I am a horrible person. I happily judge other people for doing things that I have done, am going to do or wish I had the balls to do.
This revelation hit me in the face when I was standing in the line at Greggs. For those of you that have the misfortune of not living in the UK, Greggs is a “bakery”/carb fest, that sells very British things like sausage rolls, pasties and the delicious chicken slice. Essentially, if you are on Atkins (is anyone?) then it is your arch enemy. It is safe to say the healthiest things to eat in there are probably the napkins.
It does, however, do a bloody good bacon sandwich. Hence the reason I was in the queue/”line” there this morning. I actually thought “lord look at these losers” and then promptly joined the end of the queue as any self-respecting Brit would. I then proceeded to overanalyse everyone else before ordering a breakfast sandwich and chicken baguette. Note to self – If you have to put it in a bag you have ordered too much!
In the ten minutes it took for me to get served I had formed an opinion on every other person in there. Then I realised that I was judging people for doing the exact same thing that I was doing. What if the person behind me was doing the same thing?!
Then my brain flat-lined.
Have you seen those pictures where it is a person holding a picture of a person holding a picture? Or better yet – that photo of Ryan Gosling (mmm) wearing a t-shirt of Macauley Culkin wearing a t-shirt of Ryan Gosling wearing a t-shirt of Macauley Culkin? That is essentially what happened to my brain. It was too much for that time on a Friday.
Since the aforementioned trip to Greggs I have resolved to become a better human being. This is not just because I ate both the bacon sandwich and the chicken baguette before 11.30, but also I am quite concerned that if science discovers karma actually exists then I am screwed.
Don’t get me wrong, I do try to be a nice person. On account of my eternal singledom, my friends are the most important thing in my life. Even if you aren’t my friend and are just some random stranger I will always lend you £1 for the bus if I have it and I definitely will buy you at least one tequila shot at some point, whether you want me to or not.
This is all very well and good but what if it isn’t enough? What if that right doesn’t cancel out all the wrongs?
By way of example, the other morning on the way to work there was a girl walking in what can only be described as horrendous shoes. Now I’m no fashionista by any stretch of the imagination but these were awful. They were great big white clumpy things that your mum would probably call clodhoppers. They were so high the poor girl was at least a foot off the floor. I have no idea what she was thinking. The 13 year old me did own a pair of buffalos shoes so I really shouldn’t judge her but at least I had the excuse that it was 1998 and the Spice Girls were still relevant. (Also – OMG they still sell these!!)
I took an instant dislike to this girl and I have no idea why. Maybe it was because her choice of footwear made me think she was one of those super cool people who shop in Topshop and eats halloumi. The kind of people who come out of a vintage shop looking effortlessly chic and say things like “what this old thing? It was my nan’s from 1928, I just sewed on a button”. You know the sort – they probably are really good at Instagram, follow people other than Stephen Fry on Twitter and read books that haven’t already been made into films. I would call them “trendy” but that probably isn’t the “trendy” thing to say anymore.
Maybe it was that. Maybe it was because I was instantly jealous as not only was she wearing the ridiculous shoes she actually had the cheek to be able to walk in them, and pretty fast she was too! I struggle to walk in flats most of the time, I fall over at least twice a day and here is this girl without a care in the world strutting down Deansgate on stilts! I upped my pace to a power walk and still she soldiered on. I confess I have never wanted someone to fall over more in my life. How horrible is that?!
Even as I write this I am justifying my behaviour. In my mind Clodhopper was a serial cheater or a cyber-stalker or worse. In reality she is probably a lovely person who worked in a soup kitchen and knitted socks for old people.
My point is that I should probably not think these things about people I don’t know. How would I feel if someone was thinking that about me?
Unfortunately I think the answer is that I might not care. No that’s a lie, I definitely do care what people think of me. Every time I post a blog I must read it 100 times.
I was lucky enough for my writing to be picked up by Thought Catalog and after I had shared it with Facebook and Twitter I instantly panicked about what people would say. FYI, it is meant to be a sarcastic article and a joke – I will not be doing what is on the list (well not all of them anyway).
Turns out I needn’t have worried as most people liked it. Have a gander at the comments on the original though – one lovely chap called me an asshole!
Thanks Mister but in case you didn’t know, I’m British and I think you’ll find it is correctly spelled “arsehole”.
Karma’s a bitch.