we want you standing, falling

The front door to the pub was closed. Stuart went to knock on the opaque glass in the door but decided against it. He decided instead to step out in the street so he could look at the place. He looked up along the road to check for traffic. Cars were parked all the way along and he couldn't see properly, but there was no sound so he stepped out into the road, dodging a puddle of stagnant black water carefully. He looked up and read again the name of the pub; the Golden Sun, then reached into his pocket for a piece of paper and looked at the name written on it; Colin Drewery. He went back to the door and tried the knob but it was locked from the inside. He peered in through the window by the door but inside it was dark, and Stuart's tired, cafeine-wired eyes couldn't focus properly anyhow. Finally, he knocked on the glass. For a while he thought nobody was going to answer.
Through the glass Stuart saw a light come on above the bar opposite the door, and then a shadow appeared behind it. A click followed and the door swung open.
'Hello,' the man said. He rubbed his eyes as he spoke.
'Hi I'm Stuart we talked on the phone I'm here for the trial,' Stuart said hurriedly. The man looked at him bemused or confused, Stuart couldn't tell.
'I mean trial behind the bar, sorry, like, trial period,' Stuart corrected himself.
'Right, gotcha,' the man said after a second, 'I'm Colin. Nice to meet you,' he momentarily looked at Stuart's face, 'young man.' Colin extended his hand and grabbed Stuart's and they shook hands briefly, but Colin seemed tired and as if he couldn't care for pleasantries. It seemed as if Colin only shook hands to match Stuart's politeness out of annoyance.
'You worked at bar before young man?' Colin said walking over to the bar. He picked up a steaming yellow cup and blew over the brim, and for the first time made eye contact with Stuart, who self-consciously walked inside and took off his scarf.
'Yeah, I've done quite a lot really, mostly at this one restaurant outside Bedminster, it's in a little village, you probably don't know it,' Stuart said, looking around the bar, trying to seem perky for 9am. He noticed Colin wasn't looking at him any longer, or even paying attention to what he was saying.
'Good to hear young man,' Colin said distractedly after a short silence. He'd gone behind the bar and was presently washing glasses in a sink hidden underneath. 'We want someone with experience. Someone who can handle the people we get in here. Stand up for themselfs. Know what I'm saying?' Stuart nodded. Suddenly his heart rate rose. He felt self-conscious and nervous. He tried to put it down to the coffee he'd had just seconds before leaving his flat, but he knew that for some reason he really wanted to impress Colin and get this job. He briefly wondered just what he would have to do to get his approval.
'I think so,' Stuart said smiling falsely.

Stuart stood behind the bar and took the chance to have a look around to see if he'd missed anything; all of the glasses were clean and stacked, the beer mats were out and the ashtrays empty. There wasn't much else to be done. He casually took a j-cloth and wiped the sink but it was already clean; he was only making it wet, so he stopped. He wiped his hands on one of the bar rags, drying them. He looked up and out of the dirty front windows onto the street outside. It was dry and very cold and seemed to permeate into the pub and the streetlights were going out one by one and the day was getting brighter, but inside the pub wasn't getting brighter, it remained just as when Stuart first arrived. He'd only been working for a short while and already he was dallying. Colin had disappeared upstairs after showing him where everything was and what needed to be done before people started to turn up. Stuart hadn't seen him since.
The bar was small, only two or three steps from any point, and it was scattered with some kind of strange history Stuart didn't quite comprehend. The most obviously identifiable decoration was a polyester England flag that covered a section of the back wall, a large portion of which was covered in a yellowy-brown stain. There were photos blue-tacked around the flag taken of people in and around the pub. Stuart looked around and tried to match the figures to the places where they stood, and noticed over by the door that lead out back the only framed photo in the whole pub. He went over to look at the picture. It showed the face of an old-looking man with white, cracked skin and wispy yellow hair, he wore large red glasses and was smiling. He looked incredibly thin and frail, like a chain smoker tinkering on the edge of death. Underneath the picture a tiny brass plaque, like the ones found on some park benches, read; Arnold 'Arnie' Falworth, Cherished Father and Friend to Many, May He Rest In Peace.
Stuart was still looking at the white face in the picture when he noticed Colin had returned. He turned around and went to pick up the j-cloth to look busy. Someone had told him a good way to make an impression was to always look busy.
'Alright Colin?' Stuart said for want of something to say.
'You looking at Arnie's picture then?' Colin asked standing on the otherside of the bar holding what looked like a fresh cup of tea. Stuart looked at the tatoos on Colin's arms but couldn't make out what they were. He wondered if they meant anything. They were quite faded.
'Yeah,' Stuart said, 'was he like a regular in here then?' Colin blew his tea and looked around the pub, then at Stuart's face.
'He were landlord 'fore me,' Colin said, 'good guy I thought. He passed away few months after we signed the lease.' Stuart stopped wiping the sink briefly in reaction to the mention of death.
'What did he die of?' Stuart asked. Colin breifly looked at Stuart in silence before answering and took a swig from his cup.
'Heart attack,' Colin said softly, as if the words were bad omens, 'he were in hospital with liver cancer when it happened, poor sod. I suppose it were too many years in here that did him in,' he chuckled morosely.
'That's really sad,' Stuart said, and worried that he didn't sound genuine enough.

