INSIGNIFICANT MOMENTS IN THE FOLDS OF TIME - A Voice You Could Die For

Some days no one in their right mind would wish to be in charge of the framing department. They'd offer to work the till, counter, wrapping, stocking up or unpacking deliveries out the back. Tasks that could easily keep them occupied, be productive, generally busier. Mind deadening boredom would not descend. You could credit yourself with not living an empty meaningless life. The regular staff, full or part time, even the customers on occasions, could all be fun to engage with.  Unless you were single handedly working the mezzanine framing counter, on the coldest wettest morning in January.

The young man was perched disconsolately on a stool, with hundreds of frame and mount samples ranked behind him like legions of aircraft . He knew full well he could be sat there for hours, trying to maintain this fictitious look of engagement on his face. Fiddling with the arrangement and alignment of the ready made picture frames and pre-cut mounts, for the third time in the last hour. Dusting dustless shelves. Gazing enviously down the stairs, that so few people ever stepped up, to the active chattering hustle going on around the main counter by the exit.

Paradoxically, this was the type of day when you could easily become the magnet for time wasting enquiries. The sort that were always two questions away, from a framing sales assistants perspective, of feeling you were dangerously over committing yourself. Someone would present you with this abstract concept of their picture. The one that has been hanging around for ages, but just needs a frame to set it off better. They have it at home. Their fingers helpfully form imaginary frame corners in the air, just to give you the idea of its size. Describing its subject matter in extraordinarily loose, cartoon like terms. Would you be able to give them some idea what frame would suit and the likely cost thereof? And you might be tempted to miraculously pull a rabbit out of thin air. Though fate might bounce this price badly back on you, should they return later with said picture, wanting that previously quoted price, exactly. They'd be righteously annoyed, for you had made to their recollection, not a general quote, but a specific promise, and they wanted you to keep to it, not betray and potentially rip them off. In short, these sort of customers were inevitably going to be a nightmare. 

His only customer this morning, had entered bedraggled from the rain, soaking a large area of the carpet through dumping their umbrella, numerous shopping bags and a wet Burberry coat upon it. Used up an entire half hour or more of his attention and expertise, and then left with barely a thank you for his time. Another enquiry he'd never see the fruits of. This had been followed by the areas resident piss artist and loud mouthed alcoholic Mr Gordon Smiley teetering in, like the portent of doom he was. Seizing the opportunity of the framing department not appearing busy, came in brandy breath all a flambe. Shouting profanities about the pictures we sold and how your framing charges were effin robbing people blind. He was a difficult one to contain once he'd sufficiently warmed to his theme, which never took long.  Becoming increasingly declamatory in voice and hand gestures. 

Usually, as happened today, the manageress saved him. Gordon appeared to like her, respected her on some level. One got the sense that she felt some mutual ' there but for the grace of god go I' recognition going on. Charitably amusing him, he instantly became more amenable, and quieter. As she walked slowly, gently ushering him in the overall direction of the door. With a stagger and a flap of his grubby coat, he exited stage right, and was gone. The manageress turned towards the framing department, winked conspiratorially and returned to her office. There was another one he owed her.

So this morning had been rough, a humiliating, if not mildly belittling experience. After failing to deal well with a full frontal assault from Mr Gordon Smiley, breathing down fire water upon him. He was now anxiously preoccupied with a desire to take a tea break very soon. If only he could attract someone's attention. So much so, that he failed to notice the man, stood with his back towards him. Singularly maintaining his focus on flicking through the racks of sale frames. Who suddenly piped up, and without turning around, said - 

' Gosh, that one must be hard to handle. Does he come in here regularly.' 

As he spoke, it was as though a bomb had exploded and it's pulse ripped across the room. A wave of emotion broke over, around, through and into him. Had he suddenly stepped into a parallel dimension? How, what, who was this guy? Did he know him? An instinctual feeling of intimacy arising, told him he did. An air of recognition hovered around the voice. It seemed to contain a very ancient longing, for some unrequited love object in the past perhaps, of a much mourned over ex. His memories however, could not settle on any one individual in particular. There was a charm in that voice, like a magic potion, an entrancing spell, the desiring spirit of a sacred love chant from a God. The most beautifully cultivated resonance he had ever heard, that speared, and directly hit love central.

