What’s happening to you ladies? 90% of the time I hold open a heavy glass door in or out of a bank or shopping centre ( me, shopping centres!! ) maybe a record store or an exhibition space and I primarily think I’m the bigger person here- this door is way big and she’s moving fairly swiftly towards it- why not hold this open and let the lady through, good call right?
Not when the lady person in question whistles through without as much as an eye of recognition, like nothing!
As if it was expected and due course, “sure that’s what you do right, big fella, what do you want a medal?
I’m fairly busy here I don’t have the time to be stopping and chatting unless it’s about me”- “Oh Sorry I was breathing”
I’m thinking these ways of thinking come from the same place that ‘Jockey backs’ come from, there’s an unwritten agreement between drunk men and women on primarily weekend nights that he carries me ( talkin’ like a drunk woman ) on his back regardless of the fact my neon thong is visible through that €12.99 JC Penny number. “It’s these shoes and the taxi rank nite- link stop is so far away, I haven’t finished my cheeseburger…aghh don’t drop me now we’re nearly there!
“Oh no that’s not me you’re talking about- I’m way too classy for that messin around and I’m more polite than that when push comes to shove” this may be truer than true and we blokes are also capable of all the public scratching in the world ( highest ratio per capita ) but definitely two to five or six wrongs do not make a right hand hook in the middle if O’Connell street, city centre.
C’mon let’s get involved, make the effort. We don’t want to see your IbizaKnicks on our gorgeous clean main streets, there’s still some fuckin’ Catholics practicing around here, for the love an honor of Jaysis.