Nippin Oot tae the Shop
by Gregg Elliot
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: A lot of strong ones.
Description: A group of youths looking to cause trouble receive an unwelcome lesson from a local resident.
_____________________________________________________________________
Kev MacAlister was looking out of his third storey flat, drinking coffee and smoking a joint. Turning his head from the window to his sister and back again, he barked, ‘Fuckin numpties! That Gorget team are walkin aboot here like they bloody own the place! Look! That wan’s gote a 7 iron.’
With this Kev opened the window and leaned out, arms folded, sipping his coffee in between puffs of his joint. The youths, who Kev was watching carefully, had been in a running battle with the gang from his area last weekend. One of the Gorget gang had been slashed and another was reported to be in a critical condition in hospital. Kev had rightly assumed that this weekend the Gorget youths had turned up looking for vengeance. There were around seven young people, some with their tops off, brandishing small weapons. All were making their way to the small shopping corner where most of the young people from the local area hung around. This day no one had yet congregated there and so the Gorget team took their anger out on local residents. Mainly they intimidated people and made aggressive taunts to anyone in sight. The extent of their presence was so that no one who was fortunate enough to see them from a relatively far distance would go anywhere near the shops, no matter how desperate they were for ciggies.
‘Ah hink a need some fags,’ Kev said as he put his coffee mug on the table and grabbed a dog chain.
His sister now went to the window. ‘Don’t dae anyhing stupit!’ she chuckled.
‘Aye, nae bother,’ Kev said as he closed the front door, clipping the dog chain to his jeans like an extended keyring and stuffing it in his pocket.
The Gorget youth saw Kev coming toward the shop and one of them yelled, ‘Where dae ye hink your gone, ya fanny?’
‘Benidorm,’ Kev responded and pushed his way into the shop.
‘Hink yer funny?’ and ‘Ahl stab you!’ came the retorts from outside the shop. Kev first put down a few pounds on the counter, saying ‘Alright Sunjeep, that’s for the mess.’ And took two glass bottle of Irn Bru from the fridge, drank one bottle in a ‘oner’ and poured half the other one on the floor. He then burst out the shop door with the two bottles in either hand, burped loud into the face of one youth before smashing the empty bottle across his temple, laying him out cold.
As the gang responded by firstly jumping back then attempting to attack, Kev used the second bottle on the bravest and biggest there, catching him with a side swing across his jaw that caused the youth’s crumpling body to trip up two of the other attackers. At this point those who could ran, leaving only two others still conscious and attempting to lift themselves from a heavy fall. The first of the two to their feet was met by a second gaseous explosion of Irn Bru and Kev's clenched fist now with the dog chain rolled around it. He staggered and fell to his knees with both hands, holding a broken nose as the last youth hesitated. Kev, from foot to foot went nose to nose with him, roaring ‘Who’s the fanny noo? Dae ye hink it’s wise tae come roon here shouting the odds and trying tae terrify ordinary folk?’
The youth was now obviously shaken and attempting to pacify his aggressor, ‘Naw mate! We were jus lookin fur the boys that done oor pals.’
Kev opened the second bottle of Irn Bru that had not smashed and poured the remainder of its contents over the boy’s head. ‘Right then, let that be a lesson fur ye! Goin tell the rest eh them that you can take yer fights elsewhere! There’s plenty a fitbaw park aboot yees can aw kill yerselves on tae yer heart’s content, noo FUCK OFF!’
With this the youth sprinted away, feeling very fortunate indeed that the fates of his unconscious friends were not shared by him.
As Kev walked back into the flat he was greeted with, ‘You’re mental!’
‘Ahm mental, Rosie? Da used tae say back in the ole days the gangs wid fight amongst themselves somewhere nae innocents could be hurt. No noo a days, they don’t gee a fuck. Pisses me aff, so it does!’
His sister leaning further out the window, ‘Really? You couldnae tell… haha! Jeezo, it’s a right mess ye made anaw. There’s the sirens, who di ye hink ill turn up first?’
Kev sitting on the sofa, rolling a joint, ‘Ambulance. Ye'd be lucky if the police even turn up!’
His sister returning to her seat and glancing at the TV, ‘Ah well, they boys will no be back roon here anytime soon.’
‘So, who wis it?’ Kev said as he lit his spliff.
‘Ambulance,’ Rosie coughed.
‘Am tellin ye Rosie, it just gets worse and worser. if it’s no the Taliban it's weans that used to look cute in their wee dungarees and socks that wid fit yer thumb trying tae get ye. The world’s gone tae pot!’.
‘Aye and just wit dae ye know aboot the world, Kev? Furthest you’ve been is tae Bluebell Wids tae walk the dug!’.
‘Aye, well its aww right there fur ye in the living room an oan yer computer, Armageddon on every channel!’
Swearwords: A lot of strong ones.
Description: A group of youths looking to cause trouble receive an unwelcome lesson from a local resident.
