One of the responsibilities of my job is occassionally I have to help out with something on site with the customer. I kind of look at it as a perk – gets me out of the office. Today I went to Rhyl to do a bit of networking. Wasn’t expecting to be there all day, but I was. Nevertheless, I had to get the train home.
Rhyl’s a bit of a dump (or the centre is, to be fair. There are some nice places if you look hard enough) and the station is no different: a chav infested hell-hole with dead seagulls. As I was to spend over a half hour in there, I escaped to the shop to buy Nuts, plugged in my music, and hope their whining and constant happy hardcore remix of “From Paris To Berlin” would cease.
It didn’t, and the fact that I was reading a magazine that they took exception to. These two girls walked over, sat besides yours truly, and did something chavs around the country never do: take the moral high ground.
“Here, you get pleasure looking at that?”
I thought I came back with a witty retort.
“I need to get pleasure out of that, I don’t get it from looking at you.”
I thought it was quite witty, why? She responded with typical chav insult.
“Yeah well, fuck off you ugly shit. Bet nobody finds you attractive you fucking ugly fucker.”
Now, herein lies my main two weeknesses: my rambling and my lying. Normal people would give it a rest. I conjoured up a story that ended up getting me dug into a hole.
“I’m actually engaged to be married, so somebody finds me attractive”
“Oh yeah, well where’s your ring?”
“Umm, it fell down a drain at a petrol station.”
“Why were you at a petrol station.”
“I was filling my car up with petrol, dickhead.”
“Oh can you drive?”
“And where do you live?”
“So why you getting the train then?”
It hurts. I’ve been outsmarted by a chav. I am so ashamed. I have a degree, the only “degrees” those chavettes have is the 90 degrees between their right and left leg every nights. And yet, my IQ of 135 was beaten by their combined IQ of 6. I’ll never show my face in public.
To avoid such embarrassment again, I’d like to ask all men: how can we justify reading men’s mags?
In other news: to all my readers in Australia – bad luck. This I think is the first year that the Aussies haven’t been champions in a major sport in ages I think? Correct me if I’m wrong, but since the Ashes and the Webb Ellis Trophy are over here, and there’s no chance of you winning the world cup, just what are you good at?