The Glorified Scarecrow.
Six-twenty in the a em. A sound designed to annoy kicks me in the ear again and again. I fucking hate that sound, but i chose it to wake me up. I hit snooze.
six-twenty-nine that sound again. I’d better get up. With my eyes half closed i sit on the edge of my bed, it’s cold. opened my window before bed to get some air in here. Well, i guess the weather changed late night ’cause now, it’s breezy. Nice. I sit there for a moment trying to wake up my brain. It fights me every morning, wondering why the fuck i bother waking up at all. I stand walk carefully to the door. It’s not dark really, i just still have my eyes half closed. I open my door to the bright intense light beyond. Now my eyes are fully closed, to protect my eyes from burning out. It’s so bright. But i know where the bathroom door is.
Standing there, swaying a little i pee. It smells like sugarpuffs. Why is that? After i’m finished i just drop my boxers and step into the power shower. It’s cold. Ice cold for a moment. But a moment to long, then the heat kicks in. It always takes a bit to warm up. Then it’s scolding hot. All i wanted was a shower not a dance learn.
Back in my room i remove the bedding and put the bed down. It’s a sofa now.
Down stairs the dogs look at me like teenagers when i switch on the light, they look to see who it is, they squint up at me as if to say “What the fuck, dude!”. I rinse out me mug and realise that there is an odd smell. I look about the kitchen floor. No dog shit, no dog piss. I sniff again. When was the bin bag changed last?
After removing, throwing out and changing the bin liner i got back to the sink, rinse my mug again because i’d forgotten that i already did it. I switch in the kettle. Make some cereal. Go back up stairs.
Sitting on the sofa watching BBC breakfast and eating my cereal waiting for Sonia Jessop to come on and give me the regional news. She’s pretty, about the only reason i watch BBC breakfast. There she is, that smile, those eyes. I hang on her ever word knowing that in a few minutes she’ll be gone for an other half hour. My morning tease… Thank you Sonia.
I finish my cereal and just sit mindlessly watch BBC breakfast while drinking my tea. I figure i should get ready for work. So, while drinking my tea i drag on my work clothes. It’s dry from last nights rain. When you spend thirty minutes waiting for a bus in the rain, you get a little wet. I imagined my trousers never getting dry in time for work. Fucking hate the 134 bus route. Worst in London. I’ve complained to the TFL of course, but still, it’s a shit bus route.
I’m ready, i’ve brushed my teeth and applied the deodorant. Breathing in most of it. Now my mouth is dry. I throw my bag over my shoulder and put on my coat. The weather report was vague: as usual. Should i or shouldn’t i wear the leather jacket over the hoodie? It rained yesterday, so i wear it. The weather girl, what’s her name, said it might rain… Yeah, nice, thanks, great help there, Sue (No idea what her name is to be honest). I step outside and and it’s cold, but not so cold that i need to fasten my jacket. I walk to the other bus stop, you see my local council are resurfacing the road along my bus route so i need to go a different way now, for a bit.
The bus ride is usual. People talking on phones, eating breakfast and drinking coffee in those thermal mugs. I wake up early enough to eat breakfast and drink my tea at home, i don’t understand this need to drink on the move. Are people in such a rush these days that they come take ten minutes to drink a cup of coffee at hoe before they take off to work. People, wake up a little earlier, relax. And phones, why do people carry then in their hands, so they can see that facebook status update the micro second it appears… geez people, take a second. I mean do you really need to see it that fast that the few seconds it’ll take to get the phone out of your pocket or your bag is too long?
The of course the phone zombies. Walking through life (streets) with their faces buried in their LCD dreams. Eye dilated to the appropriate brightness level. The tunnel vision of the Phone zombie means they can’t see anything else within a few feet.
Anyway, i’m here now. At work, black suit, black tie, white shirt. Black shoes. I’m a scarecrow. For people. I’m the retail security guard watching you.
You ever wonder why retail security guards always look so miserable?
Wear uncomfortable clothes and shoes. And stand for eight hours watching people spend an average of six-hundred quid on shoes. You stand there for eight hours earning seven-fifty an hour, watching the world pass you by. Watch you life drag on. You do this so you can pay the rent.