It seems like a ridiculous concept to anyone who lives in a country that often gets snow. That we would genuinely become static at the first sprinkling of ethereal dust, but we do. Public services stop, people don't even bother trying to go to the office, they forget they have legs. It's all "oh well there's no taxis" and "the car won't start". Well, here's a radical solution: car pool, walk, hike, take a fucking submarine. At least pretend like you care. If you hate your job enough to take any half-possible-day-off as an excuse to lounge around in your motheaten underwear, well then you should probably quit because the country is better off without you infesting our already buggered infrastructure. Go on, piss off, you lazy curd. I almost said Turk there, that would've been a faux-pas. Anyway, this is how it has run each and every year recently. It provides ample opportunity for people to bang on and on about climate change, and things we should be doing, and how their house is the worst affected. Go preach to a choir of deaf people, because none of us give a shit. The only time you don't use your car is when it snows and you can't use your car because you used your car too much! I should print that up on a Christmas card and canvas the neighbourhood with a self-satisfied grin on my face. I could even wear my hilariously faggy boots.
I used to work in a supermarket - imagine how good my customer service was! - and every time the weather took even a tiny turn for the worse, people would flock in in their droves to buy up the entire shop. Preserves would be ravaged fourteen seconds after the first clap of thunder is heard. People buy up shelves of eggs, as if they are to be trapped in their houses for weeks on end. The staff and I called these trips "war shops", because that is what they were: it was as if we were going to war. And not just any war, some kind of magical fantastical war which meant that people automatically lost the power of motion and thus were incapacitated and snared within their own materialism. It was utterly unbelievable the lengths that people would go to to avoid some kind of self-invented downfall they were foretelling. Hilarious, but really, really worrying. It's the same kind of person who goes shopping on Boxing Day and starts buying a regular week's worth of food: what are you doing? Why are you doing this? Do you genuinely have nothing better to do than this? Look at you. Go away. Get out of this shop. Get out of this city. Fuck off. I just don't understand the thought process of this kind of person: to what end do they think some climate change might bring? It's not the harbinger of the apocalypse: it's snow. Tiny little flecks of powdery water, frozen in the sky, and falling lustrously to the earth; the subtle interplay between the stark night sky and the luminescence of pure white; the deadly dance for the wayward footstep, and the friend of children worldwide. It won't kill you. I promise. What will kill you is your own stupidity. Bouncing out your front door of a morning and slipping down the steps could kill you -- but frankly you deserve to die, because bouncing is a verb that should never be used to describe someone's gait. Taking a corner at the speed you usually would might cause you to spin off and be killed -- but again, I'd have no sympathy for you: have you never stepped into a bath and slipped a little? Imagine that, but instead of the bath it's the world, and you weigh two tonnes. Cretin.
What else do people do? Oh yes, they dress as if they're going to have to the spend the next four weeks hunkered in some undersea cave, sleeping underneath a pile of frost-encrusted foliage. People, seriously, it's Britain: the temperature - even with 'windchill' (a concept only invented recently) - never drops below around -5'C (that's 23F). That isn't that cold. You could survive for quite a good long while wearing nothing but your birthday suit. You haven't been plunged head-first into a lake of frozen water, it's just a bit of a nip. It's not "perishing", nor is it "the coldest anyone has ever been". If you continue to do this, I will make you the 'deadest anyone has ever been', then you can see what it's like to really perish. We need to get some perspective here people: a t-shirt, jumper, and jacket, gloves, and a scarf will do you perfectly well in any part of England (perhaps not Scotland). You don't need to put layer after layer on until you look like some kind of downs-syndrome marshmallow man. Nor do you need to dress your babies up to the hilt until it looks like they're entering into a cotton field of combat. I promise you no one is going to come out with darning equipment and try to unravel your baby's clothing. That'd be the weirdest, least successful attempt at paedophilia ever.
Another thing: if you're driving - go away. I hate you. Leave me alone. You try walking on the pavement. A pavement which has been replaced entirely with a sheet of ice. Someone was bringing their shopping in to their house earlier, and I was watching - as you do, - and I found it hilarious to watch them stumbling and slipping and sliding all over the place. I thought they were making a big deal of things to be honest. It didn't look as though carrying and walking should prove to be so much of an issue. About an hour later I needed to walk up the road to the shops, to buy fourteen-coops'-worth of eggs. And when I say I needed to walk "up the road", I mean "up the road". Normally I'd harangue and belittle a person who said that, until they rescinded their stupid statement and made good on their language. Not today though; I had been beguiled by the deceptive minx that is the pavement. Lulled into a false sense of my own walking -prowess, I stepped out with a spring in my step, and a bounce (ha) in my legs. I slipped. Based on normal winter sentiments: I almost died. I decided that I needed to instead walk up the road. This was fine, you would think. The pavements were clearly impassable, whereas the road had been gritted and then driven on. Incidentally, our city has yet again run out of 'grit'. Walking up the road, without my headphones, people were honking their horns at me! I was like... come on now, you try driving along the sky or something. That's how hard it was to walk up the pavement. I didn't really feel as though this was a justified reaction to my walking. My poor booted feet!
So that's it. Fuck off, snow.
No comments:
Post a Comment