I feel like this could be a bad omen for me as I’m going to be in an airport tomorrow to go away on holiday! I’m desperately hoping there won’t be any delays, at least not a 6 hour one anyway.
If I was stuck in an airport with no electronic devices I’m sure I’d find plenty to keep myself occupied with. One of my favourite things to do when I’m waiting somewhere is to people watch. I think an airport is the perfect place to do this because you’re often sitting around waiting for long periods of time and there’s always such a variety of people milling around! People fascinate me and I love to watch them going about their daily lives. I like to make up stories in my head about what they could be doing and what they’re thinking and so on. I’d love to actually find out things about these people. Plus, people watching in an airport I have an excuse to wear my sunglasses so I can watch without looking like I’m creepily staring at someone from across the room.
It’s why I love Humans Of New York so much, because I get a tiny bit of insight into someone’s life. The information that Brandon, the guy who runs it, manages to get out of a person in just a few minutes is amazing. I guess you could say I’m just a nosey person but I like to think of it as more just interested in the world around me!
When I was in primary school, we had a sports day every year. I wasn’t a sporty child so I’d usually be in the egg & spoon race or the three legged race or maybe the skipping. I specifically remember one year when my mum had said she’d come to watch me (she always came to these sorts of things if she could) but I think she had work that day and so was trying to get off early.
Now as I already mentioned, I was not sporty – I’m not particularly sporty now but back then I was worse. And this sports day was going terribly for me. I can’t remember all the details of why, but I probably lost a race and my friends maybe disappeared somewhere? But mainly, I couldn’t spot my mum amongst the sea of parents. Where was she?! So there we were at the starting point for the skipping race and I was remembering exactly how much I did not want to be in the skipping race. I think I was on the verge of tears; I was never far from tears when I was young.
They blew the gun or the whistle or whatever it is that signals the start and off I went, skipping terribly along while all the others skipped off into the sunset. I wanted so desperately to do well but it was never going to happen. I got about halfway (if I was lucky) down the track when I glanced over to the parents, probably hoping for a glimpse of my mum even though I was convinced she had ditched me for some unknown reason, when who should I see walking across the playground? My mum. Obviously she was here. As if the angel Gabriel himself was coming towards me I couldn’t think of anything else. I thought “fuck this race”, but in more P.G tones of course, and I dropped my skipping rope and ran across the grass, across the playground, tears now streaming down my face and into the glorious arms of my waiting mother. What a moment.
I mean, obviously I lost that race. I didn’t even finish that race. At the time, I think I felt like an idiot for a) dropping the race halfway through, b) making a scene in front of all those people (didn’t like that much attention; still don’t), and c) crying in front of my classmates – although they were very used to that happening. But all these years later, it literally means nothing to me that I lost the race. I hadn’t even thought about it in ages until I saw the writing 101 idea for today, but it’s funny story so I might have to wheel it back out. See if my mum remembers it.
It’s weird to me that I thought something I was doing at maybe 10 years old was so important that I cried like a baby about it! Full on sobbing. Did I think sports day would matter 10 years later? I was only young I know, but it’s still strange to me when I think about it. Anyway, the moral of my story is that sports day means nothing (I’m looking at you, boys who treated it like the Olympics) and my mum can make everything better, even just by showing up.
Happy skipping/egg & spooning/sack racing to all!
This week I started reading a new book (The Twelve) which is set in a mainly post-apocalyptic world. It got me to thinking about how I’d fair at the end of the world as we know it. I’ve thought about this many times, usually weekly while The Walking Dead is on.
I’ve come to the conclusion that I would not do well at the end of the world. Zombies, monsters, barren land, what have you, I don’t think it’s my scene. I would be terrible in any kind of fight, be it between humans or if I had to go around removing the head or destroying the brain of something. It makes me a little squeamish just thinking about it. I love watching these sorts of films, but I guarantee I’ll spend half the time squealing and hiding behind my hands. Pretty much says it all.
Also, I’m pretty sure I couldn’t hunt for survival. I have no aim so gun/bow and arrow is out of the question. I’m too clumsy to follow something around and stealthily take it out. The only reason I can eat meat is because I don’t have to kill it myself. Take me back in time and I’d be a vegetarian for sure. Although I’m not sure you had that option back in the hunter-gatherer times.
Even the thought of having to sleep rough is off-putting. I realise that’d be the least of my worries in a post-apocalyptic world but I hate camping and life would definitely become one big camping trip in this scenario. Not for me. I’d moan, I’d cry, I’d complain. I’d very likely be a victim of murder at the hands of my own friends and family, or whoever I ended up with – losing my friends and family would be enough for me to say “I’m out”.
I know people say stuff like “oh you never know how you’ll react to these situations; you might step up”. Let me be the first to say, I don’t think this is a situation where I’ll be ‘stepping up’. You can sacrifice me as zombie food as long as you kill me off quickly and just leave my corpse for them to devour.
Now to get back to reading my book where I can live vicariously through the characters without actually having to experience it myself (my type of apocalypse).