Service Station

A service station appears to be one of the best places for people-watching. Sitting at a fake-wooden table, nibbling on M&S sandwiches, I am for once not concentrating on the slightly confusing, disorganised, clamouring movements of my family. This time our table is in a perfect position to view the scores of people passing by. I watch, eyes wide, as colours and attitudes and postures sweep past me.
A short, dark man with a yellow reflective waistcoat on tempers past, brow set in a slight frown, arms swinging with self importance. A mother with her early-teens-daughter clips by with long hair fluttering around their shoulders; she in a short, sassy, green jacket and tight jeans, and her daughter in a belted fawn trench coat and grey leggings that are artistically wrinkled around the ankles. A couple of Asian-coloured young ones are dragged past by their older, though still young, sister, who shouts in stressed distraction in the direction of her parents. The children pull back and are forced to hop-skip as they are pulled along by aching arms at a speed their short legs aren’t accustomed to.
But, ah! A case-study! These types of people I always wish I had hours to observe. A shortish man with a shaved head and a green t-shirt, a ring in his ear and a brown stain on his front teeth stretches and mutters to his young companions, then walks off in the direction of the shop after giving me a lewd, sex-god look that fails to hit it’s mark. The two left behind are awkward in each other’s space. He is a tall, lanky off-shoot of his (I assume) older brother. He wears a baggy grey t-shirt and dark jeans, and sports a shaved head and a pair of wire glasses. He stands just close enough to her, facing her, to suggest they are ‘together’. She stands at ease; hot pink top and very blonde, straight, jagged hair giving a bright confidence that only accentuates his awkwardness. She rummages in her deep, sequined bag for her purse, and he puts his arm around her in a way that completely but not quite manages to miss touching her. When they move off, he reaches self-consciously for her hand. I notice that they manage to somehow miss doing this properly too - he kind of clutches her fingers and her thumb only just grazes his. They look almost as if they are acting a part they’ve only recently been given and not had time to practise. She seems almost care-less, while he has an ungainly, discomforted air, as if he is scared of letting his real feelings appear too obvious. I’m given the impression she is his first girlfriend… Possibly.
And as they leave, another potential case-study appears on the scene. A young woman with long brown hair stops just by our table. She looks as though she has stepped out of a magazine, in a crumpled, ‘my-outfit-is-designer-style-but-I-can’t-quite-make-it-look-natural’ type way. She is wearing a black flat hat and a grey, baggy, soft t-shirt with rolled up sleeves that reaches down below her backside and is cinched in by a black waist-belt. Her black leggings lead down to grey, flat boots. She has a discomfiting air. Her eyes are perpetually wide, and she leans forward slightly as she stands and walks, making her appear very intense. She walks with a slight limp, as if she had just stubbed her toe. It seems she is waiting for her companions - she stands with a weedy looking man who has a distinct lack of hair, heavy framed glasses and a high, nasal voice. She appears slightly worried; while discussing whether their companions could be in the car already, or still behind, she starts back, and then turns forward again, as if unsure which way to go, but unwilling to simply stand and wait for a little while. Eventually they move off. A couple of minutes later the weedy guy comes back past again, meeting just in front of our table (how convenient!) with a tall, dark haired lady in a white t-shirt and flared jeans with a wide, plaited belt. A third member of the party. It appears they both aren’t worried about where the rest of their group has disappeared to, but both seem to think that assuring the grey-topped young woman that everyone is safe was important, as the man tells the lady where the young woman was waiting, and while he wanders off in the opposite direction, she strides away to find her friend.
A little while after they’ve left, a splash of colour appears in my sightline. Three women in saris - dark blue, dark red, and a light, light green. The dark blue is the mother. She has heavy material trousers on and yellow stars on her scarf, and a dumpy figure. Then the two daughters both with slim figures and longish legs. The green young woman has layers of make up on and carefully defined brows. She wears a plain, floaty sari and a headscarf and leggings with a matching flowery pattern in yellow. The other young woman has the same pattern to her dress - plain coloured sari and flowered headscarf and leggings - but her colour is just that little bit brighter and her pattern is just that little bit more striking. She wears long pearl earrings. They wear their colours and sparkly heels as if it were the most natural thing in the world, but a chance encounter with the group in the woman’s bathrooms reaffirms my suspicion that they are just as aware of the attention they are gaining as I am; they stopped for a full five minutes in front of the mirror checking the placement of their headscarves and the neatness of their makeup.