I need to learn to be more aggressive.

I need to learn to be more aggressive.

Case in point. Queueing to pay for some sandwiches.

It’s one of those shops where there is one long queue, and when you get to the front you get filtered off to an individual checkout, à la Post Offices.

Checkout 2 appears to be vacated. I walk over to checkout 2. As I get close, it becomes apparent that there are still some goods piled up there. Simultaneously, two things happen: the woman at the checkout says “I’m still serving someone”; I work out that she is still serving someone, who has evidently just popped off because they forgot to pick up their Preparation H or their furry nipple warmers.

So what do I do?

I apologise.

What the hell for, I hear you cry. I should have sniffed the air with a soupçon of disgust, or growled fearfully, or even expressed my displeasure using the words and constructions provided for me by the English language.

But no-o-o. I apologised. Profusely. Twice. With a little curtsey at the end.

I’m going to stop apologising for things. I’m going to accept that I am actually within my rights to blame other people for being gits, and act accordingly by sticking my neck out and being offensive in public, instead of skulking off back to this here website and hiding behind my anonymosity.

I’m low. I’m pondlife. But no more. As of today, I’m a gobby bastard.

Experimentally, of course.