And, yea, the ones bearing mothballs approached...
Tuesday, 15. July 2008, 22:35:54
....and God wept.
Tears of laughter, the mean git!
.
...Doesn't matter where. Doesn't matter when. Old people tell me things.
I do see old people. They're everywhere.
Imagine this - you're a doddery old lady or gentleman in your late seventies. You're at a shop. Perhaps you're feeling lonely. And rather chatty.
Do you:
a) Totter over to the nice girl stocking the shelves to engage in conversation under the veil of produce talk,
b) Try to spy a neighbour you've seen once,
c) Talk to random groceries,
d) Find a nice, friendly looking customer to make small talk with,
or,
e) Make a beeline for the sulky girl shooting looks of hatred at everyone, dressed entirely in black, skulls on her clothes, with gothy makeup and outrageous coloured hair who obviously wants to get her shopping and get the hell out as soon as possible?
Well, apparently quite a few choose option e. When I say a few, I mean a lot.
Everytime Mik leaves me in an aisle for one second, I am trapped by citizens of the elderly persuasion.
They potter over to me as soon as he's gone.
They tell me it's a wonder I'm not married yet, I'm obviously a good shopper and would make some man a good wife.
They ask me where the beetroot is, even when they've asked if I worked there and I've answered them with a no. They then proceed, after asking several times, to tell me how they use beetroot and how wonderful it is.
They inform me, in great detail, that the Soy Milk I'm buying gives them the most shocking diahorrea. And continue into the details, even though it's plain that the flavour of said milk is actually chocolate.
They tell me about their sister that they've not seen in twenty years, because she lives in Canada. But they never really got along very well, to be honest, and it all started back in '63...
They tell me that their daughter loves this kind of candy, but they prefer these ones because they suck off the chocolate and give the toffee to their terrier called Noodles. They got Noodles one day passing a pet shop. It's actually a very interesting story - they left their house, meaning to go along a different road, but it was blocked off, so they went down this road instead where they chatted to Mabel. And they walked down another road to just outside the pet shop...
Despite my protests that I do not like pork, they tell me their secret recipe for pork, which is incidentally the top-secret combination of pork chops and salt. Then they tell me the story of discovery for this profound recipe.
They tell me to eat this kind of fish because it's their favourite. I really should try it, no, honestly, it's lovely, I'd really enjoy it. (Because they know so much about me in the five minutes they've been jabbering on at me without me being able to utter a word).
I. Don't. Like. People! Is my attire, body language and overall demeanour something different to you people? Do you see smiles where there are growls? Rainbows where there are skulls? Where there are bits of random stuff in my hair, do you see daisy-chains?? WHAT?!! WHAT DO YOU SEE?!!
I'm not equipped to handle close encounters of the wrinkled-kind, it frightens me!
Tears of laughter, the mean git!
. ...Doesn't matter where. Doesn't matter when. Old people tell me things.
I do see old people. They're everywhere.
Imagine this - you're a doddery old lady or gentleman in your late seventies. You're at a shop. Perhaps you're feeling lonely. And rather chatty.
Do you:
a) Totter over to the nice girl stocking the shelves to engage in conversation under the veil of produce talk,
b) Try to spy a neighbour you've seen once,
c) Talk to random groceries,
d) Find a nice, friendly looking customer to make small talk with,
or,
e) Make a beeline for the sulky girl shooting looks of hatred at everyone, dressed entirely in black, skulls on her clothes, with gothy makeup and outrageous coloured hair who obviously wants to get her shopping and get the hell out as soon as possible?
Well, apparently quite a few choose option e. When I say a few, I mean a lot.
Everytime Mik leaves me in an aisle for one second, I am trapped by citizens of the elderly persuasion.
They potter over to me as soon as he's gone.
They tell me it's a wonder I'm not married yet, I'm obviously a good shopper and would make some man a good wife.
They ask me where the beetroot is, even when they've asked if I worked there and I've answered them with a no. They then proceed, after asking several times, to tell me how they use beetroot and how wonderful it is.
They inform me, in great detail, that the Soy Milk I'm buying gives them the most shocking diahorrea. And continue into the details, even though it's plain that the flavour of said milk is actually chocolate.
They tell me about their sister that they've not seen in twenty years, because she lives in Canada. But they never really got along very well, to be honest, and it all started back in '63...
They tell me that their daughter loves this kind of candy, but they prefer these ones because they suck off the chocolate and give the toffee to their terrier called Noodles. They got Noodles one day passing a pet shop. It's actually a very interesting story - they left their house, meaning to go along a different road, but it was blocked off, so they went down this road instead where they chatted to Mabel. And they walked down another road to just outside the pet shop...
Despite my protests that I do not like pork, they tell me their secret recipe for pork, which is incidentally the top-secret combination of pork chops and salt. Then they tell me the story of discovery for this profound recipe.
They tell me to eat this kind of fish because it's their favourite. I really should try it, no, honestly, it's lovely, I'd really enjoy it. (Because they know so much about me in the five minutes they've been jabbering on at me without me being able to utter a word).
I. Don't. Like. People! Is my attire, body language and overall demeanour something different to you people? Do you see smiles where there are growls? Rainbows where there are skulls? Where there are bits of random stuff in my hair, do you see daisy-chains?? WHAT?!! WHAT DO YOU SEE?!!
I'm not equipped to handle close encounters of the wrinkled-kind, it frightens me!
(57%)
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