Notes
Several Short Notes to the People in the Queue at the Bank on Saturday Morning
Dear frumpy woman,
It's 28 degrees outside; why are you wearing a cardigan?
It's not cold, and let's be honest, you're not exactly lacking in personal insulation in the first place. We can also rule out the cardigan as a fashion statement, since it's a horrible grey shapeless thing teamed with a grey T-shirt, khaki shorts and, worst of all, Vodka Breezer promotional thongs. Why, frumpy woman? Why why why?
With hesitant regards,
Blandwagon
Dear man in a t-shirt,
Dude, I realise that you can't see the back of your own neck, even in a mirror. So you'll have to trust me on this - get help. In the long term, investigate getting skin grafts to replace the mottled, pocked, melanoma-studded lunar landscape rearing up from under your shirt. In the shorter term... wear a collared shirt, not only to protect you from the sun but also for the benefit of those unfortunate people who happen to be standing behind you and witnessing what appears to be a vampire attack from a diseased pikelet.
Your humble yet horrified servant,
Blandwagon
Dear morbidly obese woman,
I appreciate that you have a lot of problems in your life. Your husband is frequently away working on the mines. Your daughter has some sort of problem that I didn't quite catch. And you have more surface area than a 1987 Nissan Micra and roughly the same aesthetic appeal. All of this, however, does not excuse you monotonously explaining your financial issues to an overworked bank teller after it's been firmly established, within the first thirty seconds, that she can't help you and you need to see a different staff member.
Oh, and the phrase "disability pension" should not be uttered as if it's as inevitable a part of everyone's life as paying taxes or grocery shopping. It may be perfectly expected in your social circle, but in wider society it bespeaks an overfamiliarity with the welfare state.
With peevishness,
Blandwagon
Dear Blandwagon,
Have some compassion for those less fortunate than you, you fat fatuous git.
Except for the Vodka Breezer thongs. They're just inexcusable.
Ever yours,
Blandwagon
Dear frumpy woman,
It's 28 degrees outside; why are you wearing a cardigan?
It's not cold, and let's be honest, you're not exactly lacking in personal insulation in the first place. We can also rule out the cardigan as a fashion statement, since it's a horrible grey shapeless thing teamed with a grey T-shirt, khaki shorts and, worst of all, Vodka Breezer promotional thongs. Why, frumpy woman? Why why why?
With hesitant regards,
Blandwagon
Dear man in a t-shirt,
Dude, I realise that you can't see the back of your own neck, even in a mirror. So you'll have to trust me on this - get help. In the long term, investigate getting skin grafts to replace the mottled, pocked, melanoma-studded lunar landscape rearing up from under your shirt. In the shorter term... wear a collared shirt, not only to protect you from the sun but also for the benefit of those unfortunate people who happen to be standing behind you and witnessing what appears to be a vampire attack from a diseased pikelet.
Your humble yet horrified servant,
Blandwagon
Dear morbidly obese woman,
I appreciate that you have a lot of problems in your life. Your husband is frequently away working on the mines. Your daughter has some sort of problem that I didn't quite catch. And you have more surface area than a 1987 Nissan Micra and roughly the same aesthetic appeal. All of this, however, does not excuse you monotonously explaining your financial issues to an overworked bank teller after it's been firmly established, within the first thirty seconds, that she can't help you and you need to see a different staff member.
Oh, and the phrase "disability pension" should not be uttered as if it's as inevitable a part of everyone's life as paying taxes or grocery shopping. It may be perfectly expected in your social circle, but in wider society it bespeaks an overfamiliarity with the welfare state.
With peevishness,
Blandwagon
Dear Blandwagon,
Have some compassion for those less fortunate than you, you fat fatuous git.
Except for the Vodka Breezer thongs. They're just inexcusable.
Ever yours,
Blandwagon
posted by Blandwagon at 3:13 PM
3 Comments:
Dear Person-Behind-Blandwagon,
Kick him up the bum.
Dear TimT,
I can live with that, as long as they're not using Vodka Breezer thongs.
Resignedly,
Blandwagon
I have never seen Vodka Breezer thongs, I will now consider my self blessed
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