The Eleventh Hour

Gaaaargh I hate my generation so much today.

This morning in my office, it was realised that we had forgotten to acknowledge someone’s birthday earlier in the week. So we got her a cake today to make up for it. All good. At five minutes to eleven they called us all into the tea room for happy birthday and a piece of mudcake. I subtly pointed out that that the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month was possibly not the most appropriate hour to bursting into jubilant song.

My co-workers looked at me like I was the one not getting into the spirit of things, until it gradually dawned on them that maybe we should be observing Remembrance Day. I had a hard time keeping a straight face (Giggloop anyone?) as we all stood for two minutes, staring reflectively into our slices of chocolate cake. But at least we observed it.

Then at lunch time, I was asked by a shop assistant if I was wearing a flower on my shirt for Gay Pride Week. I have no objection to Pride Week, but I had had just about enough of general ignorance for one day, so I explained I was wearing a poppy for Remembrance Day. I dared him to ask “What’s that?”

He did, so I beat him to death with his own iPhone and scattered the pieces as a warning to others.

Okay I actually glared at him like he was some sort of imbecile (which he was) and directed him to the Legacy stand. He walked to the bus stop instead and started tweeting about it.

#dickhead

Lest we forget (and don’t you forget it)

Garry with 2Rs