I had an experience in the Newsagent’s this morning that was far removed from the one Audrey and I had with the Falling Man in he park the other day:
‘I’m before you, lanky.’ This was a big, hard bruiser of an man who looked like he fought bears for a living.
‘I’m terribly sorry.’
‘You will be if be if you carry on being sarcastic.’ He pointed at the display cabinet behind the counter. ‘Twenty Marlboro and one of them cake things,’ – no ‘please’ or ‘thank you’.
Reaching for the cigarettes, Mr Mishri served his eloquent customer with untypical efficiency. In fact, he seemed quite apprehensive; his double-chins were wobbling away like nobody’s business – and I noticed his hands were shaking as he gave the man his change. ‘Thank you. Please come again.’ He glanced at me and I saw fear in his eyes.
For some reason – probably something very primal – I felt very threatened, too. The man left the shop and Mr Mishri and I both breathed a very audible sigh of relief.
However, to our collective horror, we watched as, instead of disappearing up the street, he did an about turn and came back inside the shop doorway. Before leaving for good this time, he said something to me. This is what it was: ‘Pole Dancer.’
I am not sure what he was getting at exactly but I am fairly certain that his comment was meant in a pejorative sense. It was certainly delivered with menace and accompanied by a vulgar gesture.
Whenever I encounter such stunningly intelligent and polite members of the local community I am always encouraged. It gives me hope for humankind in general, it really does.
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