CatSpace

Today I was bored on the way to town because there was nobody with me and the new Smashing Pumpkins record I was listening to is shit. The most unpleasant part of my journey to the shops in town actually takes place when I'm already there. It's the part where you have to dodge between the Primark-suited cunts who want to steal your compensation money for when you tripped over your own shoelaces at work. I thus conducted an experiment. I would walk one way past them with my iPod in, suffering Billy Corgans nasal rants about things nobody has cared about since 1992, and back again exposing my ears.

The journey to the shops passed incident free. In fact, one or two of the even fixed my gaze, clocked that I was listening to something, and passed me by, accosting another innocent shopper. Being in a great mood, I bought a really summery floral shirt, a bright, loud new-ravey t-shirt (NOTE: PREVIOUS POST ABOUT NEW RAVE STILL STANDS) and some cammo shorts than, in hindsight, probably belong on a member of Right Said Fred, but I didn't have a girl with me so two out of three 'aint bad.

So, bravely lowering my headphones like an astronaut lowering his visor after a space mission, I ventured into the unknown terrors of street salespeople.

Immediately I was approached by a dick trying to sell me a colouring book to raise money for children with no legs. I briefly considered handing this sap my money, before the stench of weed hit me. Either this guy was high to escape the mental scars that come from working with such children, or he was simply going to spend my money on more green. On I went.

The next candidate was suited and booted, probably by George at Asda. "Hello sir, how are you today?" "You don't care", was my reply. Honest to god. I was so proud. Sheepishly, he asked me "Would you be interested in instant credit at only 35% APR?". The use of the word 'only' is highly inappropriate in this case, but I was still in a good mood, dreaming of looking awesome in my flowery shirt and scoring from 40 yards in Los Angeles, so I let it slide with a subtle "No thankyou" and walked on.

A short distance on, some greasy hobo chick came up to me and waved her dreads in my face. "Would you please sign my petition, mate?". Thinking better of pointing out that I am not her mate, nor am I mates with anyone totally incapable of washing, cutting, combing, straightening or even noticing their hair, I ask her what it is about. "Animals. Global Warming. Bypass. Kyoto Agreement. Gay Rights. Free contraception. Free Satpal Ram. Honour Che Guevara. Animals. Fox hunting. Fur. Animals. Animals. Global Warming. Bypass. Animals." was her reply. Or something to that effect. Fighting an urge to kick her in the kidney and drag her to a shower, I strained out a polite refusal and was on my way.

Around twenty five millimeters later, I was approached again. This time, the guy wanted to know if I would take part in his consumer survey. I am a reluctant consumer. You may have got the impression from my comments about flowery shirts and Right Said Fred and hobo hair that I've suddenly turned gay; far from it. I am still the corporation-hating, anti-effeminate, supposedly socialist, politically confused liar that you've come to know and love. Therefore, I have little time for consumer surveys. I don't have any opinions on adverts because I pay no attention to them. I don't know what my favorite brand of Cola is because I buy the cheapest. I don't know who my favorite celebrity is because I think they are all cunts. Barely grunting at this guy, I trudge on.

Sir!

Oh shit.

Free sample of our new organic juice drink!

Oh, right, thats ace, thanks peon. The drink was actually nice. However, as I drank it, I had a horrible sense of forboding. If New Street on this day was a hurricane, I was in the eye, and about to emerge into a sea of...

"Excuse me, sir. Have you have a trip or fall at work in the past two..."

A swift punch to the teeth rendered him incapable of completing this most evil of sentences. He reeled back, shocked, as I went on the attack, a roundhouse kick worthy of Chuck Norris sending him careering through the window of HSBC. Having made an example of this enemy of mankind, a number of cheap suits fled my wrath, finding a Starbucks coffee infinitely preferable to Mortal Kombat against an angry anti-capitalist badass with gay shorts, and flowery shirt and an iPod in my pocket. I stood, bowed to my captive audience, and made my way to my train.

So, the lesson to be learnt here is that, if you do not have the awesome ninja skills of someone like me, then you should wear your iPod if alone and walking down the high streets of a major town during the day. You will save yourself a lot of bother.

<3
dotcat