Yet another from the most, errm, popular jottings series, this arose from my trying experience yesterday at the Play Zone and Food Court at Inorbit Mall, which has led to me currently asking folk to repeat themselves louder when they attempt conversation with me. Here goes:
I love that you carry off the chudas with skinny fit jeans and a tshirt so wicked it should come with an above 18 warning for onlookers, and I love that your hair is every colour it never was through your genetic coding, but can you please please please tell me why you agreed to marry the paunchy, balding number trailing behind you, holding all your bags looking to all purposes like he would rather be in a dungeon with someone administering the cat of nine tails on him.
This place is already well beyond the permissible decibel limit, your braying is only doing bad things to an existent migraine and nothing to make you seem cool and with it, so stop with the loud talk peppered with the profanities right now. You aren’t sounding cool, you’re just making me want to wash your mouth out with soap.
Is that food just for you, or has everyone’s food migrated to your table?
Lady when you push and shove little children in order to get your child first in the line for the train, I pity them for the times you wont be around to bully other kids on their behalf. They’re so gonna be pounded into the ground with little fists then not knowing how to fight their own battles.
Giggly gang of girls, wearing dark eye make up, nails coloured shades more suitable on corpses and clothes so tight it must make inhaling and exhaling difficult, kindly explain why is it that you have paraded past the food court four times for no discernible reason. Maybe this is the way you work off the one chip you shared and ate for breakfast.
There are bins and you are supposed to offload the used trays from your table into said bins to keep the place nice and clean and neat and also to make life easier for the elves in overalls moving around cleaning up spills and wastage. It won’t take a second, and it really defines your social conscience to me in a way your Chanel glasses and that LV bag wont.
Yes, this chair is free, and so is the next and it is so nice of you to ask if it is before you take it from my table, it would be nicer if you put it back from where you took it once you’re done with it.
I don’t doubt that you are very much in love. Or lust. Or both. But reserve the PDAs for when you get a room. You have a young boy looking on at you and asking me whether it is allowed to do kichu kichu when eating food, and I have to promptly launch into a lecture on hygiene and food habits and deviate the focus from the kissing on display.
Young man, you with the incredibly narrow waistline that has caused me to double over with spasms of jealousy, skin fit tshirts were not invented for the likes of you. You might want to consider the fashion alternative of layering said skin fit with a nice preppy checked shirt, worn over slightly comfort fit jeans to bulk you up. Right now I quail when you pass in front of the airconditioning vents and wonder if you would get blown right off the floor.
Ye 20 something with the nice face, and the sunny smile, you brighten my heart with your cheerfulness. I catch a glimpse of a me a decade ago in you and I wonder where life will take you. And whether it will let you continue smiling as radiantly as you do now.
And parents of tantrumming child wanting more of something or something that is unavailable, don’t look so embarassed. He’s a child. He’s entitled to a tantrum. Frogmarch him to a corner, sit him down and calm him down. No one is judging you here. We’ve all been there, done that, and have the scars to show for it.
And please watch your child. Like a hawk. Don’t be suddenly tearing down the playzone yelling a name because nothing is audible in that din. If your kid needs a helping hand to get up a ride and I help him up because you are nowhere to be seen, don’t march up angrily and yell at the child for talking to strangers. I was quite content minding my own child, thank you, and wasn’t exactly tripping over my feet to put your child up on the motorcycle game.
Hello. I am in line here. Am I invisible or are you so stuffed up to the gills with narcotic substances that you cannot register my rather substantial presence. Kindly wait your turn. Being young and thin enough to pass through grates in the sidewalk doesn’t qualify you to be exempt from lines.
Finally, when your spouse pushes his chair back and it bumps into mine, don’t glare at me. I am sitting here peacefully replying to my messages and really not looking around to attract the attention of balding, soft around the middle men with horrid skin and shirts which could be used to scare birds off from a field. I have one soft around the middle spouse waiting for me right back at home, thank you.