Can't put a price on good conversation.....or shoes.

Waiter chum and I went to throw the rubbish out towards the end of the night. It's not normally a two person job. To tell the truth it's never a two person job. But when the situation is right the two of us "volunteer" to throw the rubbish out just so we can get a crafty extra smoke.

Most smoke breaks are solo affairs so from time to time it's nice to have a chum to share the unique delights of a hand rolled cigarette. I say from time to time because I prefer my smoke breaks on my own free from the inane chatter of chefs and others. I mean the other day they were comparing their hands to see who had the biggest. The logic being that the bigger the hand the bigger the penis.

priceless
apparently

Dicks.

I kept my child sized hands in my pockets. Obviously.

But then again waiter chat isn't much better. Waiter chat, sounds like a telephone chatline. "Waiter Chat your place to meet up with sexy guys and girls just like you!" or something like that.

Whilst we never stray into the odd places that chefs do, I mean we have never had a hand/cock size debate, our chat during shift isn't much better. Take tonight's witless repartee as we enjoyed our sneaky smoke......

"I'm shattered."

"Me too, and my feet hurt." Replied waiter chum

"Are those new shoes?" I asked as I stared down at her shiny new black pumps. Pumps? Is that what they're called?

"Yeah, the same pair I always get."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Good shoes eh, you cant put a price on them in this game." I said in a overtly sage and knowing way.

"Too true."

"See these shoes...." I was pushing my little legs out so she could get a good look at my formerly black shoes, now scuffed and faded.

"Yeah...?"

"Fourth pair in a row of these bad boys. Great shoes, they never hurt to break in and always last a right few months."

"Really?"

"Yup. Only forty quid too."

"Nice."

"Yup. Very nice." I was feeling smug and it showed in my face.

"Actually the same here."

"Really?"

"Yeah I alway get these shoes too."

"Nice."

"Like I say, you cant put a price on good shoes in this game."

"Hell no." She said and took a long drag on her smoke.

It went quiet for a moment as we considered shoes from our past or something.

"I mean a bad pair of shoes can really fuck your feet up." For some reason I couldn't give the shoe story up. Why the hell was I persisting with this?

"Oh hell yeah...." She agreed with vigor. I thought she was gonna follow this up with a story about bad shoes but instead she took another drag of her smoke.

"Yup good shoes are important." I was borderline obsessive now about shoes. I could hear the words coming out of my mouth but I just couldn't stop them.

"Especially in this game." She said as she took the final draw from her smoke. It went quiet again. It was hard to know were else to take this conversation. I mean what else was there to talk about considering the subject matter?

But I found a new depth in the conversation, "There are special shoes for waiters you know?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I think they are Birkenstocks or something."

"Ewww ugly."

"You think so?"

"Yeah they're horrible shoes."

"Yeah, they probably are. But you'd think someone would make a nice shoe for us eh." What the fuck was I on?

"God yeah."

I think we were both relieved that I had stopped talking. But the silence was very abruptly broken by the laughter of a chef who had been lurking in the shadows behind us.

"FUCK ME. Youse two are boring. Shoes? Wah?" And off he went, laughing like a mad man.

Jesus, for once he was right. I went chasing him to compare his hand size with mine. I had to save face.

I'm smoking on my own tomorrow.

Actually, I don't think I'll have a choice.......