It’s the little things in life that really get up my nose.
People who step onto a train (or into a lift) before you are able to get off. Wouldn’t it be easier for me to get out first, thus creating room on the train? Never mind common courtesy! Then there are those others who, when you’re waiting for a lift having pressed the button and made it light up, come along in front of you and press that button very same button again- as if you hadn’t thought of doing that. “IT’S ALREADY LIT YOU CABBAGE !! I ALREADY PRESSED IT!!”
They are right up there with people who, while you’re stood holding a door open for them, say nothing and just saunter through. Not a thank you, kiss-your-arse, NOTHING. Or worse, they walk through the open door not even bothering to take their hands out of their pockets to take the door from you. Bastards.
Short people using umbrellas in public places. They are a danger to my eyesight. I’ll go blind soon enough, thank you very much, and don’t need any help from you attacking my retinas with your steely spikey spokey pokey brolly. Then again, I really despise those who take something from you, whether a cup of tea, a pencil or whatever and who not only don’t say thank you, they don’t even look at you by way of acknowledgment. Grrrrr…
While none of these annoyances, taken individually, would force you to unleash the forces of hell, imagine how you would feel if all of the above happened to you in the space of one morning?
Well , welcome to my world.
My bad morning had started early, (as early as last night, in fact) as I’d lost my glasses. This was the first time it’d happened to me in the six weeks since I’d been viewing the world in glorious HD. I was worried, and it irked me. I’d either left them at work, or in the pub, or on the train, or somewhere. Bugger. Still, I was so knackered last night, couldn’t be arsed to worry about them, so I decided to sleep on it.
I woke up this morning and immediately started to worry about them. Bugger. And Charlton had lost again.
With my spare pair of specs (£9.99 Foster Grants from Sainsburys) in my top pocket, I set off for work by my usual train. I don’t like my spare pair. Ok, so they’re approximately £337.21 cheaper than my lost pair, but they do look every bit of that. Ill-fitting, cheap-looking plastic frames and, in all honesty, I can’t see out of them. Dunno why I bothered really.
Having squinted my way through the morning’s reading matter, the train started to pull in to my stop. I made myself ready by the door, the train came to a halt and I pushed the button to open the door. I hadn’t even time to put my worst foot forward across the threshold when a 50-something, short, fat woman pushed her way through the doorway ARSE FIRST, while she closed and shook her umbrella dry. As she try to push her way in, I gave her the gentlest of knees in the sphincter. She stood bolt upright. “Oops, sorry!” I lied, as I squeezed through the rather small gap between her and the doorframe. I didn’t bother looking around to see the look on her face, I have a decent enough imagination on me. I stomped off to work.
In reception, the queue for the coffee bar was too long to worry about so I headed straight for the lift. One of the three lifts had been out of action for weeks so the wait for one of the other two can be irritatingly long. I pressed the button. Nothing happened for a while. Then it did. A youngish bloke holding a grande latte walked in front of me and pushed the button again. I assume he must have been able to hear me snorting behind him. Then he pressed it again, and then taptap…taptaptap, like he was sending morse code. Amazingly, after only seventeen presses of the button, the lift arrived. I said nothing, I just ticked.
Up to the second floor and as the doors opened a girl from the features desk made a feint to get in before I got out. I can only assume the black look on my face, resplendently framed in cheap plastic glasses, put her off. Only a nutcase would wear them, surely. She made a tactical retreat. “Thank you” I barked, forcing a smile.
Down the corridor I huffed, to the door at the end. I could hear footsteps behind me and as I reached for the door and I turned to see a young, suited bloke about ten yards away coming towards me. I pushed the door open, went though and then waited, holding the door for him to take. He walked straight through the gap, saying nothing, leeaving me holding the door as he walked past, like I was his sodding doorman.
“My pleasure” I called after him. He looked over his shoulder and smirked.
“Pig” I added.
I can’t tell you.
The next twelve minutes went relatively well. My mood was much improved by the discovery of my glasses, in their case on the desk where I had indeed left them the night before. Hurrah! All was again well in the world, so I went to buy a round of coffees. Returning to the office, I passed them around to the chaps, and all but one thanked me and offered me the cash. The last bloke, never took his eyes off his pc, just held out his hand for me to give him his cup. Having grabbed it from me, he slurped it and set it down on the desk, eyes still focussing on the screen.
“Oh, don’t mention it, Phil” I squarked.
I walked over to my desk and booted the waste bin 8ft across the room. Another colleague sniggered, sensing my well-disguised exasperation.
“Well, Mike, if you didn’t wanna work with clowns, you shouldn’t have joined the circus”
And it was still only 10.30.
It’s one of my favourite films “Falling Down” we should buy a bottle of Scotch and rent it out one night!!
Marvellous…Black-dog at its’ best.
Own Falling Down as ‘ironically’ The Author bought it for me!!
So what you save on the rental you can spend on more Scotch (as will lend it gratis) OR …
I’ll set up Chez Roberts like a Parisienne cinema and we can all watch ‘The adventure of an ordinary man at war with the everyday world.’
Great reading for first thing in the morn.,thanks chaps!
If I ever find myself in a Parisienne Cinema I can promise you it won’t be to watch Falling Down !!
I’m saving that for tour.
Let’s also give it up for the arsehole who gets on the packed (even more so,thanks to the “cut the train in half” trick now showing at most platforms) 18.37 to Miseryville and having wedged himself in the window seat over the tomato propogator of an unturnoffable heater,proceeded to loudly slobber through not one but two large hot,stinking pasties.
Oblivious to the flaky pastry shards adorning his person,this Singing Detective Pearly King of Penzance not only stunk the place out but had a phone conversation throughout the feast.
His phone looked like a fucking Weetabix.
Don’t get me started…..
And I thought it was just me.
Cant belive this post. Perfect timing. Just got home having had to deal with some ars*h*** trying to overtake me all across Blackheath just so he could get one car ahead in 30mph moving traffic. What’s that all about? Maybe I should join your “I hate people gang”!
blimey. i was having a good day until i read this stream of bile. i guess i need to get out more …
Now look at it from your colleagues point of view as you alight from the lift wearing the above mentioned “black face”….. just look around the office for the little thought balloons, all with the same words….”Oh bollocks, it’s Bealing!”…..your getting worse Michael. You should take a leaf from my book, smile and the world smiles with you…….
I’m sorry we seem to have a crossed connection somewhere. I like you cos u make me seem jolly