Offensively perky
God knows I don't like to be considered a curmudgeon, not least because I'm not exactly sure what the word means, but there's something about a perky person selling you sandwiches that calls down the red mist, not to mention a black mood.
I'm talking offensively perky, standing behind the counter, all young and pretty and full of promise and with white teeth and a complexion as yet unravaged by cares, worries or alcohol and plenty of late nights. Most offensive of course is that this package represents all the youth and promise long since fled from my life and just a smile and 'hello' was enough to make me want to vault the counter and fling stale baguettes at her.
Then there was the transaction. Normally I'm happy with grunting and pointing, but this was full volume announcement of price, article purchased (club sarnie), money tendered and change due, finished up with a 'have a nice weekend'.
Well, yes, if I was spending it in a room with you with the curtains drawn, it probably would be but adding insult (talking loudly because I look old/she's spotted all the hair in my ears and thinks as I've got a goat lodged in each lug-hole she needs to bellow) to injury (she would never have ever gone out with somebody like me anyway) was just too much.
Brought on the shudders, I can tell you.
Interesting accent, possibly American or Canadian but you never can tell these days, half of eastern Europe affects an American accent because they learned english watching movies, as opposed to the traditional way of huddling round the world service, hence decades of people coming to England speaking either newsreader RP or a strong Ambridge accent.
There should be different queues. A queue for those that want interaction, or for those that want grunting, or simply for those that want speedy service.
I'm being miserable. She was lovely…just too…perky. Mind you, if they could bottle that, the bloody sarnie shop would be even busier than it is already.
I'm talking offensively perky, standing behind the counter, all young and pretty and full of promise and with white teeth and a complexion as yet unravaged by cares, worries or alcohol and plenty of late nights. Most offensive of course is that this package represents all the youth and promise long since fled from my life and just a smile and 'hello' was enough to make me want to vault the counter and fling stale baguettes at her.
Then there was the transaction. Normally I'm happy with grunting and pointing, but this was full volume announcement of price, article purchased (club sarnie), money tendered and change due, finished up with a 'have a nice weekend'.
Well, yes, if I was spending it in a room with you with the curtains drawn, it probably would be but adding insult (talking loudly because I look old/she's spotted all the hair in my ears and thinks as I've got a goat lodged in each lug-hole she needs to bellow) to injury (she would never have ever gone out with somebody like me anyway) was just too much.
Brought on the shudders, I can tell you.
Interesting accent, possibly American or Canadian but you never can tell these days, half of eastern Europe affects an American accent because they learned english watching movies, as opposed to the traditional way of huddling round the world service, hence decades of people coming to England speaking either newsreader RP or a strong Ambridge accent.
There should be different queues. A queue for those that want interaction, or for those that want grunting, or simply for those that want speedy service.
I'm being miserable. She was lovely…just too…perky. Mind you, if they could bottle that, the bloody sarnie shop would be even busier than it is already.
2 Comments:
Although I feel as though I'm writing to myself when I post a comment here or there, I can't help but do it. It's almost like slowing down to watch an accident~ you know you shouldn't look, but you hope to see something gorey to tell your friends.
Anyway, I was having this very same conversation the other day~ why do men feel the need to tell me to smile? For example, I was sitting in a bar feeling a little sick after a day of watching football and drinking beer~ two things a girl can only take so much of~ when a guy walked passed me and said "cheer up!". Needless to say, I gave him a go-to-hell-look. Call me rude bitch or whatever you like, but if I feel like being a mope then let me! Why is it wrong to frown if that's how you happen to feel??
I think I may have vomited all over that perky girl.
Hmmm, looking back at my post, I'm not sure why "tell me" is underlined...weird.
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