Αναρτήθηκε από: firfiris | Μαρτίου 8, 2006

The Nottingham Tales 2 (Part 2)

Συνέχεια…

On the bus I sit on the upper level right to the front so that I can look at the lovely view of a post industrial English city. Then a toddler comes and sits right next to me accompanied by two other identical children and their father. Either they are triplets or twins with one brother older. The oldest looks 5 year old at most. The little guy sitting next to me seems to be fascinated with my Pocket Pc (I turn on the Bluetooth device to make it flash its little blue light) while trying to act as If I know how to use it and I accidentally erase an mp3 file. Then the second child begins singing a nursery rhyme and is joined by his brother and father.
That is a beautiful moment and for some reason I feel my eyes water at the sight and sound of such beauty and harmony. Then they sing the theme song from Winnie the Pooh and without hesitation I close my eyes and join. I officially classified at that moment as a Grade A Fuck Up.
“And, nooooww, its Winnie the Pooh, and how do you do? EVERYBODY IS HAVING FUN AT POOH’S CORNER! WELCOME TO YOU AND HOW DO YOU DO?…”
When I open my eyes I notice children and father looking at me astounded. The shortest kid says “You got an awful voice mister!” dashing my hopes for Super Idol. “Awful voice” repeats the second child like a little cockatoo, and the third completes “Yeah! You shouldn’t sing!”
I always knew I was no Andrea Bocelli, but to hear that you got an awful voice in Dolby Stereo Surround is all the more disheartening. I get off the bus at the next stop which happened to bε my destination and avoid myself further embarrassment.
Where I get off there is always a street bum begging for money. The trick with them to avoid harassment is to avoid eye contact. I have nothing against street bums but when they are young and very capable of work I get infuriated for obvious reasons. This man should be in his early thirties but he looks older. He smells of marijuana, beer, and puke and I am pretty sure he could use some ointment. I try to walk past by him when he shouts at me.
“Excuse me Sir!” I have been in the UK for a whole year and this is the first time I have been addressed as SIR. My, my! That gives me an aura of nobility and royalty. Perhaps I should introduce myself as Sir Theo of Strovolo, protector of People with residing hairlines and Bluetooth Sticks! I choose to respond in a chivalrous manner too.
-Yes?
– I am very pleased to make your acquaintance Sir, (there he goes again) I was wondering if you could spare some change.
-I beg your pardon? (I say that with fake poise and a poor imitation of English accent, as if I’ve been insulted).
-I haven’t eaten since yesterday and I was wondering if you could spare some change to have lunch.
-Well, if it’s lunch you want come with me at the store and I will buy you lunch (there was a fish and chip shop next to the bus stop).
-To be honest Sir, (one more sir and I will start demanding from people to address me in my full title) I need money to buy some weed and beer.
He smiles back, he is missing a couple of teeth, his breath something less deadly than mustard gas, and expecting me to tip him for being honest.
Blood rushes to my brain, my heart beat rises and I feel exploding like Donald Duck. Then I gave him a speech that he would never forget and that would make my dear father proud.
-I will have you know, Sir, that I do not condone the use of Drugs for recreation, or alcohol as means of getting your daily calorie servings. You are pretty young and able to work and I am sure. If you get a copy of the Evening Standard you will find hundreds of jobs that even people with lobotomy qualify for. Money doesn’t grow on trees and definitely not in my pocket.
At this point he is trying to leave and I am following him to finish him off. All the anger from the Boot store mounts inside me and he is going to pay for it.
-My father left Palekhori, his village back in Cyprus, at the age of twelve and came to Nicosia, which is the Capital of the Republic of Cyprus, to work. He didn’t get married until he had gathered enough money to make a dowry for his two sisters and then he made himself what he is today. He has been working like an ox trying to put me through university and you expect me to give you his money, money that were intended solely for my education, while you are definitely capable for work, so that you can waste yourself with drugs and alcohol? Naaay! Nay I say! (I heard that expression when I was watching the House of the Lords on television) You have refused me buying you lunch thus offending me further and still you want me to spare you some change?
The man couldn’t take it any longer and fastened his pace away from me. Obviously the dull mornings with my further preaching were preparing me for this instance in life. After he got away for a good 30 meters he turned back, extending his middle finger and shouting “Fucking bastard!” I responded with the same courtesy. I rest assure I will not be hearing from him any time soon.

Advertisements

Responses

  1. eixe ena zitiano jiame sitn exodo tou panepistimiou. kathe mera i idia istoria. malista toutos en apaititikos «could u spare a pound?» mia mera apofasisa oti evarethika na ton akouo kai oti i pio kali idea itan na men mou xanazitisei. kathe mera gia mia vdomada elalousa tou «no, but i have a couple of pennies». meto peras mias vdomadas kai me mena na xefortonoume ola ta 1p coins mou pou to portofoli (yes yes yes!) estamatise na mou zita. to salio tou estixize pio polla pou to 1p pou tou edioun kathe mera:P

    fai en exo problima na tous agoraso oute ego, once in a while, alla real money pote en tous dio giati exo kalitera pramata na agorazo pou narkotika gia ton kathe mannokouroupetto.

  2. nekatsio tous oso den paei dioti i parapanw en tempelides kai alites. mia fora imoun me mian korou sto cinema jie arhisen enas jie elalen mas malakies ekatourisamen panw mas pou to gelio. edoka tou 2 lires gia to stand up comedy!

  3. Οι οποίες 2 λίρες φαντάζομαι δεν πήγανε για ν’αγοράσει ναρκωτικά και μπύρες;

    Μήπως το moral της ιστορίας είναι ότι τα λεφτά των γονιών μας είναι ok να τα δίνουμε σε ζητιάνους φτάνει να λένε μαλακίες;

    Τουλάχιστον ο ζητιάνος της ιστορίας δεν έλεγε μαλακίες.

  4. Και,for the record,δίνω λεφτά μόνο σε μουσικούς ή σε ανθρώπους που πουλάνε το Big Issue.

  5. ego eimai allis filisofias. ama xerw oti ta lefta den pasin se kalo skopo, toulahisto na fkalo to kkiari mou! an i malakies tou allou me diaskedazoun giati ohi? en opos to cinema ena prama


Σχολιάστε

Εισάγετε τα παρακάτω στοιχεία ή επιλέξτε ένα εικονίδιο για να συνδεθείτε:

Λογότυπο WordPress.com

Σχολιάζετε χρησιμοποιώντας τον λογαριασμό WordPress.com. Αποσύνδεση / Αλλαγή )

Φωτογραφία Twitter

Σχολιάζετε χρησιμοποιώντας τον λογαριασμό Twitter. Αποσύνδεση / Αλλαγή )

Φωτογραφία Facebook

Σχολιάζετε χρησιμοποιώντας τον λογαριασμό Facebook. Αποσύνδεση / Αλλαγή )

Φωτογραφία Google+

Σχολιάζετε χρησιμοποιώντας τον λογαριασμό Google+. Αποσύνδεση / Αλλαγή )

Σύνδεση με %s

Kατηγορίες

Αρέσει σε %d bloggers: