2222. A bit of a whine

(As usual, an interesting number – look at those four 2s! – can mean a deviation from fictional story-telling into an autobiographical vignette).

I hate it when people make fun of me. I find it really depressing. I don’t know why some people have to put others down. In New Zealand it’s called the “tall poppy syndrome”; no one is allowed to stand higher than anyone else.

Someone told me that people are critical because they’re jealous. I’m not sure about that. I think they like making fun of me because they think I’m ugly or something. No one ever invites me to their place for a social occasion or makes a pleasant visit to my place.

It’s not just looks either. They make fun of the way I talk and the stupid things I say. Some even point and laugh. For example the lady librarian at our local library was hysterical with laughter when I took out a book on Greek Philosophy. She said, “What do you want that for?” I told her she wouldn’t know a quiddity from an oddity. I understand Greek philosophy quite well, thank you very much. That’s what I said to her and she screamed even louder with laughter. “What a Hoot!” she shrieked. “Toot! Toot! What a Hoot!”

I don’t like Planet Earth very much. When my leader asked me to represent Planet Hoot on Planet Earth I thought it would be fun. But as it has turned out, it’s the Earthlings that get all the fun; making constant ridicule of my eleven tentacles, five eyes, and twenty-two nipples.

1944. I didn’t know

Apparently I can’t do much right. I mean, how is a guy to know these things? I gave her a bunch of yellow roses and she said yellow meant “goodbye” – at least in her vocabulary of flowers. I wrapped some white gladiolas in some black tissue paper. I thought it looked stunning and she said that to wrap things in black paper meant everything was over.

It just went on and on. I didn’t know she was allergic to peanuts when I cooked up some Chinese using peanut oil. I didn’t know that years ago her grandfather had drowned and it was insensitive of me to say “Let’s go to the municipal swimming baths on this hot day.” When I asked “Would you like a wine?” I didn’t know her mother was an alcoholic. I didn’t know she had run over her cat when she backed out of her garage. I didn’t know she detested football. I didn’t know that there wasn’t a thing in the world that didn’t upset her. Everything under the sun brought on shocking memories and reactions. I didn’t know she was a Pandora ’s Box of carping whinges.

On and on and on and on and on. I didn’t know at the time that my brother was right when he told me I was a fool to marry her. Good luck to the guy she’s eloped with.

1838. A handy tip

Tammy Barsby left a two thousand dollar tip for all the staff at the local pizzeria. “I was moved to tears,” said Kimmy Bretherton. “I have worked at Uncle Sammy’s Pizzeria for eleven years and I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Owner Sammy Luciano said that Tammy Barsby had been a regular patron for at least the last four years. “There are still bright spots in our fallen world,” he said. “Tammy’s wonderful generosity will help us get through the dark times and brighten our hearts with the love of giving.”

“I’ve never seen anyone done something like that in my whole life,” said regular patron, Marcellus Caversham. “I’ve never done nothing like that myself. There’s usually three people working there at one time, so divide two thousand by three, whatever that is, and you get a pretty nest egg.”

Letter to Editor 1: I was moved to read of the generosity of Tammy Barsby. It’s certainly not something that the leader of the country would have done. He is a lying, deceiving box of maggots. In fact he probably is the real owner of the pizzeria and just wanted the publicity so he paid the woman to drop the tip off at the pizzeria. That guy can’t do anything unless it’s about himself.

Letter to Editor 2: The fact that someone had to leave a tip for an exorbitant amount shows what hard times we live in under the current administration. The government’s dealing with the economy leaves much to be desired, but if the other person had won the election we’d have a brilliant Foundation to help us all out.

Letter to Editor 3: I don’t know why Uncle Sammy’s Pizzeria gets the headlines and the money. Their pizzas are inferior. I own and run the Happy Family Pizzeria just down the road. Not only do we make better pizzas, but we don’t bleed off the general public like Uncle Sammy.

Letter to Editor 4: I work part-time on a Thursday evening at Uncle Sammy’s Pizzeria and you want to know how much of the tip I got? Nothing. It seems you had to be working at the same time as the tip was left to get a proportion (sic) of it. I deserve it as much as anyone.

Letter to Editor 5: I don’t know why everyone is so negative. Moan moan moan. That’s all I hear all day from these idiots who complain about everything all of the time. So selfish! I wish they would all get lined up against a wall and shot. The world would be a happier and more positive place.

Editor: This correspondence is now closed.