Wednesday, 27 January 2010

Gosh this soapbox is awfully high.

OK, so I have just got back from a nice catch-up with the people in this picture who are not Anna who, having the obvious hindrance of currently living in Southampton, was not invited for our excursion to McDonald's (unluckily for her she missed the obvious treat of being driven around by Sophie):

Another otherwise acceptable photo ruined by me.

Now then, a long time ago I did this liberating thing known colloquially as "stopping giving a shit about everything". I had this epiphany and realised that no matter what I do or say or wear, I am always going to stick out like a sore thumb. Not that I am particularly special or worth looking at or anything, but that is just how it goes. In recent times this has led to me becoming a self-fulfilled prophecy who has no regard for those around him because, regardless of whether or not I cared, I was still going to come away with passers by rolling their eyes at me.

Examples? I got on the metro at Fellgate this afternoon and, it being the middle of the day, it was full of pensioners heading up to Sunderland to shuffle slowly around the Bridges and wait hopefully for death to end their miserable lives. So I get onto this metro, smiling at everyone in a vain attempt to make them forget the fact that their lives are nothing more than an excruciating crawl towards death, and get nothing but the stink-eye back. From pensioners! You know you've hit the bottom rung of the social ladder when you can't even raise a smile from a man in a flat-cap with a packet of Werther's Originals poking out of his pocket. Even the old women were looking at me as if I'd trawled onto the metro with dynamite strapped to my chest, but frankly this is something of a blessing as I'd hate to be one of those gays that nanas like (see Exhibit A and Exhibits B and C for examples EXCEPT OBVIOUSLY ONLY ONE OF THESE IS REALLY A BENDER JUST A SPOT OF LIGHT-HEARTED BANTER THERE HARDY HAR).

I don't know if it's a generational "oh the old people don't like young people with a spring in their step" or "oh the old people probably think you're going to beat them up, take their belongings and leave them a bleeding pulp in the corner of the metro" or "oh the old people don't like the gays" thing, but the fact of the matter is I don't like old people. They smell of piss and move too slowly, they aren't pleasant to look at and don't know anything about important social issues like whether or not Lady GaGa has a cock. However, when I'm sharing an enclosed space such as a metro carriage with them I manage to remain polite and civil with them, smiling at them what catch my eye and generally going about my merry way as if I'm not disgusted by them.

The same goes for disgusting chav-types. Given the choice, yes, I would much rather be anywhere in the world but cooked up with someone holding a carrier bag full of cheap lager in one hand while they carelessly adjust their balls with the other, only to phlegm on the floor and say something offensive about having sex with a member of my family. This does not mean it is my mission to drive them from whatever place we happen to both be in, I would happily go about my day without having any dealings with them.

I only say this because, sitting in McDonald's earlier, my ever-observant friend Sophie pointed out that two arses near us were listening in intently to my conversation and taking the piss out of everything I was saying. I cannot blame anyone for this, first off, I appreciate my mannerisms and appearance and voice generally conjure up some sort of Little Britain-esque character, but unfortunately underneath it all this is genuinely just how I am. Sad, but true.

"OI! EXCUSE ME!" one of them called over. Now, being the only flamboyant homosexual at my bar in the Sunderland Greyhound Stadium has taught me many things in the short length of time I have been there, the main one being that if someone subtly tries to get your attention by saying "excuse me" in a polite voice probably means they have some sort of enquiry they want you to deal with. When someone hollers "excuse me" from a grave distance, attracting attention from everyone in the vicinity when still obviously only addressing you, the chances are you are about to have the piss ripped out of you 10 times worse than some angry pensioner on the bus can do just by staring at you.

"OI! EXCUSE ME-- ARE YOU GAY?" he demanded, agog, while I looked for a big hole to hide in. It's one thing being harassed when I'm on a night out dressed like this or this, but when I'm tucking into a mayo chicken in a relatively dressed-down little number I don't particularly need to be hollered at by ASBOs in the corner of a room. Regrettably, I was caught off-guard and didn't want to give my standard response of "fuck off and die" because there were children dining (plus this would make me lose face by being the first to use foul language), so I gave no reply and simply went back to my chicken burger, which did indeed make up for most of the embarrassment because the Mayo chicken sandwich combines my two favourite things in the form of chicken and mayonnaise, plus it's only 99p which incorporates my third favourite thing of cheap stuff.

"What a fucking faggot," the other one said, not to me but loud enough so that I, and everyone else in the McDonalds could hear. Is there any need for that? I'm having a nice catch-up with my friends who I haven't seen in forever, and here's you slagging me off so that a whole restaurant is judging you, judging me and thinking what a pussy I am for not standing up for myself.

I'm not normally a preachy gay, preachy gays make me heave. I don't think the world owes me anything for making me turn into such a raging homosexual. I do have a sense of humour about these things, and am usually the first to rip the piss out of myself for my stereotypically gay tendencies, but come along now. I'm not performing fellatio on anyone in front of you, I'm not talking about Barabara Streisand and I'm not snorting poppers in front of you, I'm telling my friends from school a story, there's really no need for strangers to pass comment on that.

And so the moral of the story is, next time you feel like taking the piss out of someone in a fast-food restaurant, remember the last time a pensioner looked disapprovingly at you for no reason and perhaps you will think twice. And if that doesn't change your mind, please fuck off and die. There, I got to say it after all.

8 comments:

  1. "I'm not performing fellatio on anyone in front of you"

    talk about a happy meal! xDD

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  2. Eeeeh Carla. There are no words. Well done.

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  3. just maybes stay away from the mayo if you see/do such things in mcdonalds. i'm sure you wouldn't be the first, anyway. ;D xxx

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  4. Oh Carla, I'm sure we all know I like my sandwich with a little extra topping...

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  5. Oy! You psedo-journalist! Don't you know your "hole's" from your "whole's" ??

    (and is that guy in the lovely lilac dickie-bow not gay then????)

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  6. pseudo* (oops!) luv you really!

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  7. Sincere thanks for that, I feel like I need to scrub myself till I feel clean again :p x

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