Why you shouldn't piss off the 'Bit, Reason #23
Yesterday, exactly two weeks after first hearing that my grandma had had her second stroke, I finished off my great (where the value of great is equal to pretty shitty) fortnight by having an argument in the street with a Big Issue Vendor. Yes, I yelled at a homeless man. Icing on the cake, that.
No, I'm not a bitch - the guy had it coming. Apparently I look like an easy mark, so he tried to take advantage. This is not the month to mess with me, people. He gave me the friendly Big Issue pitch, so I stopped and asked how much it was (it's been a while, so I couldn't remember), at which point his treachery started when he lied, telling me the mag was £2, when he clearly states £1.50 on the front, a fact I didn't notice until later. Anyway, he says "£2, but if you can spare three that's all I need for the hostel tonight." Ok, fair enough. I'm broke at the moment with all the trains up the London for fun stuff like hospital visits and funerals, and I always pledge to Comic Relief, so I don't have a lot of spare cash, but he seemed nice enough, so I handed over three quid.
"Can I have my magazine now, please."
"No, I can't give you this, it's my last one."
"But I just gave you the money for it - I just bought it."
"But I can't sell you this, I need to sell this to make the money."
"But I bought it."
"You said you could spare £3."
"For the magazine."
"Well I can't give you this."
At this point, in sheer frustration, I stomped off. However, my steadily building righteous indignation (ooh, good name for a spaceship) didn't let me get more than fifty yards before I turned around and went back to give the liberty-taking little bastard a piece of my mind. I informed him, calmly, that he had misrepresented himself and conned me, letting me believe I was buying the magazine when he had no intention of giving it to me. When he still wouldn't back down I lost my cool a little and laid into him, finally telling him to bloody well give me the magazine I had just bought and paid for or to give me my money back.
I went home reading the Big Issue and slightly annoyed that I'd given £2.30 profit to a conniving little sod, when I could have given it to a more deserving vendor around the corner.
I shout at the homeless. Fear me.
No, I'm not a bitch - the guy had it coming. Apparently I look like an easy mark, so he tried to take advantage. This is not the month to mess with me, people. He gave me the friendly Big Issue pitch, so I stopped and asked how much it was (it's been a while, so I couldn't remember), at which point his treachery started when he lied, telling me the mag was £2, when he clearly states £1.50 on the front, a fact I didn't notice until later. Anyway, he says "£2, but if you can spare three that's all I need for the hostel tonight." Ok, fair enough. I'm broke at the moment with all the trains up the London for fun stuff like hospital visits and funerals, and I always pledge to Comic Relief, so I don't have a lot of spare cash, but he seemed nice enough, so I handed over three quid.
"Can I have my magazine now, please."
"No, I can't give you this, it's my last one."
"But I just gave you the money for it - I just bought it."
"But I can't sell you this, I need to sell this to make the money."
"But I bought it."
"You said you could spare £3."
"For the magazine."
"Well I can't give you this."
At this point, in sheer frustration, I stomped off. However, my steadily building righteous indignation (ooh, good name for a spaceship) didn't let me get more than fifty yards before I turned around and went back to give the liberty-taking little bastard a piece of my mind. I informed him, calmly, that he had misrepresented himself and conned me, letting me believe I was buying the magazine when he had no intention of giving it to me. When he still wouldn't back down I lost my cool a little and laid into him, finally telling him to bloody well give me the magazine I had just bought and paid for or to give me my money back.
I went home reading the Big Issue and slightly annoyed that I'd given £2.30 profit to a conniving little sod, when I could have given it to a more deserving vendor around the corner.
I shout at the homeless. Fear me.