On Monday Pam aka Fuzzy Logic has a surprise for me in the office and this surprise is the Dieux Du Stade calendar 2007, which of course is a gay fantasy cliché and features French rugby players (some hot, some less so) in various homoerotic positions trying to lure the gays to spend money on it so that the French Rugby Association can buy padded helmets or wrist supports or new cartilage for their broken noses or whatever it is that rugby players need.
And Pam found this calendar in some guy’s that she’s sleeping with bathroom and confiscated it to bring to me.
At lunchtime I have to queue to get some cash out because I want to buy a Greek newspaper and the small newsagent that sells them doesn’t take cards and in front of me in the queue is some guy (30s, below average looking, not smartly dressed, likeable though) and in front of him using the machine is some girl (late teens, Muslim/Arabic, headscarf, hideous face, likeable in a pitiful way on first sight). And the girl is blatantly retarded and is taking bloody ages and keeps putting her card in and out and both the guy and me are getting restless and the guy sort of sighs out and starts pacing (with good reason) and then it all kicks off.
The girl turns around and gives him a really nasty look, a look that only somebody poor and ruthless can muster. She then starts shouting “you got a problem” in a heavy accent (let’s guess Bangladeshi) and the guy says “yes, we’re waiting here” in a different heavy accent (let’s guess Latvian). Then she goes off on one about how he should fucking wait and she’ll be done when she’s fucking done and he should fuck off. I estimate that the world fuck makes up about 65% of what come out of her mouth. The guy wisely chooses to keep quiet during all this. Then she accuses him of trying to look at her PIN number, which is obviously hilarious because seriously, do we really want to steal the £5 she’s got in her account?
By that point that girl has seriously disturbed me and I’m starting to have really sinister thoughts about her and everyone else similar to her: poor, uneducated, with a grudge against the world and a loud mouth. As I start picturing her without a head, I feel guilty and try to create some normality around her, so as to think of her as a human being again instead of this cash machine thunder bitch. Images of her playing with her little brother, listening to the new Backstreet Boys single with her best friend, worrying about an exam she’s unprepared for, her father and older brothers taking turns to rape her while…no obviously I’m still mad and this is not working.
I then walk to the shop, buy my newspaper and a 330ml bottle of prebiotic strawberry and vanilla natural flavour spring water and go back to work.
Then I go to the gym (legs, abs) and then I go back home and watch two more episodes of Desperate Housewives, which distress me because everyone is behaving like a complete bastard and there is high tension and mothers abandon their on a road in the middle of nowhere and bosses blackmail their employees and everyone sets each other up to destroy their lives. And I can’t help that this affects me even though I try to remember that this is just a script and none of these things are happening in real life. But this is definitely not what I want from some light evening entertainment.
Then I go online and download 10-15 Bruce Springsteen songs and listen to them and read the lyrics and wonder if I would be happier if I were living in a small American town in 1987 and I spent long afternoons driving a pick-up truck listening to Guns ‘n’ Roses or Poison or Van Halen with my girlfriend who would be combing her hair in the rear view mirror, but I probably wouldn’t, I would be as troubled then; maybe less aware, but still troubled. Then I go to bed.
I have 19 songs by the Cure and I’ve played them 97 times
I have 1 song by Curtis Mayfield and I’ve played it 2 times
I have 1 song by Cutting Crew and I’ve played it 23 times