She Threatened To Smash My Face In

Writing

Who walks into a shop to buy some Christmas baubles for their tree and instead has ‘you’re a f*cking b*tch’ screamed into their face as ‘Jingle Bell’s’ plays in the distant background? Only yours truly ofcourse!

Nothing reminds me more of the season of giving than being on the receiving end of the odd curse word, tirade of insults and that all too familiar tsunami of spit. It’s never a dull moment if you’re me in the shops I can assure you of that.

Let’s rewind for a moment, it’s Friday, everyone loves a Friday (unless of course you work weekends, then it sucks to be you). And what better way to kick off the start of the weekend, and the start of your Christmas shopping, than with a wander around overpriced shops? Doing exactly this, last Friday afternoon was rather boring, yet in doing so, I was content within my mundane little bubble until it was abruptly popped by an aggressive ram to the back of my Achilles heels by a stranger’s pram. The force so strong it made the Trojan Horse look like ‘My Little Pony’. I ignore this ‘accident’ from a fellow shopper, perhaps they had a spasm, slipped on a banana peel, had a moment of utter delusionment and unknowingly forgot their manners. And thus, giving them the benefit of the doubt, I continue to rummage through the tat on the shop floor.

No sooner had the pain dissipated from my heels than had it returned again, like an unwanted smell wafting, which you somehow find yourself consistently down wind of. This time I grit my teeth, crumple a pasty paper mache angel decoration in my palm to a pulp and turn to the perpetrator of this unforgivable act.

I thought pigs couldn’t push prams? I say internally as I give the doting new mother a look like she’s just killed my family pet. No amount of make up disguises an ugly personality, with her overlined lips she seethed through gritted teeth for me to ‘not bother giving her dirty looks as she said ”sorry”. To which I blankly stated ‘I wouldn’t, if your pram push wasn’t intentional’. And to this she erupted like a flantulent St Helens. Hotheaded and rough af, she proceeded to storm around the shop like a bull in a china shop spitting verbal abuse at me from left, right and centre. ‘F*cking b*tch this, f*cking b*tch that’, I wish I’d brought my swear jar for this lovely lady.

Before I’d even had a chance to register what was even being said to me, I watched in shock as other shoppers stood from a distance with both caution and concern at the behavior of this show up. I look around me, I too am in shock at this individual’s escalation from 0 to 100, afterall she was the one who rammed me. Eager to diffuse the situation, my attention turned to try and find the shop assistant before matters truly got out of hand. I spotted the manager but on first glance thought she was a mannequin thanks to her lack of expression, concern or action for what was unfolding before her vacant eyes. I pleaded for her to call security as I truly feared for my safety as the headless chicken of a mother hen rampaged through the store, a hurricane chicaning, refusing to relent. The shop manager,  to my utter astonishment, proceeded to flat out tell me that I was making the situation worse. ‘How could a mother with a pram do you any harm? I’m not calling security’. Was her phrasing. I’m sorry but just because you’ve a pram doesn’t making you bloody Mother Theresa. You can’t judge books by their covers. With this I was truly deflated, my safety means nothing to nobody. Had this aggressive individual spoke to the manager or one of her colleagues how I was spoken to, getting up into my face at a point,  I’d like to hope she would’ve had the respect and decency to call security in that instance. But for me, just a ‘shopper’ I’m somehow the problem?

‘Well Merry Christmas to you ya filthy animal! Your shop sells cheap tat anyway!’ I should’ve said, yet with an overwhelming feeling of disappointment and sadness at the event which had just unfolded I left the shop several minutes after my aggressor stormed out at the sound yet unfortunately not the appearance of ‘security’ at my request.

Sitting on a nearby bench to the shop I reflected and wondered had my actions caused such an explosive aftermath? Or can you truly be caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time? Should I have just not turned around when she bumped into me? Was it really an accident?

How can you not turn around if you feel a thump to your legs? If it was an accident why did she do it twice and at such force? Besides from the way she reacted to my turn around said it all. She was quite simply someone with no manners. If she wanted passed, couldn’t she have said ‘excuse me’? But at the end of the day it’s not my job to teach someone manners, and unfortunately the reality is is that sometimes you may find yourself on the receiving end of this. With that aside what hurt me the most was the lack of consideration given to me by the shop manager. Whether I’m a customer who enters your shop to buy a £1 item or £1,000 item, shouldn’t I be treated with the same respect? Isn’t that what all companies looking your custom want to portray, so you shop with them? That they care for you? The takeaway message from that event is that you need to take care of yourself. Not in a  selfish way but have some respect for yourself and your own well-being. Know that how you handle difficult situations says alot about your character aswell as the others involved.

