Monday 29 November 2010

 My tendency to leave things to what (I see) as the last minute and actually leaving things until (sometimes) after what really is the last minute have become one and the same.  What I mean is, I used to panic about being late and ultimately end up being ridiculously early.  Over the years I have (a) grown tired of being ridiculously early for thing, (b) grown tired of waiting around for things to start – this was covered by (a) really, implied at least; and (c) talking to – more pertinently avoiding talking to – people, while doing (b) because of (a).  And just being tired.  I am making out like there was some big thought process behind all this.  Like I used flipcharts, a spreadsheet and perhaps even employed people to do a telephone questionnaire. I didn’t.  I just got increasingly chancy with how late I could push things without missing things – and how late one could be without annoying people who were waiting for you.

It turns out you can make most people wait infinitely for you.  And most things that aren’t flexible, you just don’t fuck around with.  Like a court case for someone’s murder – you’re not going to be late for that. Unless maybe you are the defendant, then you might try being 30 or 40 years late for the trial in a Ronny Briggs fashion, before somehow creating an idea that an old man shouldn’t be punished for a violent horrible crime he has never been punished for because he ran off without trial or punishment.  No, don’t do that: if you have bloody killed someone take the slap on the wrist.  You’ll be out in…I don’t know how many years a convicted murdered gets out of jail in, with good behaviour, but if I did that’s the amount of time that would be here at the end of this paragraph.

All this because I was nearly late for a haircut today.  And I wasn’t.  Well I was. But about three minutes late, and I wouldn’t have even been 3 minutes late if I knew my way around Manchester city centre.  Why would I?  I am only always there,  AND I was looking for a particularly well-known street.  Anyway, that drivel was all because I was nearly late.  Well – 3 minutes late for a haircut.  They didn’t even blink.  And still kept me waiting on bench settee.  No small talk there though.  I was privy to someone being told how to make small talk though.  The girl washing my hair was telling a new member of staff how to wash hair and when she had finished that she was telling her how to make small talk. 

When I realised what was going on I thought that I might have a way to learn small talk.  Casting off the shackles of 30 years of not being able to talk to people because of not knowing small talk.  However after listening to the ‘teacher’ explain what to say I remembered that it was not that I don’t know how to make small talk, it’s that small talk is really fucking dull with a stranger.  Small talk is not terrible with someone you care about – you want to know what they did at the weekend, you (nearly) care about what they had for tea.  But if you don’t know someone, you could not give a flying fuck where they are going for their next holiday.  Or more likely, where they are thinking of going.  Or they would like to go.  Or they would go if they didn’t have kids.

RIIIIIGHT, I’ve annoyed myself with this shit.  I’m out of here.

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