Accompanied by a swoon, those carefully punctuated consonants, with just the light lingering suggestion of a smoothly well disciplined Scottish burr, spread like honey throughout his whole being. A munificent wave oozing a feeling of being deeply smitten, with a man he'd apparently never seen or heard of before. Who had yet to fully turn around, so the young man had not yet seen what sort of face such a voice might emerge from. Every syllable whispering sweet nothings in his ear - whoever this is, he is the man for you. You will be willing to die for this one. Do not miss out. Above all, do not fuck this up.

And the heart burst open, the hands fell lifelessly down, the brain was completely floored. In the bubbling rising moment of ecstasy he forgot that he might need to reply. The response when it did emerge, came out a spluttered squeak. Inside his head all words, phrases, sentences, possessed only the smallest level of intelligibility, drowned under a warbling static, his brain an out of tune radio station. Coughing heavily, he attempted to clear his head and start again. 

' Ah, well.. yeah ..he does....Couple of.. times a week. Harmless really.....But its bad for trade. As you can see, he clears the shop in minutes.'  

These staggered words tailed off in volume and confidence. Though factually all true, they were feeble. Internally he thought : -

'Come on man, perk up, charm him. Engage your wit and banter. Don't let this all die on the deathly desert shore of a stunned embarrassed silence'

So he smartly improvised -

'Can I help you at all? '

Finally the man fully turned around, and it was a fair face, with a youthfulness still surviving even the claws of its eye wrinkles. Thirty something, charming, yeah, he could be putty in those hands.

'Well, maybe you can, I have this picture at home. But, you know as I've been standing here looking through these frames, I think its probably best if I bring it in. You think you can remember a picture well enough, but you really can't, can you? And I'd rather not try describing it to you.  I don't live locally, but I could quite easy pop back later.'

'Oh, OK, yeah, you do that. We offer a quick and professional service. This time of year, it's quieter, so we can turn it around within a week... if needs be'

'That sounds great, I'll maybe see you later then.'

As the man left he briefly flipped this warm beatific, appreciative smile, over his shoulder, as though he were well used to the spellbinding effect his voice could exert. The young man, however, was mortified with himself - if needs be ! - if needs be !! He'd switched on his standard business mode of interaction, and couldn't stop his mouth from this inane babbling. When he ought to have been more himself, relaxed and personable, apply the blokey banter, perfume a select few words with a frisson of come hithery. That usually flushed them out. Either sparkling or scaring the horses. But none of any of that, what a ruddy fool he was,.

Attention came back with a thud to the now empty framing department. A place he now felt extremely reluctant to vacate. To take even the tiniest of tea breaks, lest he missed spending further time with the most captivating male voice he'd ever encountered. Utterly bereft, he preoccupied himself with essentially unanswerable questions, like - do straight men ever flirt with gay men? - he was coming on to me wasn't he? -  or was he just being pleasantly sociable? - he could no longer discern the difference. 

Other thematic variations on these, were much harped upon and circled around for the next hour. Attempting to pin down precisely why he'd found that voice so stirring to his love muscles. Surely it did remind him of someone? He wasn't daydreaming any of this up was he? This had actually happened? Was he conjuring a love object out of a pretty voice? He did have form in that area. But no, this was totally unlike any of that. More akin to being actively benevolently bewitched.

In waiting for the man's return, the imminent became interminable. His manageress couldn't grasp why he didn't want to take a lunch break, after what must have been a rather dull morning in the framing department. Normally staff couldn't wait to get away, you could see it in their deadened eyes. The besotted young man, however, was distracted from rational thought, and from something any framing sales assistant worth their salt should always hold in mind. Casual retail enquiries are the equivalent of a flirtatious tease.

He'd also failed to note, till much later in the day, one crucial word in the man's final sentence - 'maybe'.  No firm commitment there to returning. And so it was, that the man with the entrancing vocal chords, never did return, on that day, nor any other day. The end of the affair had arrived, before it had even begun. The experience of encountering this man, though consciously filed under - this was all a mirage - nevertheless found itself a sacred place where qualities of love were lodged and revered.