I'm walking back home a few minutes ago, as I do fairly regularly on a daily basis. As I'm coming up Broad Street I hear some guy shouting about.
Now this is a city, and quite frankly the day somebody isn't shouting about something is the day to be worried.
But it turns out he was shouting at me, he was shouting the various reasons why I should be giving him money to get to Lawrence Weston.
Now, I don't carry change and if I did I wouldn't give it to dickhead teen wankers demanding I facilitate their taxi expedition to some part of Bristol I couldn't give a fuck about, because that's some how my problem you don't have 97p.
I did the usual "sorry no change mate" routine which pretty much ends most awkward social encounters of these descriptions.
But clearly this dick wasn't quite aware of the social norms and started calling me all sorts.
Now I don't know about you, but when I want money to do shit, I go out to something called a "job" and "work" for it. I don't go around mouthing off to randomers because I'm a giant cock.
Even more to the point, I don't take taxis, I can't afford them even on two salaries, so quite frankly you can casually go fuck yourself if you think I'm going to pay for you to get up in one.
If you don't like it, well too bad, use your legs bitch and you'll be there in a few hours at best. Alternatively, you can go do one, why?
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LJ ItemID: 1466968
Tuesday April 16, 2013