On Saturday night I walked through town and had a couple of infuriating experiences. Firstly, you should see the hordes of youngsters chugging down alcohol at Cheadle Hulme station at half-ten; mental! There I was merrily standing, swaying on the platform all by myself enjoying the breeze and the cold when all of a sudden a trio of 16 & 17 year old girls come bounding up the stairs behind me clutching wine bottles, and digital cameras.
There they sat, in a waiting room with no door that smelt of piss, happily snapping away striking poses for each other. I tried to avoid their line of sight for as long as I could for fear of being roped into their photo shoot. Sure enough after a few seconds one girl in a green dress bounds up to me like a little brunette bunny, naïve to the perils of the thrills she so overtly advertises herself to, and asks me to take some group photos of them in the waiting room with no door that smelt of piss. I obliged for a quiet life, all the while being sound-tracked by New Order on my iPod. They then asked me if I wanted my picture taken. I say, “Nah you’re alright,” and left it at that. After this I relaxed in my original spot on the still deserted platform and settled again, hands wedged firmly inside my jacket pockets.
Five or so lads then come up, all about 17 or so, Smirnoff ices in hand, then about 5 more girls. This continued until there was (no exaggeration) about 25 or 30 youngsters, all clutching some form of medicine, all dressed beyond their years. The girls can get away with it, some of them look ok until you notice the way they shamble along, clinging nervously onto each other. The lads though, they look bloody stupid. I actually saw one kid; scrawny little sod, who had this waistcoat kind of thing on over a white long sleeve t-shirt, replete with skinny tie and almost unbelievably: trilby. He looked like a right donkey; probably didn’t have a prayer of getting into a club once he reached the city.
Anyway, I digress that wasn’t even one of the infuriating events I said happened. The first one happened as I got off the train at Piccadilly. This fat bald moron with skinny scarf dangling limp around his fat neck, eyeballs me as I near him and barges me with his fat shoulder. I mean what’s the point? I ought to have grabbed him by his stupid skinny scarf and rammed my index finger into his eye socket. I ought to have stuck a pencil in his fat neck, the imbecile. Of course I would never dream of engaging in such an act; but we have all felt this rage haven’t we? With hindsight, I’m not entirely sure what it was that so angered me. It may have been his stubborn refusal to deviate from his course, possibly his designer facial hair or maybe the pungent whiff of after shave. Most likely though was the unsettling feeling I got from his fat head, in that it seemed somehow condescending. I almost felt as though he’d made himself that way just so he could barge people in the shoulder. It’s hard to explain.
The second infuriating event took place after I exited the train station and crossed the road. An adolescent in his little black hatchback is at a red light at the pedestrian crossing, of course with his fit girlfriend (these kinds of idiots only have fit girlfriends it’s the law or something). Anyway he gets all aggressive and revs his engine at me as I cross in front of him. I stop in the road and eyeball him when he actually surges his 1-litre hot-rod in my direction. Of course he stops short of making contact but again; what’s the point? It isn’t even like his girlfriend was impressed by his intimidation either; you should have seen her, she couldn’t have slumped down into her bucket seat any quicker. I ought to have smashed his windscreen in with my foot then scraped a shard of glass into his face or something. Of course I’d never dream of engaging in such an act; but some rather more unsavoury characters just might have. It’s difficult to express how irritating these people can be. If only he’d enlisted in the Pedestrian Proficiency Programme earlier in his life eh?
