L’enfer, c’est les autres

Sartre once said ‘Hell is other people’ but actually its not. Hell is having to interact with other people, I could go for weeks without seeing anyone and be fine, but plop a load of stupid pleb-ended general public in my way and I swear I will kill someone. I’m not sure how much more I can take of these morons, I amazes me how we even got this far, most of them can’t even walk in a straight line never mind remember how to breathe. They would have helpful little reminders like ‘in’ and ‘out’ tattooed on the inside of their eyeballs if they could do more than one thing at once, blink and breathe? The streets would be strewn with bodies like an unfashionable plague. The other day I took a phone call from someone who wanted to know exactly when the weekend was and just the other day someone tried to pay me in shillings, a currency that went out of circulation nearly forty years ago, and anyway where would you even find shillings these days? I got particularly irritated by the rather intelligent gentleman I spoke to on the phone that was have trouble sending me an email, the conversation went a little something like this:

‘Hello I can’t seem to reply to your email’

‘Well sir what address are you using?’


‘Well you see sir you’re not supposed to reply to that address’

‘I thought you were being quirky, why would you do that?’

‘It’s pretty standard practice actually’

‘No its not’

‘Most companies do it’

‘No they don’t’

‘Sir I’m going to have to stop talking to you now’

And how can people not hold onto their belongings? It’s like everywhere they go they are gladly casting aside all their important possessions willy nilly.

‘Do you have a lost property?’

‘Yes we do’

‘Because I lost an… (insert anything you like here (no really the latest top three items in our tub are 1.a set of teeth, 2.a bag of fresh fish and 3. nine assorted ladies bras))’

After begrudgingly searching through other peoples random shit:

‘I’m sorry there is nothing matching that description I’m afraid’

‘oh but it was a present given to me by the ghost of my dead sister on a unicorn as she was trotting down a rainbow to a fan fare of angels in pure gold halos each carrying a Faberge egg’

‘Well maybe you shouldn’t have f*king lost it then’

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