Wednesday, 17 July 2013

HOW TO BE HUMAN TODAY'S LESSON: HELPFULNESS

IF YOU STUFF HER FULL 
OF MULBERRIES, 
DOES SHE NOT BLEED? 
Yes, she does. So the least you 
could do is fucking WARN HER!

There are some things in life that are not mandatory, they're not taught in school, they're not rules, they're just ... niceties. They're what differentiate us from the lowly beasts. They're signs of human kindness, and my neighbour, I've just learned, doesn't have them. 

And here is how I know.
In a park on my walk home from work, there's a gargantuan mulberry tree. It's bursting with berries right now, it's dropping fruit like Kris Jenner drops daughters, and every day I am seduced by the heady intoxication of stuffing my face with free fruit. Apparently it's quite the spectacle because today some kid driving by on his bike stopped, gawked and whined, "Are you gonna eat ALL those berries off the tree?" 

Between mouthfuls, I snarled, "No, I'm gonna take a five-minute pause while I teach you what happens to nosy parkers!" Of course I said it jokingly but the little shit blanched and tore off, so obviously he was born without a sense of humour. Oh well, on with the gorging!

On the way home, I met my neighbour. We chatted for a good 10 minutes, and then went our separate ways.
And the first thing I saw when I walked in the door was my face in the mirror. (I have mirrors everywhere, people; it has been remarked upon.) My face looked as though it had just had a date with Chris Brown. I was splattered with mulberry juice from my chin to my cheeks to my nose. (How I got it on my nose, I'll never know. But I blame that kid somehow.)

Yet the whole time I was talking to my neighbour, she hadn't batted an eyelash. She didn't say, 'Hey, you've got weird red crap all over your face;' no warning, nothing. For all she knew, I could have been headed somewhere important, and I'd have arrived looking like this.
This is the sort of person who will let you walk through a nightclub with toiler paper trailing off your shoe and not say a word. Who will let you walk around all day at work with your tag sticking out or your bra strap showing. A bitch, I believe is the word I'm looking for here.

So the next time I see her, I have to make sure I make her feel bad whilst simultaneously absolving myself of shame. "Uhm, by the way, I have facial stigmata? And I would appreciate it if, the next time you see me bleeding spontaneously, you offer me a tissue. That is all. Good day. I SAID GOOD DAY!"

EDITOR'S NOTE: Or maybe she just thinks you're a slob. 
MY NOTE: And maybe I just think it's high time I hacked both your arms off with a machete.