Moonlighting
More moonlighting, more festivals. Same old, same old.
Thursday finds me in Cleveland Street at the All Souls Club House for my mornings training on “Disability Awareness” in readiness for the Liberty festival in Trafalgar Square on Saturday.
So, having booked half a days leave I now know that it’s not PC [and that’s not Police Constable, by the way] to call spazzers, spazzers and that not all disabilities are immediately obvious. Oh, and not to be patronising.
One of my moonlighting colleagues, who is also a pig and a loves all this “I am one [of whatever group [spazzers, on this occasion]] ergo I’m qualified to teach you how to behave”. He knows how to work people and the spazzers who was tutoring us was backed into a corner bit by bit by bit. Problem was she must have been blinded by the gleam of her wheelchair to notice.
By the time he’d finished showing her the chip on her shoulder, it couldn’t have been more obvious had it been up their with a super size Pepsi and a cheese burger.
Well, Saturday dawned bright and sunny and the event passed off without any… well anything at all really.
It just never seemed to start. The music was so low key we could have been in a lift. The performances were so unperforming that they were more like the live-statue-fool-covered-in-grease-paint that you tend to find in Covent Garden and the only way you could tell something was going on was when the guy who was doing the sign language at the side of the stage was waving his hands around.
Oh, and by the way the biggest spazzers were the able bodied, everybody’s-equal organisers.
[N.B, Tuesday 22.30, I’ve just stood like a lemon for 18 minutes (I always note the length of time I queue in Tesco) in Tesco at Bolsover St and upon reaching the front f the queue, almost, one of the staff shoves past me / us with a blind oriental guy.
“Do you mind if I take this gentleman to the front of the queue?”
Now this is one of those rhetorical type questions that nobody in this day and age would dare say “No” to. Well I did.
This chap is one of David’s regular customers and gets the raging hump if anybody attempts to help him in the pub. So why, all of a sudden should he get preferential treatment in Tesco?
You could have cut the air with a knife. But he went to the back of the queue!]
Sunday finds me moonlighting at the Regent Street Festival. It’s now Tuesday night and my feet still ache! After last year I said I wouldn’t do it again and this time, I mean it!
Thursday finds me in Cleveland Street at the All Souls Club House for my mornings training on “Disability Awareness” in readiness for the Liberty festival in Trafalgar Square on Saturday.
So, having booked half a days leave I now know that it’s not PC [and that’s not Police Constable, by the way] to call spazzers, spazzers and that not all disabilities are immediately obvious. Oh, and not to be patronising.
One of my moonlighting colleagues, who is also a pig and a loves all this “I am one [of whatever group [spazzers, on this occasion]] ergo I’m qualified to teach you how to behave”. He knows how to work people and the spazzers who was tutoring us was backed into a corner bit by bit by bit. Problem was she must have been blinded by the gleam of her wheelchair to notice.
By the time he’d finished showing her the chip on her shoulder, it couldn’t have been more obvious had it been up their with a super size Pepsi and a cheese burger.
Well, Saturday dawned bright and sunny and the event passed off without any… well anything at all really.
It just never seemed to start. The music was so low key we could have been in a lift. The performances were so unperforming that they were more like the live-statue-fool-covered-in-grease-paint that you tend to find in Covent Garden and the only way you could tell something was going on was when the guy who was doing the sign language at the side of the stage was waving his hands around.
Oh, and by the way the biggest spazzers were the able bodied, everybody’s-equal organisers.
[N.B, Tuesday 22.30, I’ve just stood like a lemon for 18 minutes (I always note the length of time I queue in Tesco) in Tesco at Bolsover St and upon reaching the front f the queue, almost, one of the staff shoves past me / us with a blind oriental guy.
“Do you mind if I take this gentleman to the front of the queue?”
Now this is one of those rhetorical type questions that nobody in this day and age would dare say “No” to. Well I did.
This chap is one of David’s regular customers and gets the raging hump if anybody attempts to help him in the pub. So why, all of a sudden should he get preferential treatment in Tesco?
You could have cut the air with a knife. But he went to the back of the queue!]
Sunday finds me moonlighting at the Regent Street Festival. It’s now Tuesday night and my feet still ache! After last year I said I wouldn’t do it again and this time, I mean it!
posted by liits at 6:50 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home