The Public

[FullAuto]

Recently in my job, I've noticed that although I come into contact with a broad cross-section of society, many of them simply fall into relatively simple categories. I'm not stereotyping them, they, by their actions, stereotype themselves.

 

https://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h109/FullAuto_2006/bigh.jpg

The drug addicts

They are generally in their 20s and 30s. Poor hygiene, and yet some of them have good manners. This is generally dependent upon just how high they are. They range from illiterate, to the functionally literate, to the aliterate (people who can read, but do not read anything but signs, and the occasional right-wing paper). We do have some functioning drug addicts (people who work a 9-5 job, have a family, etc), but not many. A classic specimen of the drug addict in the wild would be Rob.

 

Rob is in his late twenties. He enjoys stealing books and DVDs from us. He is so criminally inept at it that none of us have the heart to call the police (he's constantly wanted by them anyway). The last time he tried stealing a book, complete with instructional CD, he stuck it up his jumper, and it fell out as he was hurrying for the door. In true druggie fashion, he simply pretended nothing had happened, and carried on walking. Genius.

 

Rob enjoys bartering his shoplifting proceeds, including a worrying amount of bacon and chocolate, for money. He used to do this in the library, but we kept kicking him out, so he stopped. Now does his bartering outside. Rob's family life is as fragmented as a cluster bomb, post explosion. He has a son, who his mother does not allow him to see. He has a mother who he would kill, if his body were not so wasted, and a brother who is in and out of hospital.

 

Rob has great difficulty getting to the hospital, and with buses generally. He will come in and ask about bus times. We give him a bus timetable. He will ask about the bus times again, waving the timetable and saying "I can't make sense of this...eighteen fifteen, whatsat mean?" Bear in mind, this is when his veins are not full of magic powder. We will tell him the time of the next bus to his destination. Rob will go outside, and, whether his bus is in five minutes or five hours, wander off for about a hour and a half. He will then come back in, and ask about the bus times. He is chronically incapable of waiting anywhere, for anything.

 

When a bus does arrive, and if by coincidence (for nothing else can ensure they will both be there at the same time) Rob is there too, he will, if high, simply stumble into the side of the bus. On his good days, he will then slide along the flank of the vehicle, feeling his way down to the door. On his bad days, he will simply sit back down on a bench for five minutes, then wander off.

 

https://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h109/FullAuto_2006/drinky.jpg

The drunks

I don't mind the spaced-out heroin users, the twitchy speed freaks, or the dozy stoners. But I don't like the drunks. They occupy a sort of twilight world, where they dress respectably, wash semi-regurlarly, consider themselves law-abiding, and yet feel they can drink all they want, throw up wherever they want, and pass out at any time. The only real rival for the levels of aggression we see from drunks, are teenage boys, and most of them are just playing, like kittens, seeing if they have real claws.

 

The drunks will often look clean, but smell foul. A particular charm of this species is that they will leave a definite trail behind them. I crossed behind a gentleman early in my career, and the stench of stale urine made me retch. This was at several metres' distance. An unbelievable honk. When talking to these people, I have to hold my breath, or breathe through my mouth. Please understand, I'm not talking about homeless people, who do sometimes whiff something terrible, just pissheads. Some of them even have jobs.

 

Alcohol, has, sadly, taken its toll, and they are not the best sort of people any more, if they ever were. I asked one chap to desist from falling asleep, as it is a library.

 

"Is it!" he snarled.

 

I didn't have a comeback for that, surrounded as we were by shelves of books.

 

However, I do respect the work ethic that comes with being chronically refreshed. If you're rolling in to my place of work at 9.30, 9.45, stinking drunk, you must have been up at 6.30, 7ish, to get that way. Not for these red-faced swaying loons, rolling out of bed late on a morning and having a whisky, no sir. They get up early, and this is after staying up late, drinking aftershave and liquid soap the night before. My friends, its not for dabblers.

 

https://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h109/FullAuto_2006/Racism.jpg

The racists

Probably my personal favourite. Often sat reading the Daily Mail and, I'm glad to say, usually over the age of 40. Some of them are very literate and love reading big books (even if those books are Mein Kampf). They like nothing better than to coagulate in small groups in out of the way areas and discuss why everyone who isn't a shade of blinding white should be shot/sent to camps/sent back to where they came from/sold into slavery. And they will brook no dissent.

 

They often use charming archaic terminology. Words such as wog and darkie are perennial favourites. You'll also hear gyppo, Arab, Paki, Jew, etc used in a purely pejorative sense with joyous frequency. There is also a lot of relatively recent concern about Eastern Europeans (a classic being "Where are all these Poles coming from, eh?").

 

My clear favourite is a man called James. He's into his 60s, and easily the most vitriolic person there. He is disgusted with everyone who does not have the good sense to be white and British. He never fought in any wars, yet seems to have been in the British Army for approximately a hundred years, followed by another eighty years of working weeks and four-day weekends (yes, that's right. Saturday and Sunday. Four days.) to get everything he has today, unlike everyone else, who gets it all on a platter, especially if they are disabled/Muslim/black/gay/not-British.

 

Unfortunately, James was unlucky enough to have a heart attack one day. He threw up on the floor, and passed out. We rushed to his aid instantly, of course, and I definitely did not say "Silence is golden." at any point, and no-one at all laughed.

 

The special needers

These are not people who have special needs. These are people, from all walks of life who think they are entitled to use the toilet set aside for those with special needs. A typical conversation will go like this:

 

SN: "Can I use the disabled toilet?"

 

Me: "Are you disabled?"

 

SN: "No."

 

Me: "Well, then, no, you can't."

 

SN: "Why?"

 

I don't know if it's a secret cult, or if they believe those with special needs are a secret cult, or what. Perhaps when you lock the door behind you, a chandelier descends, goldfish populate the toilet bowl, and flushing plays Bach's Brown Symphony (not a real symphony, sorry) as the taps not only wash your hands with water but your face in the delicate scent of flowers (for her) or masculine musk (for him). Whatever the reason, these people were born believing they are entitled to use the special needs toilet, but without the special needs that entitle them to actually use it.

 

The odd thing is that the keys to these toilets are not expensive, or hard to get. You can buy one for a few pounds, or register with your local council and get them even cheaper. That aside, we have toilets both upstairs and down for people without special needs to use. The issue here is not toilet access, I feel. It's something else. Something hidden. Something no-one will speak aloud. Is it the leg room? I don't know. But I'm going to find out.

[Bomb Bloke]

(Drunks) They occupy a sort of twilight world, where they dress respectably, wash semi-regurlarly, consider themselves law-abiding, and yet feel they can drink all they want, throw up wherever they want, and pass out at any time.

Is it just me with "The Irony Of It All" playing in my head on reading this bit?

[Thorondor]

John Connor: We're not gonna make it, are we? People, I mean.

The Terminator: It's in your nature to destroy yourselves.

John Connor: Yeah. Major drag, huh?

::

 

By the way, you didn't, by any chance, ever come across that fellow who couldn't stop asking to take "The Catcher in the Rye" home, did you ?

 

https://www.paranormalhaze.com/img/misc/5-crazy-conspiracy-theories/14.jpg