Sunday, 20 September 2009

When Harry met Homo

  There's this rumour circling the school yard and it goes; the more good deeds you do the better your life will be/the more good karma you will get/the greater the chance that your name will be on the door when the cabbie finally finds his way..

I'd like to hope that any of the above is true. Early this morning after stopping off at the local 24-hour bagel bakery I made my way up my building stairwell, whose aroma can only be likened to that of ol' Billy cat's sandbox, and at 3am I fell into a deep slumber. As usual, the soundtrack deafening my eardrum was that of a phone screaming to be answered. That same phone that coincidently seems to ring every time I get home from a night out. The one whose owner obviously is yet to read the 'idiot's guide to answering a phone'.

Two and a half hours later I was put to the test. My phone rang. Luckily for me I proved my capability, and therefore the fact that I was anything but a hypocrite, by retrieving my phone and answering it.

However, looking back now I see that failing this test and thus proving hypocrisy would have definitely been in my best interest. On the other end, was my American friend Harry, only that morning it seemed Harry was posing as a homosexual English gent, called Ralph.

Ralph informed me that he had found Harry strewn across his front porch and Ralph had been working his way through Harry's 'recent call list'. He thanked the lord that someone had finally picked up. He asked if I was able to come pick Harry up from 42 Crowndall Court, just off Kingsland road, near the top of Pittfield Street. After recovering from the shock of the situation and taking charge of my motor skills, I cursed the lord and managed to mutter a request for repetition. Moments later I was in a cab to Crowndall Crt.

Ten minutes later I was standing in front of a body positioned in a manner that could be likened to those kids who lie in the snow waving their legs and arms back and forth in the hope of creating a bona fide snow angel. Only difference was, there was no snow and Harry seemed to be stuck in the 'forth' motion - his limbs were strewn out like a bruised and battered starfish.

Eventually he stood up, eyes still closed, I collected his belongings off Ralph, and both Harry and I extended our gratitude to the mysterious saviour.

Me -'thank you soo much' & then Harry - 'fuck you, you cock sucker'.

For five minutes Harry and I stood on the side of the road. He had a cut above his left eye, and the tracings of what looked like a 'fist to jaw' kind of action. 10 minutes later we were climbing up my stairs, whose pee-stained stench was too much for Harry to endure without promptly reminding the slumbering residents. Then we went to bed. Finally.

Later, we awoke and Harry was, not surprisingly, very confused about his whereabouts. He had no recollection of anything after 2:30am. I had been called at 5:26am.

After examining his appearance we concluded that the scraped arm and knee and torn jeans could only be attributed to a 'trip' down the stairs. And well, the punch to the jaw must have been the result of Harry mouthing off; at which neither of us were surprised. We came to the agreement that he probably deserved the smack in the chops.

After all the drama, (he is forever in my debt), he lost a jacket but gained a scarf.

Later that day I spoke to our mutual friend Tyler, who said he had also received a call from Harry, and boy was he glad he had neglected to answer it.

I must be the only person in the world, who is willing to answer their phone during the times of 'shut - eye'. And for that I am expecting a shiit load of good karma.

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I am more than prone to monologues; however, this is solely due to the manner in which they compliment a witty anecdote and their ability to resemble concrete evidence when it is so obviously lacking. I often wish I could emulate that aloof character who coolly stands in the corner smiling mysteriously as if she has a secret. However, I fear resisting the temptation to involve myself in other people’s conflicts and responding through body language rather than verbose banter may come across as contrived and arrogant. And, I am not willing to take that chance.

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