… take me to your larder.
So I looked at the bitch, and she looked at me, and I know that all she knows about me is what it says in the company files, which is fuck all, and I know she is judging me on looks and other things, and I know all the rest too, I’ve see all the episodes and all the re-runs a thousand times.
“Oh the gift that God would gi’ us, to see ourselves as others see us”
Well, if it is a gift I have it, and it may be a gift in the sense it was given, but of value, no, not a lot.
I know my age, I can remember like it was last week being 15 and thinking that being 40 was some unimaginable distance in the future, and now it is over a decade in the past… OK I my not look bad for my age, but I’m a long way past looking youthful.
I know this bitch is looking at me, in her 30’s, and she is seeing a skinny old man that don’t seem to amount to much, is junior to her, and on less money, maybe not washed up and on the beach, but, in woman’s parlance, there are no new chapters to be written.
And, I get where she is coming from, yeah, she can think all those things, it is not entirely unjustified, and yet…
… and yet she will never do 1% of what I have done, and yet her life(TM) has already pretty much passed her by, and yet despite having 20+ years on her, she is the one who is old before her time, not me.
I dunno if I am pissed or rueful or amused at her judgement of me, shall I say because her judgement is so wrong, or so wide of the mark, or so at odds with my own judgement of myself… that last one leaves me open to the exact same criticism I would level at her.
I was transported back in time, some snooty cunt and his snooty cunt wife, better than everyone else because they had money, sat on the aft deck of their 25 metre diesel yacht pissed because they are still tied up to the quay, although there is still posing, instead of being in a bay somewhere at anchor, because the holding tanks are fucked.
Ships, you see, have everything, they don’t just float and have motive power, they have power generation, ventilation, heating, A/C, potable water systems, and of course waste water and sewerage systems… and waste water and sewerage goes in to holding tanks, to be discharged at sea for free, or for a fee by a tanker on the quay.
Yours truly was called in to sort it, Mono progressive cavity pumps, wonderful fucking things, they’ll eat and pump almost anything if you don’t mind the wear and tear, and one of the signs you will always see on yachts is the one in the bogs that say do not put your fucking sanitary towels and tampons down the fucking toilet.
So the holier than thou rich cunt and his rich cunt wife object to everything about me, I have to walk past them to get to the machine rooms, I wear overalls, I work for a living, I am going to but my hands elbows deep into their shit and piss, so the same gift that allows me to see what the bitch today is thinking is at work there, but these cunts crossed the line, by ignoring me, who was stood there, and instructing the captain to ask me how much bloody longer this was going to take.
You can tell him and his wife, I tell the craptain, that it depends, see, my hourly rate just doubled, because I don’t like being treated like dirt, and you can either accept that, or tell him and his wife to get down there and fish around in their own piss and shit, and pull all the fucking sanitary towels that his wife flushed down the fucking toilet out of the Mono pump and pipework, assuming they are qualified, and have spares, or they can just sit here tied to the quay for the rest of the charter.
The bitch today, I’ll give her her due, judgement of me aside, was quite pleasant and sociable, so she didn’t get any of my attitude, which also means she didn’t get anything to cause her to re-evaluate me.. well, not much.
“So how about sacking me and re-employing me at a decent wage” I tell her… LRFH, big shit eating grin on my face.
God damn but I have said that or a variation to so many employers, got something for you, the boss says, I look all excited and say oh goody, what is it, a P45 (the form you get when you terminate employment somewhere) boss looks at you strangely.
Hey Houston, we have a problem, I don’t think this employee gives a shit.
See, all these employees in the corporate hive, like this bitch, they have adapted and evolved all these facial expressions in the social pecking order, and it is like watching monkeys in the zoo, one thing it ain’t is natural or free expression.
Me, I grin a lot, I chuckle a lot, I laugh quite a bit, cunts tell me they can’t read me, my face is so expressionless and closed and hard, I look in the mirror and think WHAT THE FUCK, I got one of the most open and expressive faces going, that’s one of these reasons there are still almost no lines on it in my mid fifties, the entire fucking thing is motile and used.
But then again, my expressions bubble up from within, they aren’t a mask in an artificial social language that signifies nothing.
…that’s why I was pissed at the bitch thinking I was the one who was washed up and past it, bitch I *still* got more fucking life(TM) in me than you, old way before her time, watching the shit that doesn’t count and long since ignored and pissed away the only stuff that did, it’s gone and she doesn’t even realise, because she never knew it was there.
Fuck it, I sit here typing this shit with a shit eating grin on my face, and I am talking literally, not figuratively.
But then what do you expect from an asshole who had a tee shirt at 15 that said.
I’D RATHER LAUGH WITH THE SINNERS
THAN CRY WITH THE SAINTS.