Hey gang!
Actually, I’m not sure enough people read this to actually constitute a gang. Not even enough for a rabble. But, anyway, I still write.
Many a time have I passed the Apple store in Southampton’s West Quay shopping centre and seen the gathering of teenagers that hang out there, checking their facebook and emails, blatantly not going to buy anything. On Easter Saturday my girlfriend, Kat, and I were in Cambridge’s Grand Arcade and popped into the Apple store there. Of course there were tonnes of youngsters checking facebook and, in one case, signing up to a dating website.
We were approached by Dipak, one of the Apple “specialists” in their bright blue t-shirts, who offered us his help. Kat saw this as her opportunity to fulfil a long time ambition and straight away said we were interested in buying an iMac. He launched into a little spiel that he probably reels off dozens of times every day, and to be fair he is very good at it. Kat looked over towards the iMacs, busy with kids, and had this disappointed look on her face. And then the golden moment, Dipak booted someone off one of the machines so that we could have a play. The look on the spotty teenage lads face was priceless as he hurriedly finished his facebook chat with someone and closed the dating website down, shuffling across to the other side of the shop to carry on his shenanigans on a MacBook. Kat’s face was the exact opposite, full of joy at getting the chance to boot some kid off the internet.
We had a play on the iMac for a while, being generally very impressed with the speed and ease of use. The silence of the machine is something that Kat really liked, especially considering the noise my PC makes. I mean, seriously, this thing is starting to sound less like a computer and more like a wind turbine. We left after about twenty minutes of playing around, and Kat left a word document open saying “we want an iMac, can someone give us lots of money please!?”. Sadly, probably because she didn’t leave her name or contact details, we’ve yet to hear anything back on this front.
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I know this isn’t quite the same and I really don’t want to give the impression that I hate all teenagers. However (And I’m pretty sure you knew that bit was coming) I do hate little chavie teens. You know the sort; all in white trainers and cheap sportswear. If they’re not in a hoody then they’ve got the collars on their shitty shirts pulled up. Strutting along with some kind of spacky gang mentality trying to look like they might rough you up provided there are enough of them to get away with it or at least give you a nasty stare if there isn’t.
Anyways, about a year ago, I’ve spotted a group of said twats ambling along the central reservation of a dual carriageway walking absolutely fucking nowhere. They’re busy giving drivers the birdie and flicking fag ends at cars. You can probably picture the scene. Now add me and my flatmate driving along in my nice new car to that picture. Imagine the smile on my face as I’ve noticed in a moment only heaven could provide; a massive puddle hugging the curb right next to where they’re heading to. I’ve put my foot down and created nothing short of a mini tsunami that manages arc right over the whole group before raining down in a shower of shitty road water. My only regret was that it happened so fast. I was quick thinking enough have wound down my window as my car acted as an imprompu wave machine so I could stick two fingers up at the little pricks and bellow a simple ‘fuck you’ as loud as I could.
I’ll be honest, I’m not too sure how clearly they would have heard me but I’d like to think they got the gist of it. I loved that day and spent the rest of the afternoon on a high. Jim couldn’t have fixed it any better for me. That was a dream come true.