Life and Laughing_ My Story - Michael McIntyre [74]
The tattoo-faced chap sat on the chair and on the sofa sat a man who was the spitting image of Skeletor from the eighties animated children’s series He-Man and the Masters of the Universe. Next to him on a side table I saw the strangest thing. A toaster with the front ripped off exposing the hot grills. There was no toast in it, but it was burning hot.
‘All right, mate, I’m Scott,’ Scelator said, friendly, smoking a joint.
‘Hiya, I’m Michael, your name must make form-filling a bit easier when the answer for “Name” is the same as “Nationality”,’ I said. Why did I say that? I panicked.
Scott laughed unexpectedly. He really laughed. I laughed too.
‘That’s hilarious,’ he said in a Scottish accent that nearly required subtitles. ‘You’re hilarious. Are you lookin’ to buy some weed?’
This was going really well. I didn’t need to ask after all, he had asked me. Tremendous.
Then the toaster popped up, with no toast in it. Scott nonchalantly pushed the toaster button down again. Odd.
‘How much do you want?’ Scott asked.
‘I don’t know, whatever is the done thing. Will you take a post-dated cheque?’ I said.
This was not a joke; this was my level of naïveté.
‘Are you fuckin’ jokin’?’ Scott said.
I froze. This was an error. I knew I should have brought some cash, but nobody had any. Shit. Then the toaster with the exposed burning grills popped again. Scott popped it back down again.
‘I’m not joking. I have a guarantee card,’ I said, potentially making things worse.
Scott just stared at me, his scalding toastless toaster next to him.
‘I tell you what, you’ve got balls comin’ in here with your post-dated cheque. Student bastard. That’s hilarious. Sit yourself down and have a toke on this.’ He then passed me his joint as I took a seat alongside him on the big brown sofa. This was not something I had envisaged. I had never done this before, I didn’t even know if I planned on doing it later. I was buying the marijuana for my flat to appear cool. I couldn’t say no. I took a puff on the joint. It didn’t take long for the effects to take hold, and I relaxed and slumped into the chair.
‘It’s good innit, pal?’ Scott said.
‘Marvellous,’ I said, honestly.
Then the bizarre toaster situation occurred again. It popped up, and he popped it down with no toast. I was now stoned and feeling more confident.
‘Scott, you must tell me, what’s going on with that toaster?’
‘Heating’s broke,’ Scott said, matter of factly.
His stoned mind had created a heater out of the toaster by peeling off the front panel and popping it down every three minutes. Priceless.
I sat with Scott and the man with a tattoo of Scotland on his face for about an hour telling them all my funny stories. I told them about crashing my car by pushing it into a parked Mercedes, painting Jeremy’s wall and pretending I worked for Saatchi & Saatchi. We were all in hysterics. I wrote Scott a post-dated cheque, did the deal and stood up to leave. The tattooed man asked, ‘Where are you staying in Edinburgh?’
‘Would you like me to show you on your face?’ I said. We all rolled about laughing again.
I was in a right old state. I could barely see in front of me. I kept laughing to myself about the toaster as I trundled down the stairs. When I reached the bottom, the door was now closed. I pushed and pulled but it didn’t budge. I realized it must be one of those doors where you buzz yourself out. I searched for a buzzer and found one. Bingo. I pushed the buzzer and then the door, but it still wouldn’t open. I pushed the buzzer and pulled the door, still nothing. I then repeated this, kicking the door. As successfully as my Scott visit had gone, I didn’t plan on returning, ever. So I kept buzzing and kicking until the door finally