_____________________________________________________________________
Kev MacAlister was looking out of his third storey flat, drinking coffee and smoking a joint. Turning his head from the window to his sister and back again, he barked, ‘Fuckin numpties! That Gorget team are walkin aboot here like they bloody own the place! Look! That wan’s gote a 7 iron.’
With this Kev opened the window and leaned out, arms folded, sipping his coffee in between puffs of his joint. The youths, who Kev was watching carefully, had been in a running battle with the gang from his area last weekend. One of the Gorget gang had been slashed and another was reported to be in a critical condition in hospital. Kev had rightly assumed that this weekend the Gorget youths had turned up looking for vengeance. There were around seven young people, some with their tops off, brandishing small weapons. All were making their way to the small shopping corner where most of the young people from the local area hung around. This day no one had yet congregated there and so the Gorget team took their anger out on local residents. Mainly they intimidated people and made aggressive taunts to anyone in sight. The extent of their presence was so that no one who was fortunate enough to see them from a relatively far distance would go anywhere near the shops, no matter how desperate they were for ciggies.
‘Ah hink a need some fags,’ Kev said as he put his coffee mug on the table and grabbed a dog chain.
His sister now went to the window. ‘Don’t dae anyhing stupit!’ she chuckled.
‘Aye, nae bother,’ Kev said as he closed the front door, clipping the dog chain to his jeans like an extended keyring and stuffing it in his pocket.
The Gorget youth saw Kev coming toward the shop and one of them yelled, ‘Where dae ye hink your gone, ya fanny?’
‘Benidorm,’ Kev responded and pushed his way into the shop.
‘Hink yer funny?’ and ‘Ahl stab you!’ came the retorts from outside the shop. Kev first put down a few pounds on the counter, saying ‘Alright Sunjeep, that’s for the mess.’ And took two glass bottle of Irn Bru from the fridge, drank one bottle in a ‘oner’ and poured half the other one on the floor. He then burst out the shop door with the two bottles in either hand, burped loud into the face of one youth before smashing the empty bottle across his temple, laying him out cold.
As the gang responded by firstly jumping back then attempting to attack, Kev used the second bottle on the bravest and biggest there, catching him with a side swing across his jaw that caused the youth’s crumpling body to trip up two of the other attackers. At this point those who could ran, leaving only two others still conscious and attempting to lift themselves from a heavy fall. The first of the two to their feet was met by a second gaseous explosion of Irn Bru and Kev's clenched fist now with the dog chain rolled around it. He staggered and fell to his knees with both hands, holding a broken nose as the last youth hesitated. Kev, from foot to foot went nose to nose with him, roaring ‘Who’s the fanny noo? Dae ye hink it’s wise tae come roon here shouting the odds and trying tae terrify ordinary folk?’
The youth was now obviously shaken and attempting to pacify his aggressor, ‘Naw mate! We were jus lookin fur the boys that done oor pals.’
Kev opened the second bottle of Irn Bru that had not smashed and poured the remainder of its contents over the boy’s head. ‘Right then, let that be a lesson fur ye! Goin tell the rest eh them that you can take yer fights elsewhere! There’s plenty a fitbaw park aboot yees can aw kill yerselves on tae yer heart’s content, noo FUCK OFF!’
With this the youth sprinted away, feeling very fortunate indeed that the fates of his unconscious friends were not shared by him.
As Kev walked back into the flat he was greeted with, ‘You’re mental!’
‘Ahm mental, Rosie? Da used tae say back in the ole days the gangs wid fight amongst themselves somewhere nae innocents could be hurt. No noo a days, they don’t gee a fuck. Pisses me aff, so it does!’
His sister leaning further out the window, ‘Really? You couldnae tell… haha! Jeezo, it’s a right mess ye made anaw. There’s the sirens, who di ye hink ill turn up first?’
Kev sitting on the sofa, rolling a joint, ‘Ambulance. Ye'd be lucky if the police even turn up!’
His sister returning to her seat and glancing at the TV, ‘Ah well, they boys will no be back roon here anytime soon.’
‘So, who wis it?’ Kev said as he lit his spliff.
‘Ambulance,’ Rosie coughed.
‘Am tellin ye Rosie, it just gets worse and worser. if it’s no the Taliban it's weans that used to look cute in their wee dungarees and socks that wid fit yer thumb trying tae get ye. The world’s gone tae pot!’.
‘Aye and just wit dae ye know aboot the world, Kev? Furthest you’ve been is tae Bluebell Wids tae walk the dug!’.
‘Aye, well its aww right there fur ye in the living room an oan yer computer, Armageddon on every channel!’
About the Author
Born and still living in Drumchapel in Glasgow, Gregg Elliot is currently Studying Psychology and Philosophy at The University of Glasgow. Although he has enjoyed writing fiction throughout his life, he now feels ready to begin the journey to becoming a published writer.