Brown globe tripper
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| Swansea |
I have grown up on a nourishing diet of British authors. Starting with Enid Blyton, as a child… Wodehouse, Pratchett, Heyer were all staple. In my imagination, for all good purposes Britain was - as a popular stand-up comic put it- my second ‘motherland’. When I started living in Europe/UK I realized that I would indeed enjoy it much. But, for reasons I hadn't fathomed yet.
I hadn't been there too long before I began to bump into grade one morons with surprising regularity. So much so that one could almost turn dealing with them into an art form. At any rate, they unwittingly appeared to provide much fodder for amusement. Many times it was hard to tell if people were being plain ole grumpy or if they were crossing a thin red line. Nevertheless, they helped tickle me no end. Here are a few instances that had me rolling-
Wales- defending coffee
On a cold autumn evening, after work I grabbed a quick cappuccino before I hopped on to the bus heading home. The bus conductor, a vile prune created a minor furore at the sight of the world’s best coffee ever (from a little coffee shop in Swansea). The blameless coffee appeared to have offended him to no slight degree.
“You are not allowed in here with that”, he sneered.
In return, I managed a faltering smile and began to say, “Ok, I’m sorry, I will get off at the next stop”. But before I could, he interrupted rather indecorously, “We don’t allow it because you may spill it on someone and burn them”
Really? On a near empty bus with 10 feet between me and the next person?
Thoroughly irked, not so much by what he said but by the way he said it, I had a good mind to lean both me and my cup slightly southwards towards him and do him a bit of no good where it really hurt. Barring that, to at least, make my intentions known to this repugnant number one enemy of glorious coffee. I was much inclined to quip, “The only place any scalding hot liquid is considering going, is down”.
Sadly, I am a firm believer of thrift. Being more than a little economical with courage, I merely glared at him. On second thought, at the next stop, in my haughtiest voice declaimed, “What, Sir, you need, is a correspondence course in customer service,” and fled, before my nerve completely deserted me.
Somewhere in Austria- no pictures please or no please
“Are you taking my picture?,“ growled the giant through clenched teeth, inches away from my face.
“I’m sorry, what?,” I stuttered, taken aback
“You were taking my picture, “insisted the hostile fella.
“Erm.. I’m sorry, was I?”
“Yes you most certainly were.”
“But why?” I asked mystified.
The chappie persisted in his accusation of my apparent wilful wrongdoing, “You can’t have me in the picture without my permission,”
Enlightenment dawned. This bleary-eyed good man, I gathered was under the mistaken impression that I was some form of foreign paparazzi and that he (in his alternate reality) resembled, nay was Ryan Gosling or something.
“True, true, but I wasn’t taking your picture, I was trying to take their picture,” I offered mildly, pointing at my two somewhat flamboyant Indian friends ( 2 feet to his right behind him) in the midst of striking a ridiculous pose at the other end of the busy pedestrian crossing.
Not satisfied this exemplary human being made a grab for my camera. After a thorough perusal, finding nothing, he shoved it back with a dissatisfied grunt clearly finding it difficult to reconcile with this unforeseen unpopularity.
Thumping the camera, I could only murmur, “Oh my, there must be something wrong with the camera and such a pretty face too”.
Swansea- where minding your own business can get you into trouble
Standing in lines in bus stops in Wales bored me silly. Unlike in India, there is zilch shoving or jostling to claim an empty spot. Buses, other than in peak hours, usually run to less than full capacity and you are more likely than not to get a seat even if you get in last. It was no fun at all.
And so, at my stop, I usually stood apart and listened to music on my ipod preferring to be the last one to board the bus. Occasionally, I would look on with indulgence at all of the three or four people at any given point who formed a neat file in order of arrival. On their part, most passengers returned the polite interest.
My rebellion at pointless queues however one day managed to tick off a prim lady. She decided then to put straight the poor obviously -can’t- tell -one –end- of–the- line –from- the-other me.
“This is the line. You have to get in line” enunciated, the remarkable woman slowly in case my addled brown brain found it too hard to follow.
Genuinely pained by this unthinkable suggestion I proffered regally, “But, but with the common people, must I?”
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On my travels in India and outside, I’ve met all sorts of people…kind, god awful, good people in foul moods, horrible people in worse. The not nice bit played itself out typically as mild or passive aggressive bigotry in Europe. In other parts of the world, I noticed, similar prejudices. I am probably guilty of a few myself. That said, I’ve been fortunate enough to become acquainted with scores of beautiful people. Many of whom have gone on to become good friends. These bonds I hope to cherish for life. As for the others, I’m much obliged for helping plump my fount of fun stories.
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