My Incompatible Relationship with Society

It has been abundantly clear ever since i can remember that i am completely incompatible with society, and the world in general.

A few Fridays ago, i returned home after an incredibly arduous and life changing day at work. All seemed absolutely perfect as i opened my fridge, took out an Estella and sat down on my FAT ARSE.

Immediately it struck me, my beer was warm. A shiver ran down my spine as i contemplated what had gone wrong. Had there been a power cut, had some IDIOT turned off my fridge, was my sensory nervous system broken.

I approached the fridge, opened it and the ice compartment had melted. My stomach dropped, i knew she was gone. A fridge i had championed for 15+ years as the best fridge in the world was incapacitated, and clinically dead.

Phoebe was more than a fridge, she was a friend and as i cradled her in my arms, i knew life would never be the same again.

This was a fucking disaster, the only thing worse that could happen on this scale would be my TV to be broken, or sky or the internet to be fucked.

I consoled myself by drinking Aldi’s award winning GLEN MARNOCH ISLAY SINGLE MALT and contemplated my next move. I have absolutely no idea why it has won any awards, but it did help with the shock, and i soon found a replacement fridge at Curry’s for £89.99.

Normally, i would avoid the distressing social bollocks of going to get the fridge myself, but as part of my new EXPOSURE initiative, i thought i would go and pick it up myself the next morning.

I put the postcode into Google Maps. 5.9 miles to reach the destination, 30 miles supposedly left in the petrol tank, yeah i’m comfortable with that.

I set off and realised that the woman speaking on the google maps app picks and chooses when she speaks up at critical stages of a journey. Let’s be clear here, as i write this, Google is worth $741 BILLION and they can’t even get their sat nav to speak up at critical times.

No problem, i continued on as i roughly knew where it was. I arrived at Newport Road and of course it wasn’t where i thought it was. This is where i start to lose my mind. After a barrage of blows to the steering wheel, i pulled into one of the car parks of the shitty stores.

I know i’m on the right road. Unless they have moved the store and not bothered telling anyone. Again, this would not shock me in the slightest. This app is saying it is FUCKING SIX MINUTES AWAY and i’m on the same road.

After losing the plot again and threatening to commit all sorts of atrocities, i realise the fuel gauge now magically claims i have 18 miles left in the tank. I have broken down before due to running out of fuel, and if it had happened again that would have been the end – i would have smashed the fuck out of the car and set it on fire in the middle of the road.

I set off in search of fuel and luckily there was a station on the other side of the road. As i get out of the car, what do i see on the horizon? CURRY’S – less than a fucking minute from where the robot woman told me six minutes.

I entered the store with the usual TREPIDATION about what fucking bollocks was coming my way. I found the fridge. Obviously you can’t just pick the thing up, pay for it and walk out. That would be a far, far too logical a process for this fucking world.

I approached two people who looked about as happy to be there as i feel every day. I asked how you go about buying a fridge. They looked completely DUMBFOUNDED like i’d just threatened to cave their skulls in with an iron bar or something.

Eventually, i managed to splutter out the words that i had reserved to buy it online. I was taken to some desk to complete the purchase and by now my social anxiety was nicely coming to the boil.

The girl, who looked less enthused with life than me then proceeded to ask all sorts of utterly pointless questions. The sweating starts, the hyper awareness of my reactions rises and the TREMBLING MESS is back. It’s this fucking unnecessary BOLLOCKS why i don’t do anything.

The ordeal was completed and i was told to wait by the exit so someone else could bring the fridge out – another absolutely pointless process.

Of course, all of this could be avoided if i’d had it delivered but this was impractical and i am incredibly inpatient. I feel physically repulsed even answering the door.

Another option would be that customers could actually pick the thing up with their own hands, pay for it without being asked their life history, and walk out in a state of euphoria. You also wouldn’t have to pay two people to stand round scratching their arses all day.

This is just another example of a distressing experience which would be considered a completely innocuous situation by a ‘normal’ person. Over analysis of what people may think when i can’t stand the average human being really is bizarre and illogical.

This happens every time i go to the supermarket. Every time i approach them i can sense the rage forming. It will always start at the entrance with stupid cunts stopping randomly with absolutely no regard for people around them, normally with a trolley. I can understand it with old people as they haven’t got a clue what’s going on, i bloody love them in fact.

Before going to the store i will have already gone on my supermarket, know what i want, the cost and visualised my route so i can get the fuck out of there as quick as possible. As i make my way round, i can often be found violently muttering and swearing under my breath to keep myself focused on the job in hand.

Obviously, with all the planning in the world there will always be some TWAT hovering around items you want to look at. EVERY FUCKING TIME.

I do often laugh to myself while going round supermarkets watching certain couples together. You can see them a mile off. You can just tell they have given up on life. Stuck in the same, mundane fucking cycle.

In my head they are called Barbara and Clive. The conversation (EVERY TRIP) goes something like:

CLIVE – “What shall we have tonight dear”?

BARBARA – “What do you fancy”?

CLIVE – “Ooh i dunno Barb, faggots and peas”?

BARBARA – “We had faggots last tuesday and they aren’t on offer”

CLIVE – “Okay then, get what you fancy then dear”

I have to give a special mention to the people who SMACK into me with complete disregard to where they are going causing ME to end up apologising.

A few years ago i thought the world was finally starting to move to times which may benefit me. Less verbal communication with email, text messages etc. I thought the holy grail had arrived when self service checkouts were implemented.

While we have become best mates over the years, a lot of my purchases involve alcohol, so i am often left standing there like a dog waiting to be let out for a shit in order to be assisted.

Once i have gained the attention of the assistant, here comes the sweating, the TREMBLING MESS is back. The best thing about this is the awkward silence and the anticipation about whether they are going to ask for ID. I am fucking 31 and i must look like a fucking teenager who is nicking sweets or buying a porn mag for fuck sake. I used to just get my ID out without prompting to avoid this shit, but i came to a decision a few years ago that i would reverse this on them and make them feel awkward for being such a busy cunt for asking.

If i am lucky, there will be a CHUGGER from a charity hounding me upon leaving like a seagull after a baguette. A typical line will be “Are you happy children are starving”. I can’t say i’m overly happy about children starving, but i’m certain pensioners giving 27p under duress is not going to change it either way. Most of these pillars of society are on over minimum wage an hour as well.

However insignificant the distress of these situations are, i often liken it to being operated on, being awake and being able to feel everything.

I have thought of many safeguards. One that i will implement one day is learning a foreign language and never speaking English again.