No Thank You

I get mildly irritated by people who don’t say “Thank You” when you let them through. I do seem to spend an awful lot of time standing sideways on the pavement or walking behind street furniture to allow other people to pass.

(Yeah, Russ, that’s borne from your childhood insecurities, your constant need of acceptance from others and willingness to please other people at all times at the expense of yourself… Or it’s your strict catholic upbringing that makes you unnaturally kind to other people… Or… You just hate bumping into people and landing flat on your arse on the pavement…?)

Whatever, the reason, it really hacks me off. I always thought that “with age comes tolerance” but I just seem to be getting grumpier. But the nearest I’ve come to confrontation with these people so far is to just roll my eyes and mouth “FFS” (Obviously, not the letters FFS, – that would be weird) once they’ve passed and can’t lip-read me.

It’s worse when you let one person through and suddenly a flash mob appears and bustles past you without any acknowledgement of your kindness.

I’m pretty tempted next time to say: “A thank you would be nice!” But I will check on the size of the person first for self-preservation purposes, obviously. So, it will probably be a deaf one-legged gran, then?

Wot? “I’m a lover not a fighter” (Michael Jackson – “The Girl Is Mine”) which is a mantra I’ve used so many times – normally after someone’s clumped me around the head.

Which is good because they stop and say “Hey, isn’t that a Michael Jackson song?” And whilst they’re thinking of which one it is, I make my escape.

I’m tired of always being the one to move out of the way. At 6ft tall and 13st, I’m quite difficult not to see. I don’t wear a cloak of invisibility.

But even with Covid 19 social distancing measures, people still seem to think that they can walk through me, like I’m made from clouds or will just vaporise on impact.

Really, they should go to Specsavers, where naturally, I’ll be holding the door open for them. 


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