Persuasion

Harris lounged on the sofa in pyjamas watching daytime television.

It was four o’clock in the afternoon. Since being sacked from his job as an apprentice glass blower he had become quite used to lying around doing nothing and didn’t give a damn about anything.

His fiancée Lucinda had grown concerned. She’d become the sole breadwinner and her job at the local bakery didn’t pay enough for the rent on their cheerless two-bed apartment.

She came in from her shift at ‘Fluffy Buns’ and waved hello. Harris failed to acknowledge, glued to some quiz programme on channel 3. 

“I saw a post at the job centre you could do,” she said removing her coat.

“Eh?”

“Some firm is looking for a kind of waiter, someone to pour the wine, what do they call it in France…oh yeah, a sommelier.”

“A what?”

“You know a sommelier. A wine waiter.”

“Oh a wine waiter.”

“Yes. You were a waiter once, weren’t you?”

“I was. Never again.”

“But this is different. The way I see it, all you gotta do is go around topping up wine glasses. Money‘s not bad. It’s for some big hospitality company in the city. They host big important events. Might lead to something; never know.”

“You think I’d be able to drink the wine?

“Course not. The wine is not for you, it’s for the guests.”

“Then I’m not interested.”

“Don’t be daft! You can’t be drinking on the job.”

Later on Lucinda pressed the point again.

“Come on you need to get back out there and work. We need the cash - they’ll only give you benefits for so long.”

“I hear you.”

“Good. Now you’ll need to look smart in a tux.”

“What?”

“That’s the dress code for these events. Black tie.”

Lucinda went to the bedroom and rummaged at the back of the closet for several minutes and returned holding a white shirt and a crinkled black suit on a hanger.

“Here try these on.”

“Why?”

“We need to see if it still fits.”

Sighing Harris swung his legs off the couch, cookie crumbs falling from his chest. He removed his pyjamas and got into the musty suit.

“There,” said Lucinda. “A bit tight round the waist and the shoulders look a little pinched but that’s because you’ve put on weight you big couch potato.”

“I feel like a penguin. Why are we doing this?” he said.

“The job requires you to wear a tux.”

“Great.”

“Do up the top button.”

Harris struggled with the pesky collar button his face turning purple.

“Jesus. I can’t breathe.”

“Well, you need to lose some weight. Don’t forget you haven’t worn that suit since your grad party… here take the tie.”

Harris left it undone around his neck.

“Oh, and by the way, actually… I er…put your name down for that job.”

“What!”

Next day during a strenuous morning on the couch playing Fornite,

his cell-phone rang.  Harris was so immersed in his game at first he failed to notice. Then after a score of high pitch chimes he leant across and grabbed it from the coffee table.

“Hello?”

“Mr Harris Longthorn?

“Yes”

“Hello this is Conrad Smith from the job centre, your application for events waiter has remarkably been accepted and they would like you to start this afternoon.”

“What? Today this afternoon?”

“Yes. This afternoon.”

Harris stood there holding the phone, crumbs from a cookie stuck to the front of his pyjama top. He stared out the window at the city below realising that today he would have to venture out there into the big smoke once again.

But hang on, he thought. I’m going to decide my destiny, not her, and he vowed to eschew this opportunity and not tell Lucinda they had called.

He decided to keep shtum.

Just after one Lucinda burst through the door in a state of excitement.

She came running over to Harris and flung her arms around him.

“Great news. You’ve got the job.”

“But. How…”

“I popped in on my lunch hour and enquired. He told me they’ve accepted your application and they want you to start today! I said of course that’s fine…What’s up? You should be happy.”

“Yes. Yes, but it’s a bit soon isn’t it? This afternoon?”

“No it’s fine. Straight in. No time to think about it.”

“I feel I need a little time to prepare.”

“Oh come on. They want you there at four. You’ve time to get ready and be at the briefing.”

Harris turned up in his crinkly black suit at the allotted time. He left the top button of his wing-collared shirt undone. 

The events manager, Chloe, told Harris everything he needed to know. And he had to endure a quick dry run by opening bottles of wine and filling glasses.

The event was due to start at six pm. 

Chloe told Harris to smarten up and put on his black tie.

“I don’t have a black tie, I’ve forgotten it.”

“Here borrow this. Go to the bathroom and put it on.”

Standing in front of the mirror he realised he couldn’t remember how to tie a bow tie. He struggled with the top button and immediately, once he’d done it up, found it hard to breathe. His neck had grown another inch since he had last worn the shirt. 

Six pm came. And Harris still hadn’t emerged from the bathroom. 

Guests started rolling in, and a few were complaining about the lack of wine.

Chloe stood there looking at her watch tapping her foot. 

Finally Harris reappeared, the bow tie askew, and made his way to the wine table. His face had turned a funny puce colour and he was finding it difficult to catch his breath. Chloe through gritted teeth gave Harris the nod to start pouring the wine.

The auditorium was packed and Harris shouldered his way through the crowd topping up the glasses of anyone needing a refill.

As the evening wore on Harris’ face took on a purple hue. The dress code and etiquette prevented him from undoing his top button and he started to feel feint.

While he was in the process of topping up a lady’s glass he wobbled and splashed red wine over her Valentino dress.

Harris didn’t hang around. Bottle in hand, he lurched his way out of the crowd and spotted the closed door of a back room. He opened it and entered, shutting the door behind him. Inside he found a couch and a TV on the wall.

He turned on the television, undid his top button, took a swig from the bottle and lay supine on the couch.

Through the door he could hear the shrill tones of Chloe.

“Where’s the sommelier! The wine waiter, where is he!

Glasses need refilling!”