Friday, 19 August 2016

Scones

“Calm your farm James, I’m coming”

I hate being rushed. If he didn’t want to be late, we should’ve left earlier.

“But Grandma we’re going to be late!” He replied as he dragged me into the old firehouse, flashing our tickets at the door.
“You know this used to be so different when I was younger” I mentioned. Nicer too.
“Shh, the presenters are already beginning” he whispered, “let’s just grab a seat up the back.”

Oh I hate the stairs. And it was so dark. Hadn’t these people heard of lights? How was anyone supposed to see in here?

I almost tripped over making my way to seat, with James dragging me through the isle to some vacant seats.
“Who’s that man in the middle there?” I asked
“That’s the presenter, he’s introducing the speaker today. Just watch.”
“And what’s the negro man doing over there in the back?” James stared mortified at me. “What’s wrong James? Is everything okay?”
“Jesus Christ Grandma! You can’t say that!” he exclaimed as best he could while trying to whisper.
“Excuse me, we’re trying to listen to the show.” Said a voice from next to me. Turning, I was shocked to see this overweight girl with thick framed glasses looking at me. Underneath her glasses, she had black circles as big as you like under her eyes and in the middle of her face, a huge ring through her nose. 

It was like a bull who got punched in the face too many times as someone tried to shave its head. Maybe she was retarded.

“You can’t say that Grandma, that’s racist” whispered James.
“What?” I said turning back to face him.
“The N-word. You can’t say that.”

Heck, how old did he think I was? I know what the N-word is.

“It’s okay James, I said Negro, not the other word”
“Okay okay, shhh. Let’s just watch the show.” James opened his bag and grabbed a pen and pad and started to take notes.

Well at least he was studying I suppose.

The next 30 minutes went by pretty quick. 

The speaker was pretty good, although I didn’t care much for that other fellow, would not stop interrupting.

I then noticed this flashing light in the corner of my eye, I looked around to find where it was coming from and then I turned over to the bull girl and there she was, on her bloody phone.
“Excuse me.” I said.
Nothing. 

Too busy on her phone.

“Excuse me” I repeated, no longer bothering to whisper.
“Wot?” she replied, too lazy even say the word properly.
“Do you mind putting away your phone? People are trying to watch the show.”
She looked at me resentfully, and turned back to the tiny screen.

I could not believe it. Bloody cow.

“Excuse me, put the phone away please?” I tried again, people were beginning to turn around and look. The presenter didn’t seem to notice, he was still talking.
“Could you like, not?” she replied. “I don’t like your oldness being so close to me”

Now, you know I didn’t that attitude from Kevin, I didn’t take that from the kids, and I was not going to take it from some bull girl. Margret, can you please pass the sugar?

Here you are Jessie.

Thank you, and when we both went down the stairs, they asked ME to leave the firehouse for starting the bloody fight. You won’t catch me there again. Incredibly disrespectful.

I couldn’t agree with you more Jessie. Another scone?

Oh, yes thank you.






Wednesday, 17 August 2016

The forgotten ticket.

Don't worry, we'll take her from here. That's what they had said. I've always had faith in doctors and now certainly wasn't the time for doubt. 3:27. This was going to be close.

I nodded in agreement and took off across the busy street to my car. Moments later, the engine roared into life, knowing it had a job to do and we were off. Down the street, hanging a quick right as the tires screeched, writing their signature along the asphalt.

Getting closer to end of the street, I saw the dreaded sign. Left Turn Only. Shit. Should've know better. Oh well. I came in hard, hearing the revs jump as I dropped into second, rubber howling all the way around the turn. I felt her as she lost traction in the rear left wheel, it was definitely now or never. Wrenching the steering wheel 450 and pulling the hand break seemingly from the depths of hell, onlookers watched as the car turned on a dime and the rear appeared briefly in the side mirrors.

3:28 No time to congratulate myself , I'm not going to make it. Correcting the over-steer, I slammed my foot down as the front wheels dragged the rear into place and we disappeared into a plume of smoke. Each of the gear changes existing only on the red line, second into third, third into forth. The Q.E.O. was coming up fast and I knew if this corner wasn't perfect, there was no chance of making that performance.

100 meters away.

Hold it.

50 meters away,

Hold it.

25 meters away.

Hold it!

10 meters away.

She groaned. She yelled. She went sideways. She hated the drop from fourth to second but there was no other way. The tachometer pinged hard as the revs ran high, all wheels now demanding traction but getting nothing in return.

3:29.

The digital clock digitally ticked over as the wheels that friction forgot remembered what they doing. The car slid left and right, switching back and forth between oncoming traffic and the parking lot. As I struggled to regain control while simultaneously avoid every tree nearby until finally, we screeched to a halt in a bay just outside the oval.

She had done her part but now it was my turn, sprinting for the old firehouse. My lungs lit aflame after years of avoiding exercise and the addiction that is being really cool, as I ran for the door. The two volunteers nearly cowered in fear as the adrenaline fueled monster, me, crashed into the brick wall to stop the momentum.

Ticket please? They asked timidly.

Ticket. Ticket. Ticket?

Shit.