Four Hours in Glasgow - Part 1

Saturday August 5, 2000

I woke up at 5 am after a night of staring out my window at the students across the courtyard. I only hit the for minute snooze button once, waking before the second alarm would sound.

I must have been the first person to wake up because I did not have to jump over a slimy puddle in front of the shower. I didn’t even have to bother draping my towel over my chest while I shaved because there was no possibility of anyone seeing.

I put on the same dirty clothes as yesterday and packed my bag with the following:
One outfit of dirty clothes:
One t-shirt
One pair of jeans
One polo shirt
One pair of underwear
My jacket.
Downriver by Iain Sinclair
Let’s Go Britain and Ireland
This journal
Two Maps
Pens
My Britrail Pass
A towel
A bathing suit
And a hat.
I did not pack socks.

I poured all of the change from my dresser drawer into my pocket including the 20p piece I had been saving for laundry. I hoisted the backpack high and walked straight out the door.

Euston station was a block away and I arrived for my 6:16 departure at 6:00. A man with a hand full of change blocked my view of the train arrival board. “I lost forty pounds and my visa card,” he said. I stared into his palm, displaying about five one-pound coins and an assortment of other change. Beneath the coins his hands were greasy and black. “I just need about nine pounds forty to get home,” he said and looked at me expectantly. I reached in and pulled the top four coins from the hoard in my pocket.

“This is all I have.” If he was going to lie to me I was going to lie back.
He looked at the sixty pence with desperate disappointment. “Can you give me a few pounds?” He looked at me and changed his approach. “Perhaps you could give me a fiver for this.” He arranged for one-pound coins in his other filthy hand.

“I don’t have a five.” I lied again.

“Well how about a ten for this?” He started to rearrange his change in an attractive pattern.

“Wait!” I said. “Maybe I do have a five.” And with great care I took out my wallet. He watched it a little too closely as I extracted the five pound note.

“How about you give me the five for this and I’ll have enough to get home.” He handed me a pound and a half.

“I guess.” I said revealing my exasperations. We exchanged money.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Ben,” he said and smiled. They always seem so surprised when you ask that.

“I’m Ian. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” he said and disappeared. I patted my pocket to make sure my wallet was still there.