March 8, 2007
Sometimes, strange things happen and you’re not quite sure how to deal with them. Take today, for example. I was walking along, minding my own business, when someone spat their food all down my leather jacket. It looked like chewed up bread. Nice.
If operating entirely as a creature of instinct, you generally know how to handle acts of aggression. Someone hits you, you smack them in the mouth; someone pours their drink over you, you smack them in the mouth; someone double-crosses you in a deal or invades your protection racket, you smack them in the mouth then throw them off the nearest motorway bridge. It’s all very simple.
But there are problems with this: I am not entirely a creature of instinct, I’m also pretty passive and instincts don’t do you much good in this situation. Babies sometimes spit their food over you, you wipe it off. When given medicine, cats will return the favour by depositing it back into your eyeball, so you get it surgically removed. And logic doesn’t help either, because said jacket is wipe-clean, the guy didn’t say anything and was walking away.
In my case, the Instinct Advisory Board had to call an emergency meeting, recommending that I immediately call him a “fucking cunt” to buy some time so the issue could be debated, votes weighed up, minutes written, etc.
He stopped, turned around. He was only about 14, clearly missing a few important pieces of brain and had a sensible-looking girl in tow. She was older, seemed to be about 16 or 17. She begged me to leave it. He unzipped his chavvy sports top to reveal scrawny teenage chest, shouting “come on then!”, while staying at a safe distance.
The board advised that it was all starting to look very pathetic. I felt not in the least threatened or angry. It was just too WTF. So, I gave him the death stare, gave her the “keep your psycho on a lead” look, turned around and walked away.
That was nothing compared to the devastation caused when the Any Excuse For Retail Therapy Committee got wind of this incident. Its recommendation was for a visit to Starbucks for a latte and Choc Crunch Cookie, to be followed by a visit to River Island for a new pair of jeans and cool belt. And I’m telling you, gentle reader, it was only when I was informed at Tesco’s cash machine that there were insufficient funds in my account that I didn’t cause much more damage.