Holding on to it
More often than not I can keep my cool. I may shout, swear, growl and scowl a lot but I tend to keep it together [this is another moonlighting story, by the way].
“Celebrate Oxford Street” festival this time. The first one ever; and with any luck the fukin last. What a mess [the Old Bill cock it up again, as per usual].
My plot was the main stage. Quite handy really because it contains lots of little corners to sneak away into to have a sly ciggy, our base point, so it’s handy for a skive while talking to Meryl, the boss, and also because it was an “Andrew Cheeseman Productions” event, and I know most of the crew and hence can ponce cups of tea / coffee etc. It also has the access points to the backstage area.
My door security-moonlighting partner in crime, Sylvana, was on the gate at the House of Frazer side of the stage fending off people who could see down the side of the stage to Wigmore St. but couldn’t get down to it.
Along comes the old man from hell. Shoves the gate open, shoves Sylvana out of the way and strides off down the side of the stage. Syl jumps in front of him and he gave her a full, open-handed, slap in the face and continued walking.
Now I saw all this but only in the detached sort of way that you do when you are chatting [actually shouting at the top of my voice over the music] to somebody else.
I leapt off of my perch, ran after him, grabbed him and spun him around. This was where I lost it. I’m suppressed my shouting didn’t drown out the music, my boss sitting in the control point twenty yards away heard me. It was one of those full issue, red mist, type things and all I remember is the shouting and shoving him out of the gate. As soon as he was back out on the pavement the cold light of day snapped on and I nearly shit myself.
“What in the name of God was all that about?”
“He slapped Syl”
“I know that she told me, but did you have to go on at him so long?”
Well I had no idea how long I’d been ranting at him but it was long enough for Meryl to get the full SP from Syl and to draw a bit of an audience from the backstage bunch.
Apparently the old boy was petrified, which wasn’t the intention, but as Meryl said, if he thinks he can go around slapping women he deserves it [I disagree, but we won’t pursue that one, I was only helping my colleague] you should have “tapped” him.
A certain person from a department within the lovely Westminster Shitty Council came up to me and whispered in my ear
“I thought you did that brilliantly. How you didn’t hit him, I don’t know. And you didn’t swear once!”
“Celebrate Oxford Street” festival this time. The first one ever; and with any luck the fukin last. What a mess [the Old Bill cock it up again, as per usual].
My plot was the main stage. Quite handy really because it contains lots of little corners to sneak away into to have a sly ciggy, our base point, so it’s handy for a skive while talking to Meryl, the boss, and also because it was an “Andrew Cheeseman Productions” event, and I know most of the crew and hence can ponce cups of tea / coffee etc. It also has the access points to the backstage area.
My door security-moonlighting partner in crime, Sylvana, was on the gate at the House of Frazer side of the stage fending off people who could see down the side of the stage to Wigmore St. but couldn’t get down to it.
Along comes the old man from hell. Shoves the gate open, shoves Sylvana out of the way and strides off down the side of the stage. Syl jumps in front of him and he gave her a full, open-handed, slap in the face and continued walking.
Now I saw all this but only in the detached sort of way that you do when you are chatting [actually shouting at the top of my voice over the music] to somebody else.
I leapt off of my perch, ran after him, grabbed him and spun him around. This was where I lost it. I’m suppressed my shouting didn’t drown out the music, my boss sitting in the control point twenty yards away heard me. It was one of those full issue, red mist, type things and all I remember is the shouting and shoving him out of the gate. As soon as he was back out on the pavement the cold light of day snapped on and I nearly shit myself.
“What in the name of God was all that about?”
“He slapped Syl”
“I know that she told me, but did you have to go on at him so long?”
Well I had no idea how long I’d been ranting at him but it was long enough for Meryl to get the full SP from Syl and to draw a bit of an audience from the backstage bunch.
Apparently the old boy was petrified, which wasn’t the intention, but as Meryl said, if he thinks he can go around slapping women he deserves it [I disagree, but we won’t pursue that one, I was only helping my colleague] you should have “tapped” him.
A certain person from a department within the lovely Westminster Shitty Council came up to me and whispered in my ear
“I thought you did that brilliantly. How you didn’t hit him, I don’t know. And you didn’t swear once!”
posted by liits at 6:30 AM
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