Normally, I feel rather miffed when my habitual lunchtime sanctuary is penetrated by intruders but, this time I found myself intrigued.

They were two men, early-middle age, bearded, both carrying half-pints––lightweights––one more vocal than the other, with a slightly high-pitched voice.  They sat at an adjoining table, without so much as affording a glance in my direction.

From the corner of my eye, I watched as High-Pitch proceeded to set up a small tripod on the sticky, brown table-top, later adding an iPhone to the assembly when he was satisfied that he had the required viewpoint.  Slightly suspicious of his intentions, I judged the camera’s field of vision and, with relief, decided that I fell outside of it.

But just what was it that he was filming?

Next, High-Pitch withdrew from his pocket a slender pack of cards, while Acolyte looked on, silently.  Was it a display of magic?  Some clever sleight of hand to astound his audience of one––two, including me.  I was aware that High-Pitch was now commencing a commentary to run alongside his actions.  I could see now that the camera was focused exclusively on his hands holding the cards, whilst he sat behind the camera, anonymously bearded, out of view.

A close-up magic trick?  Was that the gig?  I anticipated a swift shuffle of the pack, followed by a high-pitched: “Pick a card, any card,” directed towards his acolyte.

But, no.

Still observing surreptitiously, I realised that it was not a pack of playing cards he was holding, but an unopened pack of trading cards.  Pokémon?  Panini?  I couldn’t make out the brand.  And the video wasn’t a demonstration of a skilful, well-rehearsed magic trick, it was just of a bloke sat in a pub opening a pack of trading cards and, one by one, revealing their contents to the camera.

Was there an element of suspense in the act of revelation?  Not for me.  Having identified the banality of the activity, I quickly lost interest; that is, until the filming was over––five minutes max.––and I heard High-Pitch say to Acolyte: “Well, that’s another good day’s work over.  I’ll have that posted up on YouTube soon as we’ve finished this drink.”

A good day’s work?  Five minutes spent filming the opening of a pack of trading cards?  Is that the same good day’s work as putting in a 16-hour shift in the A&E unit of a busy hospital; or a good day’s work battling a North Sea storm to bring in a trawler-load of cod; or a good day’s work attempting to teach quadratic equations to a classroom of recalcitrant 14-year olds?  In what kind of screwed-up world do we live that makes this kind of pointless, unprofitable activity a viable occupation such that it can be described as a good day’s work?

But, to their credit, High-Pitch and Acolyte had got me thinking.  Perhaps I should be doing something to monetarise my own lunchtime drinking.  After all, in comparison to opening a pack of trading cards, sitting quietly, minding my own business, whilst knocking back several pints seems like a positively fruitful occupation.

© Beery Sue

Beery Sue is outraged to find someone with a cushier gig than her own.