HAVING a good time? Sat on your sofas, stuffing your faces, watching Saturday Kitchen? Christ I hate you. I’m at work.
Maybe you saw me? Maybe whichever one of your household drew the short straw and had to nip out to get milk, oh and we’ve run out of biscuits, and may as well get the beers in for New Year? Perhaps, while they bewailed their misfortune, I passed before their eyes.
I f**king saw you, of course. Wandering blinking through our aisles at midday, eyes still bleary with sleep, not long out of your onesies. Eager to get home before 2pm so you can have a little drinkie-poo.
Oh, we all see you. The resentful staff rehanging all the dresses you pulled out while saying ‘call this a sale?’ The garage worker who wasn’t important enough to pause a phone call for while you paid for your MOT? The delivery driver you beeped at for your momentary delay?
F**king Christmas. All you office twats, or even worse the work-from-home wankers, winding down for half the month then having a fortnight off. Even if you go in you’re only ‘manning the phones’, which means wandering the office grazing on abandoned Roses.
Meanwhile I work through the whole pre-Christmas frenzy, get a whole two days off which you bitterly resent for the inconvenience it causes you, then I’m back here on the 27th smiling while you bring back a toaster because it’s the wrong colour.
I f**king hate you. That’s the spirit of Christmas for anyone who’s ever served you while wearing an elf hat. And so does everyone behind the bar at New Year.
