Changing Of The Guard

There appears to have been a changing of the guard outside Maccy D’s in town. For as long as I can remember there has been a homeless man staying in the inset doorway between Maccy D’s and Gregg’s. he wasn’t much younger than me and always came across as being surly and aggressive at any time of day.

This morning he had been replaced. A much younger man sat there, one without the accumulation of stuff the previous incumbent had. A less confrontational person. Nervous, as if shocked to find themselves in the position they are in. not making eye contact, and almost curled up upon themselves. Perhaps in fear of an attack or being moved on.

While I sat having my breakfast, he darted into Maccy D’s. in and out as quickly as possible to get something to eat with money given to him. Not wanting to leave his few meagre possessions out on the street unguarded for longer than absolutely necessary. The fear that someone may take them, or worse, throw them away. He came back out, checked to ensure nothing had gone and huddled back up on himself to have his muffin.

I finished my breakfast and dug into my pockets to see what change or cash I had on me, surprised to see a lot of pound coins in these almost cashless times. I gave it all to the new homeless man sitting there, knowing it could never be enough, but it was all I could give there and then. And he was grateful, and looked as if he was even younger than I first thought he was.

He may have replaced the long-term resident, but I sincerely hope that he is not going to be a long-term resident there himself.

Elsewhere the cash only, dodgy dealing, watch, phone, and sunglasses hut was up and running. They had customers this morning and I suppose it shouldn’t have been of any surprise that the customers were pensioners. The kings and queens of cash, the last bastions of notes and coins. Handing it over to the shady looking couple running the stand for a knock off watch or imitation sunglasses. None of them had any cash for the poor homeless man sat just yards from the tat they were buying. In fact, they wouldn’t even look at him.

I stopped, as I often do, at the small newsagents by the bus station. To get a couple of drinks to see me through the writing group session I was off to, and to pick up the weekly local paper – The Crawley Observer. There was no one else in the shop when I went in, and the shopkeeper was hiding under the counter playing with his phone.

I paid and then went to put the items I had bought into my bag. Only to be pretty much shooed out of the shop. Both by the impatience of the single customer who had come in behind me; and by the muppet behind the counter who wanted everyone out of the shop as quickly as possibly so he could go back to playing with his phone.

Neither of them prepared to wait as I struggled to put the three items into my bag. Instead I had to go outside and use the top of the bin as a staging point to get my drinks and paper into the bag.

I know I shouldn’t be shocked by that kind of impatient behaviour anymore, no one it would seem has the slightest modicum of patience any more. But it annoys the fuck out of me. Even if I am in a rush myself (rare because I’m obsessive about leaving early to give myself plenty of time to get where I’m going to) I will patiently wait in any queue there is. It’s a part of life.

People were there before you. They need to finish what they came to do before it becomes your turn. They don’t need to be hassled into hurrying up and possibly making a mistake, or into leaving something behind, or having something not quite packed away correctly so they lose it or break it on their way home or to their next destination.

So, people, generally the message is this. Stop being so fucking impatient, and just wait for your turn instead of being inconsiderate pieces of shit.

More Crawley Observations

I’m out early on a Saturday morning. It’s a writing group day which means there is always going to be a Maccy D’s breakfast involved. And being in town before nine in the morning means I get one of my cherished window seats so I can watch what is going on in the world outside.

The market – as it is – is already set out and awaiting customers. But Crawley isn’t really an early bird kind of town and there isn’t much footfall. Most of the passers-by are picking up food to be delivered – Deliveroo, Just Eat, Uber Eats, Too Fucking Lazy To Get It Yourself? (that last one’s name may not catch on) – both from Maccy D’s and Greggs next door.

The stall opposite where I am looking out is selling watches, sunglasses, and mobile related items. All at cheap knock-off style prices, and has a couple of big signs saying, “Cash Only,” so it isn’t dodgy in the slightest, is it? I’m intrigued that in one of the trays of sunglasses on display there appears to be a pair with the Maccy D’s logo on them. It takes me longer than it should to realise it’s reflecting the logo from the Maccy D’s I’m sat in. I’m not going to lie. I’m not quite at full capacity this early in the morning.

The mall is nearly empty and WH Smith has more people on tills than there are customers in the shop. Something that is unheard of as they are usually trying to shepherd you to the useless self-service tills instead of serving you. Perhaps it’s too early for them to be pretending to look busy elsewhere in the shop.

I then jump to after the Crawley game and our now traditional post-match curry at The Downsman. When we were there last week, they closed the main men’s toilets due to flooding. They were still closed due to flooding when we went in this evening. I went to the other toilet in the pub, only to find that they weren’t going to be long in being open before they too were closed to flooding, mainly due to the fact that the inbreeds in there were incapable of hitting the urinals.

From where I was sat, I could see the door of the closed toilets, with the sign on the door saying they were closed due to flooding. Now, if I wasn’t at full capacity early in the morning whilst in Maccy D’s, then there were loads of blokes nowhere near full capacity in the early evening in the Downsman.

At least half a dozen of them walk up to the door, push it several times, look confused as to why the door isn’t opening, and then look up at the sign on the door as if it had suddenly appeared since they had tried pushing the door. If there was a camera on the door then there would be a great gallery of gormless looking morons. At least one of them did it twice. Not a single one looked at the notice first, every single one of them tried the door first and then read the notice.

For all the use it is, the notice might have well read,

“If you notice this notice, then you will notice that this notice is not worth noticing.”