Right. We’ve had a lot of badness mentioned here over the last few weeks. We’ve had murderers and rapists. Kiddie-fiddlers, frauds and violent thugs. Crooked cops. Traffic wardens. Barry Manilow Other awful bastards too numerous to list.
But this evening, I just want to say a brief word about a crowd of bastards that enrage me more than all of the others put together.
I’ll tell you who if you’ll just give me a minute.
I was in the supermarket this evening. Superbuying a superload of superfood because it looks like I’m having a supercrowd of superfuckers at the weekend for a superdinner, where they all drink my superbeer and fuck off.
Great. I don’t mind. It wouldn’t be the first time I hoovered out the contents of somebody’s fridge. Speaking of which, I also decided in the last week or so that I need a second fridge exclusively for beer, because somehow there never seems to enough room in the one I have and I end up throwing out a large amount of food every week because I can’t fit it into my fridge with all the competing beerage. But anyhow, I digress.
I was in the supermarket this evening and when my trolley was full of beer vital provisions to keep my guests happy and my child fed, I trolleyed on up to the check-out, as one does. Bouncing along, you know? Laid back, with the old iPod tucked into the shirt pocket, just strolling along with my new Tom Waits album growling away quietly. Just me and Tom and a bottle of whiskey and forty thousand cigarette-blurred nights behind us but we’re still here, me and Tom. Still standing upright, somehow or other.
There’s a woman ahead of me with a huge pile of shopping loaded onto the belt, and the stuff begins to move. The check-out guy is really efficient (cos he’s Polish or Hungarian or something and he has a PhD in quantum physics) , and pretty soon the whole lot has gone through the check-out and there’s this kid from Young Munsters rugby club packing bags to raise money and he’s really efficient too so that, before you know it the whole lot is packed away neatly in the trolley.
What’s the woman doing?
OK, let me put it another way. What would you be doing?
You’d be getting your money ready, wouldn’t you? Or your credit card, or whatever you plan to use for paying.
Is that what the woman ahead of me is doing?
The woman who is ahead of me simply stands there until the Czech or Polish guy says, that’s 157 ninety four please. And then, and only then, does the woman who is ahead of me realise Oh Jesus, you have to pay for this stuff!! And then and only then does the woman who is still ahead of me reach into the trolley, search for a handbag, open the handbag and take out a small purse, open the small purse and slowly, very slowly peel out eight twenty-euro notes, one by one. And when the Polish or Czech guy hands her back the two euros and six cents, she slowly places it into the small purse, and replaces the small purse in the handbag, and then slowly replaces the handbag in the shopping trolley.
While the rest of us stand there. Looking. Thinking It would be wrong to act on this rage, but it might be worth it.
Now, what is wrong with these people?
I’m convinced they’re part of something bigger, because they’re everywhere. There you are, walking up to an ATM, when suddenly, from behind a parked van, here comes this fool with a wallet full of cards, and you just know he’s going to use them all. Every fucking one of them. He’s going to use each of them twice because the cretin gets the PIN wrong the first time on each one. Sometimes, he’ll even put the card in, check his balance, eject it and put it back in again just to piss you off. I have actually killed several of these people before the banks started putting cameras on ATMs to take pictures of Romanians.
Do you know what these people do at the weekends? No? Well, I think I know. I think they put on hats and go driving old Ford Anglias in the middle of the road, swerving out to stop you passing them. I think these are the same bastards who drive tractors at twelve miles an hour in the middle of the road. The same motherfuckers who get on a bus and then realise, just like when they’re in the supermarket: Oh! You have to pay?
Bastards. I hate them all.
Update: Mr Sneeze points out that he has posted in a similar vein recently. Here