From Jester To King XXXVII

Finding myself unemployed, I turned to all available options to muscle up spare cash. In the hospital was a vending machine and I was told that if you knew your onions you could get a couple of free things to drop from it and sometimes cash itself. A few of the boys were lined up on seats, I say boys, they looked more like old sailors, ragamuffins with thick grey beards, jolly enough for men in their position, men who were basically beggars and scroungers who refused to put in an honest day’s work. They were sitting back watching the machine as if part of the whole process was to merely observe it in zen. Eventually I went up and dropped in some small coins, it was clear that Teddy the ringleader was going to coach from the side-lines but he wouldn’t say anything specific and just gave general pointers. Apparently there was a pulse and a rhythm to the machine and you had to tune into that pulse so that if you got in at just the right time, you could get lucky. On my first go, a couple of salt and vinegar chiplets dropped from a split bag into the tray and I was delighted. None of them seemed surprised. Then every so often one of them would hurry up to the machine, press an ear or a nose to it, to the glass, and return triumphant or untriumphant to his seat. The seats were always the starting point, the resting place. But it was true, you could get free stuff. I made a point of remarking to them that if you could just make twenty-five quid or so doing this then that would be more than enough, I wasn’t asking for much more, I displayed that general excitement that newbies tend to display on a new discovery for them, plus I suppose I was also trying to lift the mood, to which they reminded me that that’s why they did it, you could make twenty-five quid if you were lucky. But as soon as it came from their lips I was no longer convinced.

A young professional came in later on. He had a briefcase and glasses a ready way about him and even though he made out to be a debutant he knew a fair few things about the machines. I didn’t ask him his name but he looked like a Joel or a Russell By now my father was sat behind the piano if not tinkling a few keys on it. The mood had changed completely and somehow this young professional had made the room seem far less hobo and down-at-heel and far more zippy and dynamic. Initially he went through the motions, asking how it all worked, playing the ingenu but then he couldn’t hold back any longer and showed how consummate he really was, how much more developed his approach was than the older scruffs. He played the machine more like a poker game and you could see that he’d make much more than Teddy and the old pirates would make in their entire lives. He wasn’t unlikeable in his arrogance, far from it, he still kept us all in on the action with his keen smile and ready way, spoke aloud as he worked, went through all his thought processes. All whilst father sat and commented from the piano as if instrumental as part of a wider broadcast. I stand by, however, that if I can make only twenty-five quid, it’s not a bad way to make money.

That I had to endure the sight of an ex-girlfriend giving fellatio in full view of the whole group later on didn’t make my day any better I have to say, although I did play real poker later on and despite having trouble with the chip values I manged to beat Jack Solomon and another old friend hands down. How she could bring herself to do such a thing was beyond me, I could actually make out the ejaculate on her lips as she proudly withdrew from the offending penis.