I hope you don’t have the experience I had too often, and that Santa brings you something a little better than a chorus of cussing this festive season.

Merry Christmas! x

 

 

 

Does Equality Really Exist?

Writing

I ask myself this question as I’m swiftly ushered out of my own workplace by rather hench looking security guards an hour earlier than I should be, because an A-list celeb is coming in shortly to do a quick Q+A session on the release of their new album and no stragglers must be lurking round corners trying to get a quick pic with the megastar.

 

Not that I’m complaining about leaving work early, as if! But instead, I’m questioning the value placed on me – the staff member as oppose to the visitor – a temporary guest. Am I not worthy of seeing them in the flesh? Am I not worthy of breathing the same air as them? I know we’d like to believe that it’s actually because we they don’t want some psycho stalker maniac fan getting too close so they filter the Q+A audience to avoid this, but a part of me struggles to believe the reason is solely this. Am I simply not valued as highly as the celebrity? How can you say we’re equal if they’ve flown in on private jet, have been chauffeured around all day and now have most of the workplace exiting for the evening?

 

I have no issue with the celeb by the way, they’re just doing their thing, but moreso with society on how we value one person more than another. This sadly is truth. We live in a world where we want to believe that everyone has an equal shot at success, were everyone has manners and respect, treating everyone equally and fairly. Not to be a Debbie downer but I don’t think this is 100% the case, infact I would go as far to say that it’s not even 50%.

 

I think the ugly truth of the matter is that it comes down to what qualities do we truly value in people? Intelligence, good looks, athleticism, wealth…..? Atleast this seems to be the case in the society I live in. But what about morals and altruism? Are they characteristics of the weak, the overly sensitive? Why are they overlooked?

 

From rags to riches, to cultural classes, throughout our lives we are categorised in terms of our quality/value. As we are individuals, can it therefore be said that each of us have different qualities or even further, different levels of quality? Is a murderer, in your eyes, equal to a doctor, the Queen equal to the commoner, woman equal to man? Civil partnership equal to marriage?

 

If we are so similar in our qualities are we so similar in our flaws? Is killing one person not as bad as killing several? Is killing an animal lesser than that of a human? Are animals equal to humans? 

 

There are so many questions surrounding this idea of ‘equality’, afterall it is just an idea. Because if we were all treated as equal, I wouldn’t be sitting here writing this post an hour early.

 

Am I just feeling sorry for myself? Do you think equality exists?

The Inferior Female

Writing

Stature slender,

Pitch higher.

A non-male gender,

So he must be higher.

 

Physically inferior,

Sit still and look pretty.

Don’t question the superior,

You’ll only look silly.

 

Beauty over brains.

Man over beauty.

I’m not a feminist,

But a minority of men give me reason I should be.

 

Are you threatened by my ability?

I know power incites greed.

Don’t you encourage a bit of competition,

From someone who doesn’t have something swinging between their knees?

 

Oh little men,

Of Mice and Men,

Are you really a man or a mouse?

I hope the rat race has served you well, with the car, the cash, and the house.

 

But what about the love from a woman?

Afterall, without a female, you would have no life.

Even if your mother didn’t love you enough,

Then perhaps maybe does your wife?

 

Let me be clear in my intentions,

No gender is better than another.

I have mentioned what I have mentioned,

Because recently I’ve been stung by the male gender.

It’s only the minority that will ever incite hate.

This poem is highlighting the bed that they’ve made.

 

No gender is better than another,

Whether you’re female, male, non-binary or trans.

I feel the majority of us are not sexist to eachother.

I really do hope you will agree with that.

 

The poem above was written from a place of hurt and discontent. In the last couple of weeks I have had several encounters with men who have treated me inferiorly.

How would you feel when going into a shop to buy a water bottle and being told in a non-joking manner that you should do ‘phone sex’ by the till keeper? Or being called a ‘stupid bitch’ because I couldn’t hear what a window cleaner was saying?

 This poem is not to highlight that I feel all men mistreat women. Good men, which do exist,  certainly do not mistreat women or any gender for that matter. But I felt the need to share my annoyance by the small few that do. The poem is a way to get it off my chest.

Thank you for reading.