Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Lunch Date.

I’m at the back of my office building, smoking a cigarette. It’s lunchtime.

Blonde Colleague and Grotbags approach, returning from their lunchtime adventures.

Grotbags: [By way of a ‘hello’] Fuckin HELL, man.

Me: Ok.

Blonde Colleague: Mental in Boots. The pharmacist. Radge-packets all over the place – coppers an’all.

I feel a bit short-changed. I’ve peacefully eaten my home-made ribollita in the canteen without incident.


About half a dozen, they had to get this massive copper in to supervise the whole thing while they picked-up their prescriptions.

Not antihistamines I take it?

You’re a twat you sometimes.

B.C: And like he knew them ALL by name. And they all knew each other and they’re all like “how man, been in trouble?” and like “naw man have I fuck, just here for my stuff, will they hurry up I need to be in court in twenty minutes like” and asking the copper if he’ll watch for their prescriptions whilst they go to the toilet and that. There’s not even a toilet in Boots!

Grotbags: Aye. And the copper’s like “you’re not going to any toilet whilst I’m watching son”.

Have I mentioned how much I love this city? And simultaneously hate it?

B.C: Aye and it looked like an advert for J.D.Sports but with scag-heads. And frightened old women.

Grant From Work has joined us during this and observes the whole exchange with his usual impassive expression.

Grant From Work: So they give the scag-heads their methadone ‘scripts all at the same time? And they all rush to cash them in ‘en-masse’?

I want to give Grant From Work ‘props’ for using the phrase ‘scripts’ but am not sure what ‘props’ actually means.

Grotbags: ‘Spose. It was scaring the shit out of the old dears in there for their anti-inflammatories.

I check the date and time on my watch. Grant From Work notices this.

Grant From Work: [deadpan] Next week?

See you there.


Blogger TutTutRe said...

All life in your neck of the woods then (and that's just your colleagues) ;-)

11:17 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

No idea what you're on about chief.

These are the small things.

That's all.

11:44 pm  
Blogger punxxi said...

This comment has been removed by the author.

2:12 am  
Blogger punxxi said...

Damnitall, now I want to pop over for lunch next week.

2:13 am  
Blogger Alison Cross said...

How like the lunchtime of our own, dear Queen ;-)

Ali x

10:20 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

punx: I'm guessing it won't be so good next week. It's never the same. "I remember when the crack-heads used to be funny" etc.

Tut: In retrospect I owe you an apology. Thought you were being sarcy.

10:23 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

Ali: I sort of doubt that.

10:53 pm  
Blogger Sewmouse said...

Probably a good thing I'm not living over there - with my luck, I'd tag along next week and there'd be only the geriatric crowd picking up supositories and shouting at the chemist "You say I need to stuff these up WHAT????"

6:25 pm  
Anonymous Carlos said...

my wife is pharmacist here in the uk she has to have this every day

7:50 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

Sew: I'll let you all know if it turns out to be a regular entertainment.

Carlos: Ah.

7:24 pm  
Anonymous Johnners said...

Next week the geriatrics might get the wrong scripts though, and that would be worth going into Boots for any day.

10:37 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

J: No doubt.

8:26 pm  

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