Tuesday, October 04, 2005

045: UNCULTURED SWINE

I consider myself a fairly simple man. A man who has very little time for pretence and ceremony. Never before have I regarded myself as uncultured or unsophisticated. Maybe I am, and perhaps it's not such a bad thing.

Most nights I spend my time hanging out/throw rugging somewhere comfortable in front of a television or at Comfy Chair. I'm a man who likes to be among people who are not worried about the image they project. I like wearing clothes that are easy to move it and flatter my butt.

So having said that, I'm not necessarily in my element at a poncy five star restaurant at Crown, which is where I ended up Sunday night.

I despise Crown and all it stands for. It's like a shining beacon for all things conservative and vanilla. A nice safe place for the overweight bougoise to wander around and bask in their own complacence. A complex full of boring stores made for boring people who live lives that are so boring they'd do us all a favour by taking a razor to their wrists!!!

To begin with, I have a problem with anyone who calls me 'Mister' and uses my last name to address me. I work for a living just like everyone else. I loathe the notion of being 'served' by anyone. Especially when it comes to food. I can get my own food.

So imagine my disgust when this so called five star waiter casually pours my Guinness into a glass. I'm sorry, but pouring Guinness is an art. You can't just open the bottle and dump it in!!

Oh the humanity!!

Surrounded by a virtual army of waiters ready and waiting to attend to our every whim we ate. My sister Bec, revelling in being pampered so much. Personally I find it degrading, for me and them!

Which brings me to my point…

Both Bec and my Dad seem to thrive in this environment. Being served. I'm used to getting my own food. They enjoy having a meal with several courses. I'd be happy with a meal at all. My Dad says that it's because I've grown up with so-called 'Australian' values. Values that obviously don't include wearing a suit to dinner. The ceremony of it all. I find the whole exercise pretentious and wrong.

Don't misunderstand.

I've been raised with excellent table manners. I can wear a suit and tie and look sophisticated. I know the difference between wines and cigars and that bullshit stuff. I even own brill cream. But I hate it. I choose to embody the antithesis of that.

Maybe uncultured Australian values have been instilled in me. But at the end of the day, I'm just an average guy trying to earn a crust and be an honest man.

All that pretending seems like such a waste of time. I guess it makes sense when you consider what kind of person I am. So you can keep an eye out for me in line at your local take away joint.

That's where I'll be.





the end

3 Comments:

Blogger Mel said...

This is my favorite post of yours to date. Thanks for sharing. I'll be sure never to call you Mister anything - you know what I call you - :)
Ahhh shnookums..:)

10:16 PM  
Blogger Slim said...

Thanks Mel, that means a lot coming from you.

I could just pinch you right now (In a totally affectionate and platonic way!)

11:39 AM  
Blogger Mel said...

You can pinch, albeit an affectionate and platonic way. :)
Do I get to pinch back? hehe

8:23 PM  

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