Those of you in church today who frequent the Ask Keith Topping board at Outpost Gallifrey may know that I had a bit of a dodgy run-in yesterday with one of that most delightful of breeds, the skinhead.
And for those of you who don't know what one of those are, they're a particularly loathesome, crude and ignorant bunch of racist knobcheeses as ever one could wish to meet.
This one happened to be one of a pair of surly, foul-mouthed men who were employed by a removals company who, in turn, had been subcontracted by the local council to do removals and re-deliveries whenever anyone on the estate has had anything put into storage. They were, in my case, contracted to collect and return 45 boxes that had been held in storage whilst I've been having all this building work done on my gaff. And, on Thursdays, they were bringing them back. Cause for some celebration, right? You'd think so...
Anyway, to cut a long story short these two (the other one wasn't a skinhead, per se, but was something of a miserable old scrote with a nasty attitude) turned up effing and blinding with every other word and complaining, very loudly, about them having to carry these 45 - admittedly heavy - boxes up the stairs to my flat. I did point out to them that this was, you know, THEIR JOB but that really didn't seem to cut much ice with them. So, I left them to it went into the front room and rang Helen, my liaision officer with the building company, just to note that I wasn't very happy about these chaps and their general attitude and would it be possible for a message to get passed through to their gaffer and for someone to have a quiet word in their shell-like to remind them that it's generally not considered very professional conduct to come into a clients home and say, as for example one of them did very loudly, "we shouldn't be FUCKIN' doing this."
I also informed them that if their management had any problems with the health and safety aspect of this particular job - i.e. the weight of what they were carrying being too heavy for them to manage - then they wouldn't have let them leave the depot in the first place, or they'd have supplied another couple of men to help them out. And, therefore, would they kindly just get on with what they were being paid to do.
At this point, things threatened to get ugly. The skinhead one, after giving me a perfectly evil stare and asking me if I had a problem (I replied "I don't, but you seem to have a problem with doing your job") gave me a mouth full of impudence and then stormed out of my gaff muttering "we know where you live." I asked him to repeat this and he refused. I then told him that I believed he had just threatened me, that I considered this to be wholly out of order and that I'd be reporting the matter. (Which, actually, I haven't done yet - except to the Internet! The police wouldn't be interested since it'd be my word against his and, frankly, why go to his boss and probably get him sacked when that'd likely only antagonise some shaved gorilla even further?)
So, anyway, if I'm found dead in a pool of blood anytime over the next few weeks, the police needn't be baffled in looking for potential suspects!
I'm not, normally, an overtly emotional person but that incident (which happened at around 9:30 in the morning) fair ruined the rest of my day. It takes a hell of a lot for somebody to upset me but this bonehead managed it with seemingly practiced ease.
Garry Bushell, you've created a MONSTER!
And for those of you who don't know what one of those are, they're a particularly loathesome, crude and ignorant bunch of racist knobcheeses as ever one could wish to meet.
This one happened to be one of a pair of surly, foul-mouthed men who were employed by a removals company who, in turn, had been subcontracted by the local council to do removals and re-deliveries whenever anyone on the estate has had anything put into storage. They were, in my case, contracted to collect and return 45 boxes that had been held in storage whilst I've been having all this building work done on my gaff. And, on Thursdays, they were bringing them back. Cause for some celebration, right? You'd think so...
Anyway, to cut a long story short these two (the other one wasn't a skinhead, per se, but was something of a miserable old scrote with a nasty attitude) turned up effing and blinding with every other word and complaining, very loudly, about them having to carry these 45 - admittedly heavy - boxes up the stairs to my flat. I did point out to them that this was, you know, THEIR JOB but that really didn't seem to cut much ice with them. So, I left them to it went into the front room and rang Helen, my liaision officer with the building company, just to note that I wasn't very happy about these chaps and their general attitude and would it be possible for a message to get passed through to their gaffer and for someone to have a quiet word in their shell-like to remind them that it's generally not considered very professional conduct to come into a clients home and say, as for example one of them did very loudly, "we shouldn't be FUCKIN' doing this."
I also informed them that if their management had any problems with the health and safety aspect of this particular job - i.e. the weight of what they were carrying being too heavy for them to manage - then they wouldn't have let them leave the depot in the first place, or they'd have supplied another couple of men to help them out. And, therefore, would they kindly just get on with what they were being paid to do.
At this point, things threatened to get ugly. The skinhead one, after giving me a perfectly evil stare and asking me if I had a problem (I replied "I don't, but you seem to have a problem with doing your job") gave me a mouth full of impudence and then stormed out of my gaff muttering "we know where you live." I asked him to repeat this and he refused. I then told him that I believed he had just threatened me, that I considered this to be wholly out of order and that I'd be reporting the matter. (Which, actually, I haven't done yet - except to the Internet! The police wouldn't be interested since it'd be my word against his and, frankly, why go to his boss and probably get him sacked when that'd likely only antagonise some shaved gorilla even further?)
So, anyway, if I'm found dead in a pool of blood anytime over the next few weeks, the police needn't be baffled in looking for potential suspects!
I'm not, normally, an overtly emotional person but that incident (which happened at around 9:30 in the morning) fair ruined the rest of my day. It takes a hell of a lot for somebody to upset me but this bonehead managed it with seemingly practiced ease.
Garry Bushell, you've created a MONSTER!
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