Fiction: Joke by Mark Speed
Photo Source: Unsplash
“There are two kinds of people in the world,” said Jeff, staring into his half-drunk glass of flat lager.
He paused and looked around, hoping for an appreciative audience and finding none. A pause in a place like this was an eternity of shattered dreams and hopeless inevitability but gone in a flash to be replaced by another.
It was one of those pubs that hadn’t changed the décor since the smoking ban of 2007. The peeling, yellowed plaster drooled from the ceiling like rancid and cancerous stalactites, threatening to crash to the ground and leave a gaping hole but never quite committing to the final leap.
But why should they waste money on decoration? People still smoked in there. It was a pub which had been left behind by the world. Old men poured over finger smudged beer glasses, usually filled with bitter or beer the colour and consistency of cold tea, occasionally lifting the glass to their wet and tombstoned ingress where nothing of substance came out.
A few, who still had something, maybe a wife, a dog or some children that texted them on their birthdays, kept the dark shadows at bay with a newspaper, a crossword or a ‘flutter on the gee-gees’ but most were silent, fixed on one stool, gaping aimlessly at the same piece of wall that they had for the last umpteen years, day in, day out, returning home at the end of the drinking day to eat, sleep, catch up on EastEnders and wait for opening time the next day.
“There are two kinds of people in the world,” Jeff continued, oblivious to the deaf ears and decaying bodies around him.
The wrinkled brown jacket next to him farted loudly and adjusted its grey flatcap.
He had heard this joke on radio two during his tea break this morning and had spent all day memorising it, hoping to regale ‘the lads’ with his witty repartee. He didn’t really understand the joke but he knew it was classy, as the person being interviewed on the radio was an ex pop star who had got himself a degree at Oxford University in some science or another, and he knew that meant clever.
And Jeff wanted to be clever. Or at least, appear to be clever. He never thought it was going to be this hard telling the joke though.
He considered himself to be popular, everyone who came into the bar said hello to him, a few even knew his name, and the barman didn’t even have to say, “The usual?” to him anymore, he just pulled the pint the moment he stepped through the door. “Thanks John.” he’d say to the barman as he plonked himself on his usual stool. He would then adjust the wobbly stool, make the same humorous comment about the pub needing new furniture, put his Golden Virginia tin on the table and proceed to roll a fag to go with his beer.
He tapped Brown Jacket on the arm.
“Ay? ‘ay? ‘ay?”
Brown Jacket turned his head slowly towards him. His unfocused rheumy eyes landing on Jeff. He moved his lips as if to say something, as if he was about to speak for the first time in his life. His bottom lip quivered and a grey-green-yellow tongue pocked its head out of the corner of his mouth before scuttling back inside for shelter. Brown Jacket wiped his sleeve and turned back to his pint.
Jeff had a rush of guilt. He had broken the unwritten rule; don’t touch!
Jeff leant in to Brown Jacket, not too close mind, but close enough, and mumbled an apology. It was more like, “Ree.” but Brown Jacket understood. He grunted and moved his head slightly in Jeff’s direction before making a subtle nod.
Jeff sat back in his seat. And took a big glug of his pint. More to hide his face and his embarrassment than to quench his thirst.
Silence, once again dominated the pub. The only noise was the tinkle-jinkle of the fruit machine singing to itself in the corner.
Jeff felt like a failure. He’d spent hours trying to memorise that joke. He’d written it down and everything. But he didn’t feel like he could tell the joke now. He’d made Brown Jacket angry. He’d thoroughly let the side down. He’d have to find another boozer to drink in cos he definitely couldn’t drink in here again! Definitely not after what he’d just did!
Jeff swilled the last of his lager down his throat. Normally he would let off a massive manly burp right now but he didn’t feel like a man. He felt like a fool. Who was he to think he could tell a joke! He wasn’t popular! No, not like Dave Stukkey. Dave Stukkey was so popular he was always referred to by both his names. He was Dave Stukkey. Not Dave. Or Stukkey. But Dave Stukkey, always. He would come in here every day smiling and laughing, calling everyone ‘mate’ or ‘pal’ or sometimes ‘dude’ and people would buy him a drink. Or hug him. Or both.
Dave Stukkey could tell a joke. He was cool. He was clever.
Jeff wanted to be like Dave Stukkey.
Jeff wanted to be Dave Stukkey.
Jeff definitely didn’t want to be Jeff.
Jeff thought Jeff sucked.
Jeff thought Jeff wasn’t clever.
Jeff knew Jeff wasn’t clever.
This made Jeff sad.
Jeff opened his tobacco tin. Clicking the tin lid on the bar, he pulled out a rizla and rolled himself a cigarette for the journey home.
“Do you want another?” The barman asked.
“Nah,” Said Jeff, “I’m gonna head off home. Star Trek’s on at seven.”
The barman nodded and wandered off to the other side of the bar for a much needed lean.
Jeff put on his coat and lit his cigarette.
The pub doors sprang open.
“John! A Pint, please. Hello Steve! Danny! Andy, how you doing? Trev! How’s yer missus? And the kids? Fantastic.”
The barman plomped a pint on the bar with a smile.
“There ya go, Dave Stukkey. This one’s on the house.”
“Thanks John. How’s business?”
“Up and down, ya know.”
Dave Stukkey took a huge swig of the pint, downing half of it in one go.
“Grand! Just what’s needed. Hello Jeff, how are you doing?”
“Hi, Dave Stukkey, I’m good, how’s you?”
“I’m good, can’t complain. Even if ya did, who’s listening!?”
Dave Stukkey leant back and let out a huge raucous belly laugh that filled the room. The barman laughed, Steve laughed, Andy laughed, Danny laughed, Trev laughed, even Brown Jacket laughed.
“See you’re empty there, fancy a pint?”
“Nah,” Said Jeff, “I’m just heading off. Star Trek’s on at seven.”
“No worries, Jeff, I’ve set the telly to record it. I asked the missus to save it.” Dave Stukkey let out another explosive laugh which infected the whole pub.
“Give us a hug then.”
Dave Stukkey enveloped Jeff in a suffocating bear hug.
“See you tomorrow? Friday, innit? We’ll have a proper sesh, right?”
Jeff nodded and headed off. he pulled open the pub door.
“Hey, John?”
“What’s up, Dave Stukkey?”
“There are two kinds of people in the world……..”
Jeff let the door swing closed behind him.
Mark teaches English in London and has been writing stories and poetry since the invention of the quill. Most are horror or comedy or both and most either sit in various piles on cupboards and tables scattered around his flat or languish lazily in the cloud. At present, he is working on the third volume of collected short stories which follow the letters of the alphabet.
He has recently had his story Lament published in Guy Kojak magazine, Ogre in The Nonsense Realm and his story The Cauldron Published as a podcast.
If you are interested in learning more about Mark, you can find him on the following social media websites:
Instagram: @mark_speed_english_teacher
Instagram: @MarkERoperwriter
Bluesky: @speed0898.bsky.social
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