People Watching #1
So, here are some of my notebook ramblings, based on observing real people.
- Short female, Nice figure, Hair dyed red, with blonde highlights, a quality job. Perfect make-up -- eyeliner, fiercely-red lipstick, subtle silver eyeliner.
- An ex-con with masses of curly, brown hair. Black hoodie, pink cotton shirt, white T-shirt underneath, blue jeans and tan work boots, sunglasses buried in his curls. His cousin says he needs to be given only "idiot-proofed" tasks. "I got dis", says our mop-top. He is arrogant, considered unreliable even by his relatives, expected to fail or cock-up big style. Is it any wonder when he does?
- Plump woman, but not obese, 'heavy boned'? Short red hair, fu'gly glasses, red boucle cardigan over a white top, with unflattering brown trousers that point out her broad *rse. Interfering person who doesn't let her younger brother live his life his own way.
- Woman in her late twenties attending an informal job interview. Neat black skirt and jacket with a collared, white cotton blouse. Long blonde hair held in a ponytail using a soft ffabric tie. Polite and attentive manner. Sharp nose. Subtle make-up, hardlty there.
- An older man, in his fifties maybe, with full lips, a flabby chin and flapping chops, like there's more skin than his head needs; it jiggles when he speaks. Steel grey hair, plenty of it, a whiter patch at the fringe. Black eyebrows. "I think that looks like ka-ka", he says, inspecting the apprentice's work.
- He's tall, with a cloud of white hair atop his tanned face. She too has cotton-wool hair, though she is easily a foot shorter than him. They look well-suited. Finished shopping, they are heading out, their shopping trolley, pushed by him, is home to just two bags. They brought their own bags with them; it's a military operation this, no nonsense, no extras, strictly what's on their list.
What I did was develop one of these notes, producing the folowing for the fina task of week one of the course
ReplyDeleteThe older man, Arthur York, turns the part-welded piece this way and that. His still-black eyebrows wriggle up into his steel-grey fringe as he contemplates the apprentice's work. His wrinkled hands, filled with skills, move carefully over the offering. He has to rely more and more on what his fingertips tell him, these days. The joint is secur, but the finish is lacking.
His uncompromising pronouncement issues from full and flabby lips. “It think that looks like ka-ka,” he says. Somehow, his head seems to have more flesh on it than necessary; his excessively meaty jowels jiggle as he shakes his head in disappointment.
The number of times he himself has made a weld like this exceeds the number of breaths his great-grandchild, this boy's son, has taken on this earth so far. Arthur has rightful pride in his work. People associate York's Autoworks with precision engineering and that isn't going to be allowed to change whilst he still has a say in the way they conduct business. Not that he will have much longer to shape things; he's old and he knows his sight is failing fast. Soon he will have to throw in the towel and retire. He worries what he will do then.