"Everybody's Talking At Me

Manuel's magic muffs

"Here mate, check the huge Walter Mittys on yer woman!" said the taxi man driving me to work. It was early in the morning and I wasn't in the mood for a "we're all blokes here" sort of conversation. It as followed up with "I had this woman in the car the other night, fucking great she was, she didn't have enough money for the fare......" I switched off. I didn't want to hear anymore of his made up drivel. And he was smelly, and looked like a gargoyle with a carbuncle for a nose. Lies, lies, lies.

I should have said, "Shut the fuck up, you are full of shit and your lies are ruining the start of my day. The last time you "had" a woman was in your dreams, now fuck up and drive." But I didn't, obviously.

"Now, do you see that service charge? We aren't going to pay that, Okay?" said the nasty little woman on the phone who was booking her office Christmas party. Well done madam, you can look forward to some wonderful service come the 7th of December. And some festive "extras" in your soup as well. Happy Christmas, scrooge. Oh and get this, she let slip that her company are paying £25 per person towards the meal, leaving her with less than £10 to add on! Mean, mean, mean.

I should have said, "Listen here, you tight fisted scrooge with a void where your shame should be, catch a bloody grip to yourself. Not paying the service charge? Then take your tight ass else where as I don't need or want your business. I can fill your spot ten times over between now and the 1st of December." But I didn't, obviously.

"You want to try it on? You sure you don't want to try it on?" said the skinny sales assistant, who probably never asked his mother for a second helping of anything at the dinner table, as he sized me up and down. It wasn't that he was sizing me more than he was judging me. Was he calling me fat? Cheeky bastard. Let me tell you if XL doesn't fit me then I'm going on a diet for sure. I'm cuddly and proud! Cuddly, cuddly, cuddly.

I should have said, "Are you calling me fat?" And then broke down in tears wailing about glandular problems and not having been breast fed as a child. That would have put a downer on his perky day. But I didn't, obviously.

"A reservation? Why would I need a reservation on a Thursday night?" said the sneering and patronising man in Farahesque slacks and and bad sports jacket just before he was dumped into the section that time forgot. Wait there and think about booking next time asshole. Dick, dick, dick! (How many dicks is that? A lot! ) Name the film

I should have said, "Because without a reservation you aren't getting in. Now take your bad sports jacket and appalling slacks and fuck off to KFC you Moe Sizlack look-a-like son of a bitch. But I didn't because putting him in the section that time forgot was just as bad.


"Try the wine? When do I get to try the waiter?" said the frisky 50-something lady in front of me and her giggling friends. I went very red and said "eh um er um ha ha ha." Which reads much better than it sounded. In 20 seconds I went from being a cool, sophisticated, professional waiter (Ha!-LMM) to being a 14 year old teenage boy being asked if he had a girlfriend by his dad's mates! Not cool!!

I should have said, "eh um er ha ha ha." Because that is the correct answer to that situation. What the hell else would you say?

I'm off to sit in a darkened room and think about puppies and ice cream and Eric Cantona and all the things that make life liveable.