Wednesday, June 16, 2004

I Just Wasn’t Made For These Times 

It’s the tail end of lunch hour, and I’m sat in one corner of the canteen, splashing soup onto a magazine. At another table Spike is telling Mike about what he got up to on his holidays.

Mike: So did you then?
Spike: Oh yeah, you’ve got to when you do Vegas. It’s obligatory.
Mike: Good lad! We were going to get some of that in our pub. Bikini tops, silver hot pants and rollerblades. Just what you want to see when you’re supping ale.
Spike: What? In Blackburn?
Mike: Oh aye.
Spike: And a room at the back where they take you for a jump?
Mike: Aye. Be a bit uncomfortable, mind. That’s where they keep the boxes of crisps.
Spike: If you weren’t careful you’d end up with your nads stinking of cheese and onion.

They both roared with laughter. Then they looked over to check that I was enjoying their excellent joke too. I smiled weakly and waved my spoon to register my approval.
A lot of the time I really don’t feel like I fit in very well here. It's enough to make you stop and think. I guess I just wasn’t made for these times.

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