Gave Him a Look

Put yourself in her shoes. She doesn't know about this country and its customs. She's been here for two weeks. She only knows conversational English. She's in a strange land with a load of strange people. What do you expect her to do?

You've got to remember that other people think differently to you. They make choices that you wouldn't make. But that doesn't mean they're stupid, or heartless. It doesn't mean they should be mocked.

I want you to apologise to her.

Now.

I don't care. I don't care.

Yes, it will be awkward. But it's already awkward. You're going to have to... no, wait. You're going to have to be the bigger man.

Because it's the right thing to do.

She has been. She looks like she's been crying because she has been crying. You made her cry.

I know you didn't mean to. That's not the point. I'm talking about empathy, not... No. No, listen.

Do you remember last year when we went to see Hedda Gabler and that guy pushed in front of you in the queue? And you gave him a look, and he swore at you? How did that make you feel?

Well maybe he had a reason. Maybe he was justified. Maybe the man in the queue was totally in the right. His father might have died. He might have seen your look as a threat, I don't know.

The point is: he made you feel like shit. I know he did. I had to spend the whole evening with you.

Don't you think that, all things being equal, we should probably try to not make people feel like shit if we can help it?

Doesn't that sound like a reasonable thing to expect?

Well, how do you think she feels?

Yeah. Yes, maybe you're right. Maybe you are right. Maybe she's fine. Maybe it's like water off a duck's back, and she'll be out dancing tonight. Maybe she will.

But what if she isn't?

And what have you got to lose? Face? Composure? "Props" from the lads?

Just go over there and apologise. Make sure she doesn't feel like shit.

And make sure I don't feel like shit. Because, believe me, if you don't go over there and apologise, I will feel like shit. For a long time. Maybe so long that I won't want to feel like shit any more, and I'll get as far away from you as possible, just so the source of my shitness - my raison merde - isn't so oppressive.


I'm not a patriot. You know that. But I don't want this girl - I don't want anybody - to visit England and think that it's a land of arseholes. That's the message you're sending. You might as well be flying the arsehole flag right now. What you're telling her is that we don't care. We. Don't. Care.

Well, maybe you don't care. But I do.

So?

Are you going to do it?

I'm waiting.


...


...

I'm very proud of you.

Yes, it was very sweet.

No, I don't think she feels like shit.

And neither do I.

The film's starting in fifteen minutes. We should probably go.

Yes, you're still an arsehole.

***

That was interesting, wasn't it boys and girls?

No jokes in there. No explanations. No characters. No context.

Just some words.

I'm writing this at 1:20am on a Friday night. So, there's that.

I like to mix things up. That's me. I'm Jimmy Shuffle. That's what they call me.

I'm like 'Rowdy' Roddy Piper. Just when they've figured out the answers, I change the questions.

I mistyped that as "Roddy Pipet" just now.

I don't think 'Rowdy' Roddy Pipette would have been feared as a wrestler. Pipettes aren't intimidating. Unless they're full of infected blood. Or acid. But there's nothing rowdy about that.

Let's end this now. My bed is calling. It's muffled by pillows, but I can still hear it.

Good night, world. May you be bedecked with sunshine upon my return.