though, that wasn’t so bad. It was far safer in here than it was out there, not much of a chance of having the finger pointed at you or you being blabbed about. Glass houses and all that.

  But despite that feeling of safety, he thought it wouldn’t hurt to appear to have less cause for embarrassment than the others. As he passed the waiting room on his way out, he kept his back straight and head held high, as if to say, ‘Aye, I’ve got something, but it isn’t as bad as what you’ve got.’ He was sure that everybody else did the same.

  ‘Excuse me, son,’ came an elderly voice from the side. ‘You there, with the green jacket.’ Alec wondered who the fuck was trying to strike up a conversation with him in this place. A neighbour? An uncle? He couldn’t imagine anything good coming from it. But it was cool. When he looked around, he saw a sixty-year-old guy in blue overalls, standing outside a ‘Staff Only’ door. It was the janitor. He opened the door and tapped on the vacuum cleaner at his feet. ‘You couldn’t give me a hand with this, could you?’

  Alec helped the janitor lift the vacuum down a flight of concrete stairs to his wee office in the basement. There was a desk littered with paperwork, and a giant cork-board on the wall pinned with handwritten notes and printouts. Elsewhere was the usual janny sort of stuff, like brushes, ladders, sponges, sprays, screwdrivers, boxes of tools, and general shite lying around that probably came in handy at some point. Alec thought old guys like this had died out long ago, replaced by contracts to cleaning companies or whatever, but somehow this guy had managed to cling on.

  ‘Just over there,’ said the janny, pointing to a corner of the room where he had another two or three vacuums on stand by. Alec lifted the vacuum over himself. ‘Oh, I remember the days I could do that,’ said the janny. ‘But it’s my back, you see. Sorry.’

  ‘No bother,’ said Alec, before plonking it down and heading for the door. ‘See you later.’

  ‘I bet you wish you could head out this way, eh?’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Alec.

  ‘I’m saying I bet you wish this was the way out, down this way. Under the ground. Like a tunnel, you know?’

  Alec smiled. ‘Oh right, aye, I get you.’

  ‘D’you know what I mean? Cos this place is a … you know? The sign out at that front door. They should have a wee tunnel.’

  ‘Aye, I know what you mean.’

  The janny laughed. He had about five teeth. ‘That’s the good thing about working here. If anybody sees me coming in, they’ll just think I’m starting my shift. But for all they know, I’ve got that fucking AIDS, hahaha!’

  Alec nodded, and looked at the door.

  ‘No, I shouldn’t laugh, it’s must be terrible for you, son. I’m past it, but you’re in your prime. The last thing you want is it getting out that you’ve got something, you know? I’m telling you, a wee tunnel, that would do the trick.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Alec, ‘but then that wee tunnel would have to have a sign over it instead, so people knew where it went.’

  ‘Oh here, right enough. Fuck, you cannae win, eh?’

  ‘No.’ Alec looked at the door. The janny seemed like a nice guy, but probably didn’t get much company.

  ‘But they’ve got to do something,’ the old guy went on. ‘Because there’s a lot to lose. Socially, that is, you know? There’s a lot of ignorant people out there, immature people, who would think it was funny to come up to you in front of a lassie you’re seeing and tell her about your willy. Tell her what she’s in for. Fuck, you wouldn’t get your end away for years. Not in this town anyway.’

  Alec laughed nervously. ‘Don’t, mate, you’re scaring me. It’s fucking terrifying.’

  ‘Oh, don’t mean to scare you. I’m just saying that they should take all tha
t seriously, your privacy and whatnot. That sort of thing can ruin your life. But I’ll tell you, you want something to be scared of?’ The janny typed on an invisible keyboard. ‘That’s what you should be scared of.’

  ‘Computers?’ said Alec.

  ‘Aye, computers. Once a secret gets out on there, Jesus, it’s everywhere, just like that,’ and he snapped his fingers. ‘But that’s not the scariest thing. The scariest thing is that that’s where all your secrets are kept. That’s what they do upstairs, they type all your stuff into their computers, and it all goes off to this one big computer. Can you believe that? It’s like telling all your intimate wee secrets to the neighbourhood gossip, and hoping she keeps her mouth shut.’

  ‘Aye, but it’s all quite safe and secure and all that, isn’t it?’ asked Alec. He was beginning to feel vulnerable. Vulnerable enough to be asking an old guy about data security.

  ‘Son, anybody can read about what you’ve got going on in your pants, if they wanted to. The doctors, the receptionist. Me, even.’

  ‘You could?’ asked Alec.

  ‘Aye, anybody could. The police. The papers. Some guy in your work with something against you. And you hear about these leaks, don’t you? Mind you …’

  Alec drifted off a moment. The old guy was right. Every now and then there would be something in the news about another leak, where a hacker group would share the private information of hundreds of thousands of people in a twisted effort to point out the evils of something or other. Sometimes it was bank card details, sometimes it was usernames and passwords. Sooner or later the medical records would surface, presented in a convenient, searchable database for everybody to have fun with on their lunch break.