Good Ways To Make A Bad Impression.
I lived in ten flats in the space of three years – where I define “living in” as “staying there at least a month or more, during which time I paid rent”. I do not recommend it, it was hellish, and the result of a quite unprecedented run of bad luck, bad decisions, bad flatmates, and owners selling up.
I took a room in Maryhill for a few months, a room too small for unpacking in, and more just a base from which to find somewhere else. I was living with two other guys, one a student from Ireland and the other owned the property as well as having a room in it. He was studying property development or something similar, and since this job entails being a reprehensible cunt he was getting some practice in. At the time, though, he seemed like a decent guy, and I have no doubt he mostly meant well. I left that flat after he impulsively bought another, realised he’d better sell the one he was in, and gave us ten days to get out. Maybe that’s not cuntish, but it was certainly inconsiderate and inconvenient. Here’s another example, and you can form your own opinion.
I had just gone to bed at 3am one night, when the front door opened and a few people came into the flat. There was a knock on my door, and I got up to answer it. Adam was standing there, and explained the situation – he had been at a nightclub, and outside in the taxi queue he’d met two girls. He had convinced them to come back to his flat where, he told them, he was having a party. The problem was, now they were here it was pretty fucking obvious there was no party. I was invited through to join them, as he confided that he really like the dark-haired one, and that I should “take the blonde.” I was naturally sceptical, but threw some clothes on and joined them in the living room.
The girls were good company, and remarkably good-humoured given the false pretences under which they’d been lured. We sat and drank for a couple of hours, the first and only time Adam and I socialised, and it became quickly apparent to everyone except him that 75% of the people in the room thought he was an idiot. The only part of the conversation I remember was his loud assertion that Oasis pissed all over Blur (in 2007, this was hardly relevant anyway), which the three of us disagreed with – Blur were far more musically diverse, for a start. He continued with further dull observations, while it came out that the dark-haired girl had been in a few theatre groups that I’d had a passing acquaintance with. So we spoke about that, and had a really good night despite the numpty in the corner.
Eventually, it came time for them to leave. They decided to phone a taxi, but Adam insisted on calling it for them. He took their mobile phone, dialled, and requested one, giving his address. After forty-five minutes or so, while looking at her phone, the girl he liked announced that the taxi was outside. They got up, and we walked them to the door. He tried to give each of them a goodnight kiss, but they were having none of it. I exchanged nice-to-meet-yous with them, and they left. Returning to the living room, Adam beckoned me to the window – where we watched them walk down the street and turn the corner, gone forever, and with no taxi in sight. He started laughing, and I was confused. So he explained.
He hadn’t phoned them a taxi, just gone through the motions and pretended. She’d obviously looked at the last number dialled, and – being already demonstrably smarter than him – deduced this, then claimed the taxi that they both knew wasn’t coming had arrived. I laughed too, big bellylaughs, at how casually and brilliantly she had played him at his own game. It was also funny that he’d thought his ruse would work. And that’s my abiding memory of Maryhill, that evening.
About a week later, I was in the living room with the door shut. Adam was down the hallway at his bedroom, having a conversation on the phone. I could hear it clearly, and that’s when it dawned on me that, when Adam had knocked my door and told me which one he fancied and which one I should “take”, they must have heard every word. Which makes it all the more incredible that they stayed as long as they did, unless you consider that they were just humouring him for their own amusement. Well played, girls, well played.