Cooking up a Storm

Hey, listen here 'lady in the queue at the book shop' I want a word. Not to your face, no.

I want to have this out here, now, without there being a chance you'll ever know I was upset at you. Also I can exaggerate my claims, make up shit about you and the situation that occoured that frankly isn't true, purely for entertainment purposes.

Fuck yeah, I'm really Blogging with gas now! (I just ate alot of chickpeas)

So, there I was, queuing as hard as I could, in the aforementioned book shop, obeying all the rules* and being generally unprovocative. My ear catches the blurb of the shop assistant trying in vain to get some personal details from a rather uncooperative middle-aged middle class middle sized lady, we join them in the middle of their conversation;

"Can I take a home number then if you don't want to give your mobile, since we do need a way to contact you about your order" yelps the put-upon shop girl.

"I'd rather not" huffs the lady. I watch her jerk her head towards me and then leans in towards the girl, sniffing "You don't know who might be listening..."

I immediately get indignant and ridiculous, my face resembling a pantomime drag queen with piles, but don't voice my anger as it goes against my strict ethos of emotional repression which I've been cultivating for twenty six years.

The shop assistant presses her for an address now - even worse luck - the woman points to me in the queue, retaining eye contact with the girl "I'm not about to give out my bloody address, I don't want robbing y'know?" (The 'y'know' is delivered with that south Belfast Malone Road nasal twang, lips puckered like a cats arse 'y'knoooowww')

"Listen up mush" I feel like saying. "I'm not going to rob you. I have a copy of 'Nigel Slater's Kitchen Diaries' under my arm. What do you think I'm about to do? Leap the garden fence, shatter your window pane, lift the door latch and set about making you a Key Lime Pie out of all your own ingredients?"

Instead I back away, until she thinks I'm out of earshot. The shopgirl takes down the address.

So do I.

From out of the anger a plan has been born.

I'm going to break into her home, late at night, and cook for that bitch. And not wash up.

Fuck you lady!


*Queue Rules:

1. Stand at least 3 feet away or more from other queue people if possible.
2. Face the same direction as everyone else.
3. Practice trying to nail that whistling-through-your-teeth-thing you always see shephards and
hardened criminals doing in TV programmes. Keep doing it. Keep doing it until someone gives you a dirty look and validates your existance in some paltry way. Masturbate about it later.
4. No tickling except for queues that happen in churches or holy grounds.
5. Always proclaim to be 'King of the Queue' just before being served, people find this charming.