I was in town today and caught the eye of a man who was erratically speed walking while simultaneously devouring a large salad. I have very little trust for people who engage in these activities. I got the impression he was a machine, programmed to annihilate humanity and whose primary fuel source was caesar salad. Suffice to say, he appeared unbelievably unstable.
I imagine this to be a relatively accurate portrayal of one of his diary entries:
I was returning home from a brief excursion, having completed some task. I can’t remember what it was precisely, but I assure you, it was of great importance. To any who observed, I would have appeared completely engrossed, possibly physically strained, due to my absolute devotion to completing whatever was asked of me. The task could have ranged from reaching for my wallet, in order to purchase an item, or as you know, sometimes I loiter near footpaths made slippery by frozen surface water, stalking the elderly like an oracle vulture, swooping in with abundant assistance.
“My, my, you seem to have fallen!” I often exclaim. I enjoy pointing that out, I feel it adds some spontaneity to my experience and the patronising tone seems to fly right over their frail heads, which gives me great satisfaction. You know, I think it was the footpath shenanigans today.
I’m clearly insane and in need of psychiatric treatment, but my boss rides me hard and I don’t get a lot of time off, not to mention, the office Christmas party is coming up and I’m planning on spiking everyone’s drinks, then re-enacting ‘Die Hard’. Filming it with my Sony camcorder. I’ll probably print some freeze frames and anonymously post those out to the staff in human resources, throughout the new year.
Thanks for listening, diary. Ever since I threw Whiskers in the trash compiler when the garbage man was distracted, I’ve been feeling out of sorts.
P.S The salad I ate on the way home today was mediocre.