remote cards

The coffee store in the book store is too busy, so I go to my next choice. Which of course, in the way of these things, is only two minutes up the road, the next one two minutes from there, the next two minutes from there. But only the book store one and this one stay open to a decent time, though early evening on a Sunday isn’t late, but is on the cusp for closing time. Its another wet day in May, when the sun comes out its good, but its interspersed with this miserable rain. So its an excuse for people, who don’t need much of an excuse to gather round a table with friends, with a book, to relax at the end of the weekend.

Even as I wait to get served I am scanning the place, how busy is it, am I going to get seated? There is a muscle guy over there with a sleeveless t-shirt showing off tattooed biceps, a precise pencil thin beard, and a woollen cap, chatting up a waitress who clears an empty table. Behind them a group of young Japanese folk, laughing. Two guys standing up to leave, blocking half the compact little section right in front of the counter as I try to get by them to grab one of the window shelves and stools. In front of me there are a handful of tables outside, for the smokers, or for when its dry enough. At either end they have signs up – SUMMERS BACK – CELEBRATE WITH A FRAPPUCCINO. The rain lashes down, couples wander by sharing an umbrella between, groups of teens tug at the hoods of their tops for an extra inch of coverage, hardy souls swagger without protection (as fast as they can).

Straight across from here is a huge old building, three shops built into its edifice, the central tower, with its shields and knights, along the way the columns. Straight across is the Apple Store, next is North Face outdoor clothing, then Urban Outfitters and whatever it is they actually do. Then a road, across that the newly refurbished church in an island of its own. A snapshot of the street, the shops over the space of an hour shutting up, staff pottering about, making their runs into the rain, waving at each other. Some run for coffee, some to the bank machine next door, and some to the underground station.

A long haired guy stops between two columns in front of the Apple store, sits there, the buttress sheltering him from the rain, as he props there. He has the widow’s peak and the long waist length pony tail. He wears a long black leather trench coat, which he uses to shelter his iPhone from stray rain drops. Staff stand on the stairs till they make their choices, the doors close, but he pokes away at his screen. I guess the store has WiFi and that’s him sitting outside using it. I don’t see him wander off while I read, but when I look back a girl has appeared instead, she is standing up the stairs in front of the shop, where there is a fronting – a flat surface, held up by mini columns - where the balances her laptop, better sheltered from the rain, that familiar logo glowing.

Amongst the people wandering by, there are various carrying heavy bags, the occasional suitcase, Queen St Station is just around the corner. One of those, a woman, with her full length, heavy duty, thick rain coat, giving her a hefty look. She carries what looks like an enormous black back pack, hanging from shoulder straps, adding to the impression of bulk. It looks like it could slide from her shoulders if she isn’t careful. In the far away hand she carries a big shopping bag, one of the reusable super-market bags, rather than disposable. The near hand is outstretched a little in front of her, almost as though its held to keep the leverage of the back pack. But also her hand has that tentative, cupped motion, of someone checking to see if its still raining, perhaps she can take her hood down now? It is still lashing down, there is no doubt that it is indeed still raining. She stops at the last table in front of the coffee shop, pauses, then she swipes the outstretched hand across the table. She swirls the hand through the puddle, circling it round from the centre outwards in a spiral. What is she doing? Clearing it so that she can sit down? Is she one of those hardy souls who is going to sit outside in this weather with a coffee in one hand, cigarette in the other? She gives the hand a shake, then wanders onward. Maybe her hand was sticky, and she was looking to get enough water to un-sticky it? It’s the only thing I can think of.

A couple walk down the street, both with the cultivated look of drowned rats, more obvious on her, with her long brown blonde hair a damp weave. Her phone rings, fishing it out of her pocket she starts to talk to someone. The body language is clear, one of those things that have, strangely, become part of modern culture – the person she is speaking to can see her now. She comes to a halt; the pair of them do a slow rotation, trying to work out where the person who is talking is right now that they can see them. Then her shoulders dip and rise, her body shaking with laughter as she spots her friends. The pair wave to a couple at the other end of the coffee shop, they start to walk, in an arcing path towards the window where they sit, then round to the door to come in. They stand by the table dripping on the surface where the other couple sit happy and dry.

A man pulls up the seat beside me, one of a row of three at the window shelf. I am in the middle; the remaining seat on my left has a mountain of cups and plates and remains of cake in front of it. My coffee is the black, drip, coffee of the day; his has a more frothy topping meeting the lip of the mug. He plunks down a compact black bible beside the mug, a serious book, for serious reading, not just for show. He pulls himself up on to the stool and starts to read. He obviously works out, he has a decent build beneath the casual striped t-shirt he is wearing – more understated than the body builder I saw earlier in the day with the skin tight shirt so everyone could see. He flicks through the bible and starts to read, drinking his coffee as he goes. His phone rings, he answers, the person obviously guesses where he is right now, guesses correctly. They just got out of whatever they were in, he offers to come and get them if they want its no hassle. They turn him down, obviously timing isn’t great, if you are sure he says, no problem he says, if you change your mind he says, and ends the call. He finishes his coffee, its approaching six thirty, and I form a suspicion as to his destination. The rain has slackened by now, a drizzle rather than a downpour, which is just as well, he has no jacket. Where crowds dispersed half an hour ago, there is a new one forming across the road, in front of the church. He leaves the coffee shop, strides in that clear diagonal line, disappears through the front door of the church, arriving for Sunday Service.

Labels: apple, church, coffee, glasgow, rain, sunday