On Social Intercourse.

I was standing by a waste bin today when three teenage boys approached. One of them fiddled in his pocket and took out some sort of wrapping which he deposited in the bin. He’d obviously carried it around with him and I was impressed.

‘Well done,’ I said.

‘What?’

I nodded in the direction of the bin and said ‘thank you.’ He looked back and forth between me and the bin and seemed a little nonplussed. I think the penny dropped eventually:

‘Oh, yeah. Right.’

You have to be so careful with teenage boys. Congratulate them too heavily for doing the right thing and they’re likely to rebel. It’s the best way to make delinquents of them.

*  *  *

So then it was into the newsagent to get a couple of photocopies done. I unloaded some loose change on the young woman assistant, which she counted and declared ‘perfect.’ Oddly, she didn’t pronounce it ‘perfict,’ which people in this area usually do. She pronounced the ‘e’ as in ‘felt.’ Perfect.

‘You said “perfect.” Where are you from?’ I asked.

‘Oh, around here.’

‘Are you educated or something?’

‘Something like that.’

*  *  *

And then I went into the bake shop to buy a cake. (I’d taken a packed lunch with me. It’s cheaper than buying a bag of chips.’)

‘A small egg custard, please.’ (They cost 50p.)

‘Is that all?’

‘All?! That’s my weekly treat!’

‘Weekly? Heavens! Poor thing.’

Quite. But don’t anybody tell me I don’t have good social skills. And don’t anybody tell me I don’t have a life.