Less than five minutes later the first customer turned up. He was a tall and thin and dread-locked unshaven man wearing an overly-large army surplus coat. He walked through the door and without looking inside he held the door open and craned his neck to call a name down the road. After a few seconds a small shaggy alsation dog stumbled through the door, which the man then released. Upon noticing Stuart the man's face barely changed.
'Alright bruv,' he said moving over to take a seat at the bar.
'Can I get you anything mate?' Stuart said putting his hands behind his back, remembering how it was to be a waiter.
'Half a guiness bruv cheers,' the man said. Stuart turned around and took a glass and began pouring the man's drink.
'Colin not here today then bruv?' the man asked whilst reaching into his pocket and rooting around.
'He's here somewhere,' Stuart said smiling, 'not sure where exactly. That'll be, erm, 1.10 I think.' He waited as the man took some money from his coat pocket, counted it and said 'are you sure bruv? It weren't always that much.' Stuart turned around and started to press the relevant buttons on the till until 1.10 appeared on the screen.
'Here you go bruv, you got it right,' the man said handing over a pound coin and two five pennies, 'I was hoping you might get it wrong on your first day.' Stuart felt strangely proud he had passed this little test, not that it meant much or even nearly worked. He simply felt like Colin would've been happy with him.

Outside of the Golden Sun it was beginning to brighten up the closer it got to midday, but the cold from the night's frost still remained in the air. Inside it was still quiet, though more people, regulars, had arrived after the first man arrived, who Stuart had found out was called Rasta James. Colin popped his head downstairs every now and and then for a few minutes at a time. He was largely leaving Stuart to fend for himself, to see how he handled the customers.
'So you hoping Colin will give you a job then young'n?' a man called Andy asked. Stuart had picked up everyone's names as Rasta James said good morning to them. Andy was a short, bald and stocky man, and seemed very hung over.
'Yeah man, I need the money right now,' Stuart said. Andy nodded and looked down at his drink.
'Don't we all,' he said and lifted his pint glass to his lips, taking a swig of his lager. Silence followed, and Stuart geussed money wasn't the best thing to talk about.
'Seems like a nice place though,' Stuart said, 'better than working in some Weatherspoons or something.'
'Don't know how nice it is,' a woman at the bar called Shirley said, 'not exactly five stars, but the people are friendly enough.'
'Very positive today ain't we,' James said smiling, 'everything alright at home then? Your old man acting up again?' Shirley dipped her fingers in her glass of beer and flicked a few drops at James who was sitting a few seats away and flinched.
'Keep your nose out you,' she said jokingly, 'anyway, I thought this was my home.'
Everybody smiled at this, including Stuart, who was beginning to feel that these people were always in here on their Saturdays. Colin appeared from upstairs at that moment, again he was holding a cup of tea.
'You know you're always welcome in here Shirley,' he said looking at her, 'we're your family, girl.' She smiled in a glum, appreciative way and took a thoughtful swig of her drink. Colin looked briefly at Stuart as if he expected him to say something, then when he didn't looked away.
'Anyone want a tea?' Colin said.

