A few years ago, I was working backstage on a pantomime – in line with my profession – and there was a company night out on Sauchiehall Street.
Drinking in a long, narrow bar somewhere opposite The Garage (or The Gay-Rage, as it is known colloquially), I saw the coolest guy I think I have ever encountered. He was chatting to (rather than chatting up) every girl in the place, making his way from high table to high table, drunk and a bit cheeky, but not lewd, and more entertaining than annoying. He was doing this much to the chagrin of one woman in particular, and from watching them it was obvious that they were, or had recently been, in some form of relationship. She was incensed, and he didn’t care.
As he made his way further into the bar, stopping by the ever-glamorous dancers at our table, you could see the machinations in this girl’s head, as she looked at him, looked at the empty glasses on the bar in this relatively quiet pub, and back to him. It didn’t take a genius to work out where this was heading, and – not being a genius – I foresaw it.
He was at the table next to ours, the second last in the pub, standing with his back to the door. There were two girls sitting at the table facing each other, and he was standing talking to them. They were humouring him, not enamoured by his presence but not giving him what could best be termed “fuck off ” vibes either.
She picked up an empty Stella glass (that brand, naturally), and advanced upon him. There were only a couple of us watching her, and I saw her turn the glass sideways in her hand before smashing it lengthways over the back of his head. Everyone turned to look, she stormed out the whole length of the bar and disappeared. His momentary shock at the impact lasted mere seconds, before he apologised profusely to both girls while brushing glass off his shoulders like it was transparent dandruff shards.
In front of the whole bar, he walked all the way to the glass door, lit up a cigarette, then stood outside the window smoking it, his back in full view of everyone watching.
It was the most pathetic attempt at glassing I’ve seen, designed to make a noise and a point rather than draw blood, and the coolest possible reaction I could ever have imagined: dust yourself off, apologise, and have a smoke.
This city is crazy, but I love it.