THE GOLDEN-CUP AND THE ASHTRAY

Would you believe it? I have been enthroned on this shelf for 30 years, facing thousands of customers who, from 11 am until 11pm call by every day to drink their beers and smoke, smoke, smoke!

It is amazing the number of cigarettes butts that used to be piled every day in this pub. God, how disgusting!

I am a golden cup with a marble foot on which it is graved “June 1970 1 st prize/ loyal football.” I am approximately 9 inches high and my form could remind you of a glass of champagne. 30 years ago, I have been won by a football team. Back then, they were 20 years old and they were playing every Sunday. One day at a tournament, they won me. I became their fantastic trophy and that is why, when the captain of the team, Paul, bought this pub, he putted me on the top shelf, between a bottle of Champagne and the colours of their club, facing the entrance door.

Back then, I was sparkly like a star. Every week I was polished. Often I could see Paul or one of his mates looking at me with such a pride. I could feel Love all around.

As the years passed by, they disappeared one after the others, except for Paul, literally glued to his pub. However, Paul started to forget about me. Gradually new customers came to replace the first ones but it was not the same. Some of them were little, some were fat, some were drinking and never peeing, some were loud, some not, one was green but none of them seamed to care about me.

Came the time were smoking in a pub became illegal. Cigarettes were banned in any public places. Paul's pub became very empty without his customers and his ashtrays on the bar. I was still on the same shelf, but I had lost all my shine. I was dull and dusty.

One day, 3 dudes walked in after the closure and Paul and they took place around a table to play poker. The bar was closed to the public, so they could smoke without breaking the law. Only they could not find any ashtray in the pub. I don't know which of his mate came up with the idea, but Paul did not seam to mind…they used me as an ashtray. How degrading!

20 years have passed since my first cigarette and I became an old smelly ashtray. The pub is closed to the public most of the time now but few old geezers keep coming to play poker with Paul quite regularly. I'm at the centre of the table, always full of ash and butts. Now and then, someone takes me to the bin, under the counter to empty me. When they do so, I can see the one that took my place on the top of the shelf. It's looking at me when my noise is plunged in the rubbish bin. It's looking at me the ashtray, relic of the past. It is looking at me the ashtray that became a trophy.

 

By Raphael Rispal