Awkward Situations, Life

Girl, can you shut up

Hello, snarklings!

You know I didn’t realise that I’d taken a blogging break until over the weekend? Sometimes I get lost in my own head and don’t realise it, but I’m back! 

Last week was relatively uneventful but this happened…


I was on my way home when I sort of crossed the road in a dodgy manner. I noticed these two guys stumbling outside of park and I was like, let me try and walk past unnoticed. 
Didn’t work. 

They gestured for me to take my headphones out (sigh…), asked me if I was alright (sigh…), asked me where I was from (sigh…). Tried to make me guess where one of them was from (final answer was ‘question mark’). 

This was all after midnight, so I’m tired, have a headache and want to go home. I’m hoping that they will go in one direction while I go in mine. 

My hope was unfulfilled. 

They say that they’ll walk me home because it’s late (oh, thank you? Where were they when I was walking home an hour later every day way back in December?).

Anyway, we start walking and one guy, the chatty one, asks me a lot of questions. The other one is quiet…bizarrely enough, he wanted my number but didn’t give me his when I said that I’d take it instead, but his friend gave me his number – but not his name? He told me to save it as Jack of Jill so I went with Rando. I think Rando said that the other guy doesn’t have a phone which explains the number malarkey. 

The number he gave me is an extra digit long as well but the upside is that there is someone out there with a picture of young!Arnold Schwarzenegger as their profile photo on WhatsApp and it’s hilarious. I have no idea if it’s one of these guys or not and I didn’t bother to find out.

Back to the story…

Oddly enough, little old quiet me wasn’t quiet for once. Oh, no, I was snarky, chatty, and I actually let them partially walk me home. The usual me would have doubled back and taken a different route just to make sure that they were gone. The usual me would not have said a word. 

However, my aversion to people tends to temporarily malfunction when I’m tired, irritated and have a headache. I was/had all three and talking to these guys actually distracted me from that. I, of course, had a bright yellow bag with me which I’m never taking out again. Clearly it will attract all sorts, lol. 

At one point, they were almost jogging to keep up with me and they continued to try and guess where I worked. The funny guy asked me why I was in a rush. Fam, it’s after midnight and I’m on my way home from work, I’m not really going to be taking my time. I’m not that big of an idiot.

Anyway, me being the introverted social anxiety sufferer that I am, I’ve now replayed it a million times in my head. The running theme of the conversation was where I worked (they would guess, I would say no). That was because I told them I was on my way back from work and also sort of mentioned the area that I worked in before I finally had a brainwave and I was like, girl can you shut up. 

How do I go from saying nothing to blabbing uncontrollably? I don’t babble at strangers. Ever. 

So I played it coy from that point on. It was nice to have someone to partially walk me home and we did have a funny conversation – I asked if they were chilling and they were like LOL NO AT THIS TIME? I just said, ‘well, you both look pretty comfortable that’s why I’m asking [as you stumbled out of the park at this unsociable hour].’ 

Maybe you had to be there, but still, it was interesting. One of them freely admitted that he was high and not making sense and I was just thinking…that explains a lot. 

However, like I said to my friend, I hope I never see them again…

  1. I am probably older than both of them.
  2. …. I’m not sure if approaching a female who’s on her own after midnight is a good thing? Is this a thing that people do outside of club areas? This was a residential area and there was no one else around. 
  3. For my own safety. My friend asked me if I was scared and I genuinely wasn’t. Maybe I should have been? LOL. 

      If you’re wondering why these guys were even interested in me at all, you’re not the only one. I looked absolutely awful.  I wasn’t wearing a single lick of make up. My hair was a mess, my face was greasy because it’s so hot. I was sweaty. I didn’t look hideous but I didn’t look special either. . 

      I guess it was just the perfect day for two strangers to show up and walk me home. 

      short stories, writing

      rain and I were friends [short story]

      It was pouring down with rain. 

      That was the least surprising part of my funeral. 

      It rained the day I was born. 

      It rained on my wedding day (and that was ironic because the marriage lasted all of three days). 

      It even rained the day I got my first job. 

      Hell, it rained the day I won and lost a winning lottery ticket. 

      Rain and I were old friends. 

      So I fully expected it to rain on my funeral. 

      Water pouring and cascading on to my pinewood casket. 

      Dripping and dripping they finally lowered me into the ground. 

      That part was expected. 

      I wasn’t expecting a huge crowd, but I counted more people than I’d seen in the past few years. There were old people, young people, kids, fucking kids. I didn’t know any kids so I wondered which forsaken inviduual had brought their offspring along. After some deep thinking I reasoned that maybe they’d been hoping to get some free food out of it at least. 

      This wasn’t the funeral I had planned. I wanted it to be over quickly. Someone would pour a dash of whiskey on the wooden box and push the button that sent me into a pit of fire. 

