So this evening I was set. A simple meal; steak, rice & sweet potato (I think some of you call these things Yams) and all was going well until I heard what sounded like scratching at my front door. I’m always quick to investigate noises coming from the front door as I live below an ex-heroin addict and I think we both know it’s only a matter of time before he gives up his IV cider dip and moves back to the brown.
But no, no crazed junkies were to be found. This was worse. A Jesus-freak was posting her propaganda through my door, trying to spread her lies into my humble home.
I quickly snatched the leaflet up (The Light Of Truth or some such bollocks) and opened the door to return said make-believe literature, except the old dear dishing out the fiction actually had quite a pace on her and was already halfway down my neighbours driveway. So I left the house and set off after her. Look, don’t get me wrong, I don’t really care what people choose to believe in, no matter how daft I might think it is. But I get enough lies when I step outside my front door in the morning as it is, so I object to it being shoved through my letterbox as well.
“Excuse me!” I called in my friendliest tone, “Excuse me!”
The little old lady turned around to reveal a face which looked like it had been twisted out of barbed wire,
“Hi, hello,” I said, still all smiles, “I don’t need this thanks.” And handed out the leaflet, but lady just looked at it and didn’t say a word. An awkward pause enveloped us before my brain helped move the situation along with,
“Yes…I’m an atheist you see.”
I hadn’t even gotten the “ist” part out when the lady spat on the ground and tore the piece of paper from me, giving me a nasty little paper cut between my thumb and forefinger,
“Well I hope you and Hitler are happy together.” She snarled and turned away, back to her leaflet carpet-bombing mission.
I stood there for a second, wanting to thank her for comparing me to someone who masterminded the killing of millions of people (I’m sure she was actually thinking of Stalin anyway) but I had a steak to cook, so I left her to it and rushed back.
Things weren’t good in the kitchen; the rice was boiling over, my potato was starting to shrivel up into rock-hard chucks of fat and my steak was billowing out smoke.
I started moving frantically through the kitchen, resembling something like Neo in ‘bullet time’, flipping steak, turning gas down, stirring rice, squeezing lime over gin & tonic, and it was nearly time to dish up when there was a knock on the front door.
“Oh tits to you.” I shouted. I switched everything off and ran to the front door, but that sent a cloud of smoke with me which set the fire-alarm off.
I opened the door and greeted a Tescos Delivery driver with a hail of high-pitched alarm beeps and burnt steak smoke.
“Tescos Delivery!” She sang at me with her arms full of my food shopping,
“Shit! Really? Now?! Ok, ok.” I looked back at the kitchen with a sinking feeling. It was supposed to’ve been so easy. All I wanted was a steak,
“Hoho, sounds like you’re as good a cook as me!” The lady chuckled as she set the shopping bags down,
“Yeah,” I replied distractedly, “This is what happens when the misses is out.”
Then before I knew it, she clubbed me around the face with my 6 pint bottle of semi-skimmed milk.
“What the fuck?!” I blurted,
“An atheist and a sexist pig, now there’s a surprise!” She hissed, and with that she lobbed the dented bottle of milk at my chest, hard, causing me to tumble back and bang my head on the wall behind.
Once I’d regained my balance and composure I stepped outside to see where the psycho delivery lady had gone with my food, but she was already climbing into her van. She pulled off with a screech of tires and plume of exhaust smoke, leaving me to stand in the middle of my garden, arms outstretched in a wtf-pose, watching my weeks worth of food shopping disappear down the road.
I was about to turn and go back into my deafening house when the little old religious lady with the barbwire face hobbled pasted. We looked at each other as she cocked her head to take in the tremendous noise-pollution my fire-alarm was dishing out,
“Sounds like someone’s already burning in hell!” She cackled. And with that she stuck her middle finger up at me in a violent, jerky motion before shuffling back down the street.
I didn’t finish eating my steak in the end. I managed to force myself to chew through half of its leatherly goodness before a string of fat got caught in my tongue-stud which resulted in half an hours worth of pain as I tried to de-tangle it.