As I moved to get into the back I hear 'Sorry love she said, got parcels in the back, can you get in the front?'. I note, even just through the window being opened, in that brief moment, her smell was the polar opposite from Brenda's, I also noted, in the dark interior, her tanned leather skirt contrasted against the black of everything else, even her other clothes she wore. I step into the car, having to lower myself down considerably. Do you need a hand? I burst out laughing. No no, I'm fine. I blame the kilt. She laughs. Yeah yeah. I get in. 'Not the usual uber I'm used to' I say with a smile on my face as i settle in. She was by far the hottest uber driver I had ever seen, blonde hair up in a ponytail, brown eyes (I think), and with her sexy smile she tells me she likes to use this car at the weekends as it makes the passenger feel more special. I smile. Feeling cheeky I add, 'you assume I was referring to your car'. It's met with a little silence. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cross the line and make you feel uncomfortable. I am happy to sit in the back. She bursts out laughing. You need thick skin to do this job, if you think that's the worst or cheekiest thing I get you are so wrong. Plus, I saw this hotel come up and I drove past earlier. Lots of kilts. I had to accept the job. You like my kilt I ask? Oh absolutely, what's the tartan? She asks. I smile, knowing she has given me the opportunity to use the oldest best man joke known to man, well..... a tanned leather skirt. She looks at me puzzled. A few moments later, after playing the conversation over in her head, oh for fuck sake, how have I not heard that before..... I laugh. Smiling straight ahead. Sorry Gail. Her head darts towards me, it dawns on her quickly. Ah yeah, my confirmation 'alert'. I am still trying to get used to people knowing my name. I look over. Hands at ten to two on the steering wheel. No wedding or engagement ring but the imprint of previously worn remain. My eyes quickly take in as mulch as possible as she checks her blind spot and mirrors. Black knee high boots, thick black tights, tanned leather skirt, black roll neck jumper. Very autumnal into winter I thought to myself. I look ahead and out to the people enjoying their nights. For a moment I was having fun, a laugh, I had to keep up the cheekiness without making her feel uncomfortable. My intention is to be funny, not creepy. The chat dries up with the bog standard questions going back and forth. It got hot and stuffy in the car, I ask to open a window but I'm told it makes the interiors even more stuffy and the windows mist up. How can you wear that I say? Pointing at her roll neck. She laughs, well if I wasn't I'd be sitting here in a black lace balcony bra and I'd get arrested for that. I laugh but those 4 words trigger so many thoughts. |
I stood outside the hotel on Edinburghs George Street, waiting for my Uber. It had been a long night with plenty of drink on offer, free bar, but the enthusiasm for such nights had dwindled over the years. Maybe covid had a part to play along with getting older, socialising with colleagues had become a bit of a chore. Much like any expectation to get back into the office after home working for a long time, I had got used to my own company. The fact that it was a black tie affair made most people question if they really wanted to go. Most did. The older ones got d*unk and moaned bitterly about the company, the younger ones got d*unk beyond belief, falling about the place, giving us in the middle age bracket a fair bit to look at. Regardless of what team you bat for. Dresses flying up as asses hit the ground, tits falling out of ridiculously low cut tops, kilts doing much the same as the dresses for anyone of that persuasion. If I'm totally honest, I looked primarily at the females but found humour in the males. I looked whenever something was on show as they danced, laughing, mocking each other, generally having a great time. Standing amongst a group of guys in our mid 40s to mid 50s talking about the upcoming autumn tests for the rugby, my mind wasn't really on their chat. None of them had played rugby in their life and when they needed some actual knowledge of the subject they turned to me. At 6ft 2 I had a very good club career in a number of positions. People of similar stature would often come up to me in pubs and say they used to play against me. That I should and would have been capped if it wasn't for the introduction of the professional teams. Many many ex players could claim this, i'd smile and move on - it's not my opinion. I lost interest as soon as they started bringing in players from overseas to fill international positions. Ultimately, the conversation between that lot turned to just that. But as they talked, I watched. Not in a creepy way. Just smiling at those in a position to have that much carefree fun. So I saw a tit here and there, I saw many lace sets of underwear, and a potential bush, as the girls partied. Not obscenely, don't get me wrong. This was a respectable do. Just when the barriers are down the skirts fly up, and when you look a bit closer, you see that much more....
