I no longer go to the cinema. I’ve really had enough. It’s not the cost of a ticket at about £8, or the price of a soft drink at £9 and a bucket of popcorn at £18.
It’s the social degenerates. The mobile-morons. The fatuous phone freaks. They drive me mad. Committing-murder mad.
I would, ordinarily, go to the cinema to watch, and hopefully enjoy, a film. However, the new breed of cinema goer now seems to go simply to play on their phone all film long. They are totally incapable of the slightest of social graces necessary to watch a film in the company of other members of the public.
The continual click-clacking of phone buttons, the flashing on and off of phone screens, the loud nudging of one of these degenerate’s friends to show them something on their phone drives me mad.
Can they not just switch off their phones and put them away for an hour and a half? Is it so much to ask?
Nowadays, when you walk around town, it’s a more tiring experience than it ever used to be. Because you have to concentrate on avoiding some moron with his or her head stuck in a phone from colliding with you.
I really am surprised there isn’t more phone crime in town centres than there actually is. Girls, in particular, seem totally incapable of switching the sound on, putting their phone in their bag or pocket and awaiting the sound to alert them that one of their socially inept friends has announced on facebook that they are blowing their nose.
Instead, they hang their bags over their arms and walk around pointing their phone in front of them, blissfully unaware of what might be going on around them. Unless I have got it wrong and they are in fact all a new breed of stock exchange pundits who have to stay in contact with the office at all times.
I witnessed some time ago a “charming” young lady who embarked the bus on her way to town. I was sitting in the front seat, and on she stepped, in total animation on her phone, her conversation comprising solely of “know what I mean”, “like” and “innit”.
She slapped a ten pound note down on the bus driver’s ledge, and that was it. Now while I appreciate most bus drivers are 100% psychic and instantly know where their passenger wants to go without having to ask, my driver (to those who ever take the 7a in Leeds, it was the nice, round-faced smiley grey- bearded driver with the black glasses) just didn’t know. So like any sensible public servant would, he asked her.
The reply was a torrent of abuse about the driver being a stupid – sadly, I can’t repeat the word she used here before the watershed, but it rhymes with shunt – and that he was “eavesdroppin on her ‘portant (important) private con-vis-ashun, innit.” Eavesdropping. Now there's a surprisingly complicated word for someone who doesn't understand the the more simple word 'manners'.
The normally laid back and gentlemanly driver replied “look love, if you carry on like that, I’ll have to ask you to get off the bus”.
“Love” then proceeded to look at me. “Hey mistah” she said to me. “Youse saw that. This” – use of the word rhyming with shunt used again – “was lis-nin to my ‘portant private con-vis-ashun and you’re my witness to do ‘im in court. Innit?”
She, as was I, somewhat taken aback by my response.
I said, quite loudly, something along the lines of: “Young lady. The way you’ve just behaved with your swearing and attitude, the driver would be quite right to throw you off the bus, and I would be in the front of the queue to help him. I suggest you grab your ten pound note and your Blackberry, before one of us shoves it in a place requiring you to seek medical attention to take it out, and get off this bus now. And perhaps learning some manners before the next bus might do you no harm.”
She did get off the bus rather quickly, naturally enough shouting, swearing and two-fingering the driver and me.
To make matter worse for her, the other passengers on the bus started cheering and clapping.