      After a few minutes, I’d be gone. 

      Ashes to ashes. 

      Dust to dust. 

      Into thin air. 

      Maybe afterwards, my only friend would drink himself into a stupor in memory of me. The next day he’d wake up in a pile of his own vomit and vow to get on with his life.

      Obviously, none of that happened because my dear old mother had other ideas. Here I was watching a huge procession in the street. People I had never seen before carried my casket.

      Worst of all, my mother delivered a eulogy full of lies when they got to the cemetery.

      My son was a great man, is how she began.

      (I ran away from home when I was eighteen.)

      I will never get over this loss, she continued.

      (I suspected that she would once she saw that I’d left all of my money to my half sister – same father, different mother – just to spite her.)

      I will miss him until the end of my days.

      (Like she missed me over the past twenty years?)

      Yet, people ate it up. They sat there and cried because grief is contagious. It was like an electric ripple that ran through people in tandem, infecting them with its darkness. These people didn’t know me, but I was their chance to grieve. I was serving some kind of messed up purpose.

      It’s a pity then that in life, I’d made a lot of enemies. The kind that I’d hoped my planned cremation would put off. If there was no service, there would be no targets. No targets meant no bloodbath.

      Avoiding a bloodbath was obviously a priority.

      However, as I saw my mother talking, and heard the revving of engines in the distance, I knew that shit was about to hit the fan.

      I was faced with two options.

      Play dead, or try to save a bunch of people that had no business being at my funeral in the first place.

      In case you’re wondering, I’m not a zombie. 

      I’m not dead either.

      I’m also not alive.

      Try working that one out.

      The gunmen set sights on the gatherers fairly quickly, bullets raining down in synch with the raindrops. Screams echoed across the field, and once again, I wondered just what my mother had been thinking. An outdoor funeral? It was unfathomable.

      Amidst the chaos, I set about directing those on the field. Agent Roberts had to take the east side. Agent Matthews took the left. Daniels, south. And me? Well, I was stuck here from my vantage point.

      Watching.

      There’s a good reason why I died. Why I killed myself off before anyone else could. In this business, it pays to be smart. I’ve seen so many good men flounder and fall because they didn’t know when to call time.

      I knew.

      Waking up to a bullet in my windshield wasn’t necessarily the first indication, but it was a start.

      Blood on my walls? Well, that definitely got the ball rolling?

      Getting shot in the back and finding out that I’d be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of my life? 

      That sealed the deal. 

      I knew than that the old me was dead. That guy was gone. I wanted to make it official.

      In a way, this was my last act in my previous life. The final chapter. Bullets were flying, people were screaming, field agents were doing their jobs. The stuffy desy job that awaited me would never propel me to such heights so I decided to make the most of it. The angles were tight, everything was a risk, but I ran point like I’d never done before and the situation was contained within fifteen minutes.

      My mother stood in a corner, huddled under a foil blanket, with something akin to excitement in her wide eyes. She would be telling this story for years, that I was certain of.

      In a way, thanks to my her, I got the perfect send off. Adrenaline. Excitement. The sense that even in my diminished capacity, I could still help. I wasn’t useless. I could do this.

      After thirty-seven years of providing me with nothing but disappointment, it was the least she could do.

      © hiptobesnark 2017

      photo challenge

      Treesitions (photo challenge)

      This is a response to this week’s  photo challenge

      This week, share a photograph that signifies transitions and change to you.


      A few months ago, these trees were devoid of leaves and colour and now they’re bright, vibrant and making the park look mighty fun. In a few months, these trees will go through another transition and the cycle will continue. 

      Much like life. 

      So essentially, we are all trees. One day we lose our leaves. On another day, we get them back. Sometimes we fall down and then we get back up. And okay, trees don’t get back up, but you get the point. 

      Life

      hit backspace and breathe easy

      Night time anxiety, y’all. 

      The worst kind. 

      Today I’m wondering why I have such a big problem replying comments. If you’ve noticed that I reply at odd times or somewhat infrequently – you’re observant. I have to be in the correct mood to reply comments otherwise it won’t happen. 

      It’s a byproduct of something that I went through years ago. There’s nothing like a group of people nitpicking every word just to belittle you or bring you down. Now, I was no shrinking violet. I held my own and defended myself but what no one tells you is that defending yourself gets exhausting after a while. It’s a lot of energy that could be used elsewhere. So eventually I just started keeping my mouth shut. The amount of time I type up comments and then hit backspace and breathe easy is crazy. 

      Anyway, when you’re opinionated, this is what happens, but still. I just want to comment without the internal monologue or second guessing myself. I’m tired of just writing lol instead of this is so great omg let me babble at you.
      Continue reading “hit backspace and breathe easy”