Sorry, been a bit off form for a couple of days. Apologies for absence, but I do have an ‘excused boots’ chittie from matron, don’t I?
I ran into a bit of a pickle on Saturday, today. I went to my nearest minimart. And I discovered I couldn’t speak. This can happen when you’ve had about two thirds of your tongue excised, because the remaining third struggles to compensate, and sometimes is, frankly, not up to the job on occasion. It just will NOT WORK.
And so it proved today. Tongued plosives were beyond me, forget fricatives, they were long gone, forget unvoiced sibilants. However, credit where it’s due here.
The staff know I have trouble. Some days anyway. And know what? They just hang fire, wait for me to sort things out. They really are remarkably patient considering I sound extremely pissed most of the time. I can see other customers looking at me and thinking, ‘Bit early in the morning to be off your fucking head, isn’t it?’
The staff know better. They just wait until I can iterate. If I can’t iterate, then if needed I can just point. They just help out. Really good job. Very caring.
Now the spot of bother. On exit, I got accosted by some pimply adolescent yoof. ‘Here mate, bit early to be that pissed, innit?’
‘I’ve had pretty major oral surgery. You, meanwhile, seem to have had a fucking lobotomy.’ It took some effort to get that out, I’ll tell you, but I’m not taking backchat at my age from somebody not even conceived when I graduated.
I’m of an age now where I really do not give a shit.