It’s something I’ve thought about a lot before. Do you know that feeling when you tell a joke that you think is really clever, only to be met by the cold silence of people who didn’t understand it?
I was working the bar last night, and towards closing time, a young lady came up to order. She had some cool bright red top, a funky owl necklace, cute wavy blonde hair, and a very friendly face. She was the kind of person who makes you think “Yeah, we could totally be friends.”
I’ll tell you right from the start: You guys are going to be so disappointed by that title.
As you may know, I’ve been away for a week in the south of France. A lot happened, there are a tonne of cool pictures to sort through, and I’ll get to it all in time. I thought I’d quickly share one particular highlight with you now, however… but just to warn you: it’s fucking disgusting.
I was working my 2nd job job today, which for those of you who don’t know, is in a small, French bric-a-brac shop, and after a few uneventful hours, a peculiar family came in. They were an arabic family; a man, two women, and a small girl. I was about to find out just how friendly the father of the group was.
So, I’ll try to make this brief… There may be a few tangents, and I’m really tired.
I was walking home from work tonight, exhausted after 13 hours shared between two jobs. It was about 11.45 at night and on my side of the street ahead of me was a pack of youths. I don’t know what the collective noun for hooded reprobates is really; a gaggle of chavs, a flock of delinquents? Anyway… I call them youths; it sums it up nicely, derogatory enough to convey my meaning, condescending enough to convey my sarcasm. I don’t know what age I was when I began to refer to ‘punk kids’ as ‘youths’, but I think it was around the time I once saw a 13 year with a cigarette who was so indifferent and unintelligent, that he tried to spit on the floor, as so many smokers do, and couldn’t be bothered to turn his head to the left or right, thus combined with the forward momentum of his walking meant he spat on his own shoe. Anyway, they were youths, and I decided to avoid them for some reason. They were drunk and loud and boisterous, and I couldn’t be bothered to be near them. I figured I’d just cross the street.
This is where shit went wrong.
Becky is away in Manchester for the night, so, being the piece of shit that I am, I decided to get some Thai takeaway from the place next door that I never go to, instead of cooking something I already have at home. Anyway, I walk up to the counter, “Hi, how are you? Blah blah blah, food please!” (I didn’t literally say that of course, but you get the gist), and the lady smiles, giggles a bit, and walks round the corner to the kitchen. All of a sudden, I hear her saying stuff in Thai, and it’s followed by an uproar of laughter from however many people were standing around the corner. She comes back a second later, looking at me and holding back her giggling, and then starts doing some busy work behind the counter.
Already fucking awkward.
At the request of my girlfriend, I spent last night at a fancy, black tie ball / gala party thing. The night went well for me, but unfortunately, it wasn’t quite so kind to everyone…