Here’s a true story to kick off with tonight: a guy with a gimpy hand came into my place of work the other night. You know those gimpy little claw hands that you see people going around with sometimes? One of those. Ok, so he makes his order and (by the way, I work in a takeout pizza place, maybe I should’ve mentioned that earlier) so he makes his order right, and when the girl goes to give him his pizzas he asks for a carrier bag. Thing is, the bags we have are that close to being too small to fit pizzas in so if someone asks for a bag I normally tell them to fuck off. It can’t be easy carrying all those boxes with a gimpy claw hand though, so this motherfucker gets special dispensation. Now picture this: he’s struggling to wrestle all of this food into his not-quite-big-enough carrier bag, the girl I work with is looking on with what I can only describe, at the risk of generalising, as typical Eastern European haughtiness and disdain (anyone else noticed that? Just me? Ok…) so I figure I’m gonna have to step in. Here’s what my opening gambit was: “Are you managing there mate, or do you want a wee hand?”
I swear to god, I only realised my blunder at the moment our eyes met, just as the words “a wee hand” passed my lips. “A wee hand,” I said. For serious. And here’s the tragic thing: in real life I would never use the phrase “a wee hand.” That’s just a goofy fucking phrase, man. It sounds like something I might’ve heard a proper person like a plumber or something say at some point, so to keep up the rouse of my completely affected “proper person” status at work it just sort of came out. I honestly didn’t know where to look.
Anyway enough about that. What else? Uh, it’s winter I suppose. I actually had a big sanctimonious rant about how you really ought to wear boots in the winter time and how people that wear trainers are lesser men than I am but I’ve had to sack that idea off, here’s why: I was out walking around in my boots yesterday feeling sanctimonious and everything and I took a fall on account of the ice. What a boob, I thought to myself. Here’s where it gets funny: I only fell over from a fucking standing start didn’t I? No word of a lie, there I was completely stationary at the side of the road waiting to cross and next thing you know, bam - I’m over. Explain that if you can… (By the way, here’s a quick aside: don’t think that that anecdote diminishes the veracity of my “winter-trainer-wearers lesser men” idea, that’s still true. Don’t wear trainers in the fucking winter, ok? Ok. And don’t even let me get started on cunts that wear ugg boots in the snow. Really? Ugg boots? In the snow? I don’t know, man…)
Ok, I don’t think any of this is all that interesting or entertaining so it’s time to fuck off and go and do something else. Go on, fuck off.
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