After barely blogging these last few months, I had planned to see the year out with bang. A ‘round up’ post of the big thoughts that defined 2010, namely, that instead of having a second child within the seemingly mandatory ‘two year gap’ could I just buy more mirrors and teach him that his reflection is in fact a new sibling? And, if you write a blog post but fail to comment on anyone else’s, does anyone hear your blog post fall?
But sitting down to write, I got a little waylaid by the feeling, once again, that I was mad and the world was full of fucktards.
Because on my way to the library I stopped for a coffee and a barista in a beret made me a Cappuccino instead of a Latte, which I would have happily just drank had I not watched his eyes dart from side to side to check no one was looking then scramble for a lid to mask his mistake before handing me my ‘latte’. The mild deception irked me and I found myself saying, with mock innocence, ‘Oh, is that my latte? I thought it was a Cap…’
Which meant that he had to make me another one, which I would have only felt slightly foolish about, had he not made me a fucking Cap again. By this stage, coffee starved and back breaking under the weight of my overladen backpack, I would have gobbled that Cap in five seconds flat, but, realising his repeat mistake, he tipped it out before I could even speak up. So three fucking attempts later I finally had my froth free coffee in my hot little hands, but not yet coursing through my body so it was no surprise that by the time the cheery chirpy Christian man (I overheard him making church arrangements) waiting next to me openly gave me a ‘look’, passing judgement on the vicious snarl I just gave the beret barista for making me wait so fucking long, I was totally pissed off.
Trudging up the ramp to the library bent over like a peasant under the weight of poverty (only I was bent under the weight of relative privilege) I furiously cursed the Christian for glaring at me while I was rude to the coffee man. What right did he have? Is that really what Jesus died for, so you could pass open judgement on those who can’t match your Bex like cheer after being forced to wait through the pain of THREE coffee cock ups? I don’t think so. And hasn’t he ever heard of subtly? From the way he bounded up to the counter two seconds after he placed his order, stood smack bang in the middle of everyone’s way and said “I’m fine, I’m fine” even though bounding up expectantly to the counter seemed to suggest he was not in fact fine at all, I seriously doubt it. But did I make him aware of my judgements? Did I make it known that he looked like a classic passive aggressive the way his obnoxious actions indicated one thing and his cheery chirpy mouth espoused another? No, no I did not. I did my judgements in private, storing them safely away in my head so I could post them publically at later date. So stop glaring at me asshole.
And as if that’s not enough I enter the library, back still breaking under the weight of my privilege, coffee in one hand, a pile of audio books in another, staggering to the counter only to have my precarious pile of audio books come crashing down dramatically all around me. My back is so sore I can barely comprehend having to bend down and pick them all up, when the librarian informs me that I cant even return them at the counter anyway, I have to take them to a fucking automated Do-It-Yourself chute out on the street. What the hell is this? Mechanisation gone mad? Why have gainfully employed librarians handle book returns when you can get the general public to do it themselves? And what? Save two minutes of librarian labour that you can instead funnel into the fundraising department and see the next budget come down in surplus and win efficient management award for your labour saving and cost cutting techniques? Well guess what? It’s a government funded library dickheads, save your petty assed efficiency for the day you defect to the private sector.
And then, I sit down, happy to have finally found a nice spacious desk to work at, and what do I hear? In a library? Nail clippers. Yep, fucking nail clippers. Behind me there is a young lady, loudly, snip, snip, snipping at her fingernails in the library. And where is she putting these discarded pieces of human growth and refuse? On the floor. So not only is she shattering the silence with the sound of her incessant clipping, she is using the library as her human waste bucket. God help me if she decides she needs to take a shit.
But worst of all is that despite these encounters with fairly harmless fuckards, I am the one left feeling like a badly behaved little brat. And here is the greatest irony of all, I sat down to compose a blog post for my annual mix CD, which I titled, “Happy People Dance”.
Stay tuned for that happy day folks.