Three Tableaux
ONE
We are looking for someone to move into my room. The first day that the ad was up, some guy called to arrange a time to come by and see it. Conveniently, he agreed to come 'round while I was having people over for dinner. Before he arrived, I told the guests what the prospective renter was like on the phone. "He has a strange accent," I said. "I think he is Dutch, or Scandinavian." During the dinner, he arrived, introduced himself, and then asked to go use the toilet. Immediately one of my guest looked at me quizzically and said, "Greg, he is not Dutch. He is Irish." So much about Britain remains a mystery.
(It had been far, far too long since I've had people over for dinner. We had an warming autumnal menu of cabbage soup with fried apples, risotto with sage and roasted squash, and balsamic glazed carrots. A success.)
TWO
I was buying day tickets at the ENO, and saw a sign that said "backstage tour, today at 11am." So I returned at 11am, and joined the tour. Everyone else on the tour was quite elderly, and I suspected they were there as a group. Having followed the tour to its second stop in the auditorium, a very angry old lady confronted me, practically yelling, saying that this was a private tour (they had all come down in a bus from Ely) and that "there wasn't enough room for me." This was an obvious lie -- there were about 30 elderly people. One more would not have made a difference, and the sign clearly indicated this was a public tour. But I was so angry I just left, and spend the rest of day thinking of withering things to say to her. The best I came up with were "Well, having to live in Ely would put anyone in a bad mood" and "Bitch".
THREE
Later that same night, I was in a good mood after seeing the good Butterfly. The tube was packed, as it tends to be at 11 on a Saturday, with drunk people. Sitting across from me was a highly intoxicated Eastern European gentleman with hideous blond highlights in his hair. He looks at me threateningly and mumbled something inaudible. I leaned forward to hear him better, at which point he kicked me, pretty hard, in the teeth. I gripped my mouth, which was bleeding but not too much, at which point he mockingly gripped his mouth and made "poor baby" noises. He just wanted to start a fight, so everyone in the carriage, including me, just sat very, very still, doing and saying nothing. In fact, I'm not sure exactly who on the train saw what had happened. At the next stop I, along with two teenage girls sitting next to the Eastern European gentleman, moved to the next car. The two girls were very nice.
We are looking for someone to move into my room. The first day that the ad was up, some guy called to arrange a time to come by and see it. Conveniently, he agreed to come 'round while I was having people over for dinner. Before he arrived, I told the guests what the prospective renter was like on the phone. "He has a strange accent," I said. "I think he is Dutch, or Scandinavian." During the dinner, he arrived, introduced himself, and then asked to go use the toilet. Immediately one of my guest looked at me quizzically and said, "Greg, he is not Dutch. He is Irish." So much about Britain remains a mystery.
(It had been far, far too long since I've had people over for dinner. We had an warming autumnal menu of cabbage soup with fried apples, risotto with sage and roasted squash, and balsamic glazed carrots. A success.)
TWO
I was buying day tickets at the ENO, and saw a sign that said "backstage tour, today at 11am." So I returned at 11am, and joined the tour. Everyone else on the tour was quite elderly, and I suspected they were there as a group. Having followed the tour to its second stop in the auditorium, a very angry old lady confronted me, practically yelling, saying that this was a private tour (they had all come down in a bus from Ely) and that "there wasn't enough room for me." This was an obvious lie -- there were about 30 elderly people. One more would not have made a difference, and the sign clearly indicated this was a public tour. But I was so angry I just left, and spend the rest of day thinking of withering things to say to her. The best I came up with were "Well, having to live in Ely would put anyone in a bad mood" and "Bitch".
THREE
Later that same night, I was in a good mood after seeing the good Butterfly. The tube was packed, as it tends to be at 11 on a Saturday, with drunk people. Sitting across from me was a highly intoxicated Eastern European gentleman with hideous blond highlights in his hair. He looks at me threateningly and mumbled something inaudible. I leaned forward to hear him better, at which point he kicked me, pretty hard, in the teeth. I gripped my mouth, which was bleeding but not too much, at which point he mockingly gripped his mouth and made "poor baby" noises. He just wanted to start a fight, so everyone in the carriage, including me, just sat very, very still, doing and saying nothing. In fact, I'm not sure exactly who on the train saw what had happened. At the next stop I, along with two teenage girls sitting next to the Eastern European gentleman, moved to the next car. The two girls were very nice.
posted by Grrg at 2:54 PM
2 Comments:
Good Lord, Greg! That's completely horrible! What is it about you that makes total strangers want to see your face bashed in! You're like the Jared Leto of musicology.
Is the face-kicking why your eyes look like Cyborg eyes in the new headshot? Or is it just a flash reflection?
I've been waiting for them to build a cyborg who's programmed for erudition, empathy, and style, so please...it's okay if you're a cyborg now...just tell me.
...and don't ever scan me for body-fat ratio or anything. That would be cruel.
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