I had a strange encounter yesterday. It peaked with the allegation that I am a racist and tailed off with a wide-ranging assertion that all those in Westminster are thieving bastards. I can’t say that I particularly disagree with the latter sentiment but I do take umbrage with the former.
It began as many things do, with a beer. Specifically, an empty can of beer thrown into the street and met with the comment “there’s a bin there, for fuck’s sake.” Which I’ll admit is a confrontational approach lacking in subtlety but sometimes life is frustrating and you make poor choices.
This led, after the usual “u w0t m8” back and forth, to an accusation of racism that hit like a bolt of lightning from a clear blue sky.
Now, I do dislike people for stupid reasons, I won’t argue that. I am not keen on men with ponytails for example, and I find anyone who doesn’t like cheese to be inherently suspicious. I do not care however, about your religion, ethnicity, or sexual orientation. I care if you’re a dick.
Getting the response “who are you telling to go back to their own country, I fucking live here” to the statement “I’m not interested in your excuses, just put it in the fucking bin” was therefore somewhat confusing and rather unpleasant. I obviously approve of the tactic of nuking an argument from orbit – it’s the only way to be sure of winning it – but what the hell, man?
We then had a chat whereby it became clear that he was drunk, I need to look at my impulse control, and neither of us like the government much.
The assertion that “I pay my council tax so that people will pick that up” is still bullshit and the unfounded accusation of racism continues to rankle. Mainly, it must be said, because I feel that if I take issue with someone then it’s because I think that they, personally, are a bellend rather than their entire culture.
I picked the can up myself.
While wondering if I am a racist.
What a dick.