'That's all we drink in this country,' Rasta James said, 'cups of tea and pints of beer.' He had a cup of tea and half a pint in front of him, and he looked at each breifly before taking a swig of his beer.
'One chills us out,' he continued, 'and the other makes us act like arses.' Andy and Colin and Shirely smiled.
'Do you drink much then young'n?' Andy asked, facing Stuart with an emotionless expression, as if he were asking the time from a stranger.
'Young lad like him,' Shirely said, she had a smile on her face to show she really cared, 'I bet he's out five nights a week pissing it up?'
'Not as much as you might think,' Stuart said, deflating the strange air of anticipation that surrounded the question, 'I drink quite a bit of tea though.' Everyone seemed slightly disappointed with Stuart's answer, and for the next hour nobody really tried to talk to him. It was as if Stuart's image as a non-drinker excluded him from the circle of regulars that came into the pub. It excluded him from the previous landlord who had died because of his drinking habit. Stuart looked again and again at the photos around the bar and imagined countless Saturdays and Fridays and Sundays and weekdays where regulars and their families would come into the Golden Sun to drink and talk and be together, and he couldn't help but feel excluded from it all. And he wanted in. He didn't know exactly why, but he wanted in. He wanted to be part with these people. He wanted to be welcomed and accepted amongst the people he saw in the street everyday. He wanted to feel at home here.

1pm came and Stuart's trial period behind the bar finished, with him feeling confused as to how he had been received. He had done his job pretty well, he'd kept himself busy cleaning and had learnt the ropes very quickly. So when Colin came into the back room where Stuart was putting on his coat and scarf Stuart hoped that he'd done alright.
'How did you think it went today then young man?' Colin asked.
'Alright,' Stuart said, trying to figure out what Colin thought from his face, but it showed no real expression.
'You did well,' Colin said, and there was a brief silence where it seemed Colin was thinking about how to phrase his next words.
'You work well,' he said at length, 'but you did seem a little out of place, if you know what I mean.' Colin fixed him with a sympathetic look in the eyes. Stuart felt quite hurt, what Colin had said hit a nerve in a way that he hadn't expected.
'How do you mean?' Stuart asked, trying his best to conceal his hurt.
'It's nothing against you, young man,' Colin said, 'it's just that we get a certain kind of people in here, you know, and sometimes they're not easy to deal with. I need someone who can stand their ground when they need to, and nothing against you, but you're different to them out there. They're drinkers, you know.' Stuart nodded and wrapped his scarf around his neck.
'So you'll let me know if I get the job then,' he said, 'you have my number right?'
'I do, yep,' Colin said, 'I have some others coming but I'll let you know within a week if you do.'

On his way home Stuart kept going over Colin's words in his head. He looked at the people he was passing and he saw he had no connections with them, and he felt very alone. He stopped in the shop by his flat to get some lunch, and just as he was about to go over to the counter and pay for his food, he spied the alcohol section, and stared at the various cans and bottle for what must have been a long time. He arrived home and shut the door and stood motionless for a while. Tears came to his eyes.
The next day he went to the supermarket to buy food, and in addition to his usual list he bought a box of carlsberg. He'd never drank alcohol on his own, and when he got home he felt unusual as he immediately cracked open a can. He tentatively took a sip, then looked at his watch. It was 11.20am. He smiled glumly, then proceeded to unpack his shopping, every now and again taking a sip from the can. His eyes watering slightly, after having looked directly into the bright morning sun that was breaking though the kitchen window. He felt alone still, more or less.