Not What It Was

By Ben Moore

Miss Linkfence drove her car through the wall of a new office block, stopping just short of the reception desk. It hadn’t been there that morning (the office block, that is), and she hadn’t updated the maps on her SatNav. Miss Linkfence refused to use Google Maps since that nonsense with changing established place names on a governmental whim. The Lee Bank estate would never be Attwood Green to her.

After surveying the damage, she returned to her car to reverse out, but found that they’d repaired the wall behind her, and her car had now become another of Birmingham’s quirky landmarks like the Floozie in the Jacuzzi or The Bull. Tourists were already spilling into the foyer to take photos with the Totalled Toyota.

Miss Linkfence felt the need for friendly company, so she rang Ms Gang and asked if she was free for dinner and a drink at the Old Stables. Ms Gang was free and asked if her young colleague, Mrs Smoker, could join. Miss Linkfence had no objection, so they all convened at the Old Stables. Unfortunately, since their last visit, it had come under new management and been renamed The New Stables, then renamed The Stables after a suitable period of newness, then renamed The Old Stables when the furniture had started looking a bit sat in. So, even though the name was the same, they now sold cocktails instead of wine, and specialised in small plates, instead of fish and chips.

“It’s not what it used to be,” Miss Linkfence said.

“The bar, you mean?” asked Ms Gang.

“No, this salmon,” she said. And it wasn’t. It had become butternut squash on the way to the table. Her money had the wrong monarch on the front, but the bar no longer accepted contactless payments, so she dropped a few notes and coins on the table before they left.

“The city’s changed as well,” Ms Gang grumbled, tripping over a Road Works Ahead sign.

“I agree,” said Mrs Smoker. “It’s not the city I remember when I arrived.”

“When did you arrive?” asked Miss Linfence.

“About two hours ago,” said Mrs Smoker. She had to stay with Ms Gang that night, because her train home had been cancelled due to the demolition of the station. They decided to take a walking tour of the city before calling it a day, and anyway, none of them could remember the way home. So they walked into the centre, dodging rats the size of cats which were quickly monetised by the council as a local attraction, while an American news anchor decried the ‘human no-go zones’ that no local was able to identify but assumed they just hadn’t found yet.

They waited patiently for their turn to take photos with the rampaging bull statue outside the shopping centre. They stared at the Floozie in the Jacuzzi, discussing quietly between themselves whether the word floozie was misogynistic or not and, if so, was it ironic or not.

Then they wandered around the corner to take a look at the Totalled Toyota, but it had been removed by the council as part of their efforts to cut arts spending.

“Gosh, things aren’t what they were, are they?” said Miss Linkfence.

“No,” said Mrs Smoker. “I remember when this city was full of surprises. You never knew what was coming next. Nothing stayed still, and nothing stayed the same.”

“But everything’s different now,” lamented Miss Linkfence.

“You’re not wrong,” said Ms Gang.

Ms Gang and Mrs Smoker took their leave of Miss Linkfence when they finally found Ms Gang’s car. A car park had risen up around it in the hours since she’d parked, and she’d been fined £70 for parking without a ticket. They pulled out onto the street and Ms Gang took a left, claiming she knew a shortcut home. Unfortunately, her maps app had not updated and she drove her car through the wall of a block of flats, stopping just short of the concierge’s desk. It hadn’t been there that morning (the block of flats, that is).

After getting out to survey the damage, she returned to her car to reverse out, but found that they’d repaired the wall behind her. Mrs Smoker had died of emphysema in the car and her body had now become another of Birmingham’s quirky landmarks like the Floozie in the Jacuzzi, The Bull, or the late, lamented Totalled Toyota. Tourists were already spilling into the foyer to take photos with the Corpse in the Kia.

Ben Moore is a poet and librarian. Follow him on Instagram https://www.instagram.com/theparkbenchpoet

Photo by Oliver Potter on Unsplash