Staying grouchy.


How do people survive at a state of perpetual ‘OMG YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHAT JUST HAPPENED?’ hysteria? It makes me tired.

But it seems to be an epidemic. People are so high-strung that they can’t even deal with a barista getting their coffee order wrong without screaming about it (in person, on social media, etc.). I’ve started hiding posts from several people on Facebook because everything, and I mean everything, seemed to be a fucking crisis, from having a hole in their sock to accidentally burning dinner to finding out Charlie Hunnam’s gonna play Christian Grey in that movie. (That movie that people are actually excited about? Huh.)

Last night, I got another email from a customer (the third) that basically accused the cinema of hiding the fact that we played a film a few weeks ago, a film that was profiled in the newspaper. She said that she had been trying to find out ‘for two weeks’ when and where it was going to play. She saved the newspaper, from August, so she could ‘prove’ that the name of the cinema was nowhere to be found. I do not have a copy of the paper, but I am 99% sure that the cinema is mentioned, and that the movie was in the weekly film listings in the Arts Section. But she is not seeing it, possibly because of rage goggles. She probably wouldn’t believe me if I did have a copy, that I was reading from, and say that our copy was clearly not the same. She is Being Angry at us because she missed a movie, a film we actually advertised for months. She missed a movie, not an airlift out of Saigon, but instead of getting on with her life, or picking up the blu-ray, she is being an utter pill. That’s not good for anyone.

Admittedly, I do complain a fair bit, but I also let so, so many things go. I had a brief blow-up after nearly being killed (again) by a drunken idiot cyclist last night, but eh, maybe he ran into a tree, or got a ticket. It’s not my problem right now. Nor is the fact that I ended up with three (!!) runs in my tights yesterday. Ah well, at least I had shaved my legs, so I didn’t look like I was starring in the all-Yeti production of ‘Cabaret’ or anything. I only found out Beth Orton was playing Folk Fest when it was too late to go. My seventeen-year-old self wouldn’t have missed it. Eh, shit happens.

When I was fourteen and trying to forge an identity by following my brother to poorly lit, smoke-filled coffee shops, I worried about not being interesting, so I feigned disinterest in virtually everything, like a proto-Daria (I am very old), and found fault with almost everyone and everything. It/I was very, very boring.

Traces of this remain, obviously, but mostly? Life is OK, despite family deaths, house floods, emergency brain operations, etc. Ever laughed at a funeral? Had a picnic in an attic? Helped shave a family member’s head before surgery? These are all good things, even if you can’t be trusted with clippers.

Sure, complain sometimes, but make sure it’s not all you do. It’s very stressful for you, and very annoying for those around you. A bad hair day can be a delight, or at least an excuse to experiment with scarves, so why turn it into a tragedy? Didn’t like that wine you had with supper? Order something else next time. Have a terrible cold? Adopt a soup, tea, whisky, and sleep diet for a day or two and, sure, whinge some, but make sure it’s not all you do.

Have a lovely Saturday, would ya? It’s what Suzan would have wanted.

Incidentally, I am missing the Newport (I know it moved, but it’s not the same) because I REALLY feel like I should have breakfast there tomorrow. Mum and I had so many breakfasts there over the years. Lousy gentrification.

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