When I’ve had a crappy day at work, there is nothing I want more than to get the hell out of there. All day, I will think of the moment when I get to pack away the laptop, put my flats back on and head home, possibly stopping off for a G&T or to visit the Zara sale en route…. Some days I would give up quite a lot to make this happen. The G&T or the Zara trip could go. I’d possibly take a pay cut sometimes, and there has been the odd occasion, on really bad days, when I’ve considered jacking it all in just so I can go home and sleep for a couple of weeks before starting my life over again to see if I can get a better result.
I don’t seem to want to go home quite as much as some people though, because as extreme as that last statement was (and I hope you know I was erring on the side of dramatic there) I’m not willing to risk actual death in order to get home a bit quicker, unlike some of the crazies who catch my bus. My bus and and many others like it, apparently. Some people are so desperate to get home that they will happily launch themselves straight into oncoming rush hour traffic when they see the number 50 pull up at the stop across the road, seemingly unconcerned about the possible loss of life that might ensue. I wonder what it is that makes them so desperate to catch that particular number 50 instead of the one that is due to arrive in another 4 minutes? There can’t be that many people who just remembered they left the iron on, can there?
I don’t know why, but these people really irritate me. I mean, it’s no skin off my nose if they get squished by an articulated lorry in their rush to board the 5.22 (not that I would want to see that, of course, or wish it upon anyone) but I can’t help but quietly roll my eyes when they dash past me in a mad panic towards impending doom. Something in me wants to purposefully get in their way and make them miss the bus just to be an arsehole. It really shouldn’t bother me as much as it does, and I take far too much pleasure in the act of sauntering across the road at my leisure and plonking myself down next to them when the bus doesn’t actually go anywhere as quickly as they thought it would. I’m a horrible, smug person on those days.
I think it’s partly because they’re so trapped in their own little world, like they think they’re the only people on the planet who might be in a rush to get somewhere. They’re the same people who do that annoying shuffle behind you in the queue, trying desperately to get past you, because they haven’t quite noticed that you and a hundred other people are all waiting for the same thing, and got there first. WE JUST HAVE MANNERS DAMMIT! Those people are often subject to an accidental jab in the ribs from my elbow as they try to stealthily sneak around me while I let people get off first. They’re also probably the same people who stand up and start opening the overhead compartments the second the plane touches down at the airport, despite the fact the pilot clearly asked them to stay seated until the seatbelt sign goes off. BUT THEY SIMPLY MUST GET TO THE LUGGAGE CAROUSEL FIRST, BEFORE EVERYONE ELSE, BECAUSE THEY’RE SO MUCH MORE IMPORTANT AND BUSY THAN YOU. Sit the f*** down will you. None of us are going anywhere for a good 15 minutes yet. Chill out.
Ugh. THE PUBLIC. I try not to hate them, but they make it so easy.
Remember friends, patience is a virtue!
Love,
Picking the Day 