I was a quiet and reserved chap when I was at school in Londonistan. Blond haired, blue-eyed with a well-fashioned, smart black school blazer, I wasn’t set on starting a new nationalist movement, merely trying to make a friend or two and have a little fun in the duration.
Poking frogs with sticks, dropping crispy white dog poo in a mate’s satchel, walking to school with some lazy, like-minded affable people and generally keeping ourselves to ourselves.
I got the odd detention or two. For being belligerent mostly, and looking back on it, critically pointing out the logical inconsistencies of what the teacher was preaching and trying to indoctrinate us with what now turns out to be contrived theory and rejected by today’s analytics. And of course, as a young man, the growing realization that I was slowly despising the creeping stench of state authority. Blimey, it’s all there, from when I was growing up.
I guess it is in these latter times of upheaval, these non-normie atypical mannerisms, these outlooks that naturally guide Puffins to these Going Postal shores, like a fren-moth to a welcoming lighthouse of sanity and logicality.
Anyway, focusing back to a dim and distant past, there was one particular window licker that took a dislike to me in school. A fat bloke, same familial situation to me, father exited left, mother carried on, in the 70’s divorce was considered to be up there with one of the seven abhorrent middle-class sins. Because I looked like Savile fodder, being blond and blue eyed and quiet, I was a target to enhance this window licker’s much-desired reputation for being a tough guy.
He spent weeks following me around the school corridors and playground, taking the piss, calling me names, pushing me, shoving me, provoking me, taunting me, punching me.
I didn’t react, thus emboldening further his false confidence. The attacks grew more frequent and more intrusive and more aggressive, until one day the whole classroom of thirty of us were ready for the next lesson and Robbie Jones came over to me and said, “Oi! Geeks! You are the Queen of Sheba!” and shoved me very hard.
And then something happened. Something deep, something primal. The sheer power of emotion I couldn’t control just erupted. A visceral rage. A previously quiescent and now resurrected jinni just violently coursed through my body and I punched this fucker so hard that he soared majestically over the school desk like one of the Wright Brother’s earlier attempts and nosedived straight onto the floor like a landed haddock fresh from the Grimsby fish market.
Silence in the classroom, apart from a minor piscatorial twitching on the cold, dank schoolroom floor from our scaly Robbie.
School news alert: weedy quiet guy had just laid out the school bully. A hush all over the room tonight. A seismic shock to schoolboy normalcy. One flew over the Geek’s desk.
When the haddock finally regained consciousness, he staggered up from the floor and said, “You bastard, Geeks”, and then Robbie limped away, sobbing quietly so nobody could hear.
The next day, I went through the school gates expecting to be absolutely pasted to within an inch of my life. Bully Robbie Jones hung out with the older kids and so with no options left, I resigned myself to my fate for standing up to a bully, in the best British way of justice, walking straight into the lion’s den. Or the main school playground, as it was known.
Haddock Jones was there, he swished his tail and came straight up to me and said, “Look at what you’ve done Geeks, you bastard!”, and there he was, the fat cowardly scaly cunt with the biggest black eye you’d ever seen! What you see is what you get. He made his bed, he’d better lie in it. And he did.
Delicious. I laughed and Robbie scuttled away like the cowardly little crustacean he was.
I didn’t get beaten up by anyone else at school ever again. I had the “do not touch” flag. You see, the problem is, weak scum like Robbie Jones can’t explain to their elders why they got the black eye.
“Oi, Jones, why you got a black eye?”
“I got punched by Geeks”
“You fucking poof, piss off”
Fast forward 20 years and I’m on an escalator, suited and booted, in the Covent Garden tube station. Commotion behind me. Some people might like to get a train to work, or drive a Beamer or a Merc. Lots of shouting. Suddenly I feel a forceable shunt to my back and I grab the escalator handrail to support myself.
Now, you have to imagine the situation dear reader, Geeks hates commuting and is in a highly agitated state whilst on contract with a Londonistan client.
I hear loud voices behind me. Another push. Big one this time.
I submit, I fall, I break, the Hulk-ian green rage courses through my veins and I swiftly turn around and grab this black leather-clad tattooed youth by the throat and slam-dunked his head very hard on the escalator handrail, scoring one point, ding ding, whilst screaming from the top of my lungs,
“DON’T.
FUCKING.
PUSH.
ME”
The entire Covent Garden tube went quiet. Pin drop.
I looked into his eyes. They were wide open. I mean, really wide. And he had brown irises. Very brown. And speckled with some green bits. He smelt of pubs and Wormwood Scrubs and too many left wing meetings.
He didn’t move, he didn’t blink, he didn’t swallow, nobody around me said a word. I released my grip and turned around on the escalator, and I remember thinking, Geeks you’re going to get your head staved in by these four blokes.
“Hit ‘im, Kev”
Well, I guess Kev was trying to regain control of his sphincter muscles, like I was, because he couldn’t get the neural activity nor the required amount of blood pressure to raise his fist to my face.
We got to the top of the escalator and my nemesis simply dissolved into the sea of commuters that were, like me, making their way to the exit and onto the streets of another cold, dark winter evening in Londonistan.
The only claim to fame is I’ve never heard a tube escalator being so quiet. I mean, pin drop quiet.
What a strange world I live in.
© Beware of Geeks Bearing Gifs 2021
The Goodnight Vienna Audio file
