Hi guys, I know I'm putting a lot of stuff in at the minute, so sorry for that haha! I had it all before I joined. I started writing this a while ago, and I'm not sure it would be classed as comedy, but there are aspects I think which could be seen as darkly humourous. This is the first few pages of a stream of consciousness novella from the point of view of an anxiety sufferer.
I watch the people through a sheet of glass alone whist eating a sandwich I don't enjoy. These people are everywhere, an eclectic body of sentience made up primarily of students, like myself. Watching them is a thrill, a brief moment of empowering insight, a feeling of knowing. The brilliant irony is that this sensational rush is meaningless and built on dashed assumptions, desperate attempts to be other and perhaps even above. Your brain is unable to remember the faces you can see for long, to recall whether or not the subject is enjoying their conversation or not. You look at the expression and smirk, you know that they are simply being polite, and that correspondence with the other is intolerable to them. They are pained, and would rather have salt rubbed in their eyes. The other however, is clearly ignorant to the numb responses of their conversational partner, not understanding that the recipient of their probably pointless statements, radical sweeping generalisations and unoriginal observations hears them as dull thuds falling heavily on their ears. Of course, I could be wrong, and thus another irony presents itself, as I must confess to having previously used the term, "sweeping generalisations." I smirk again. This exercise is futile, and even if I had possessed the impossible intellectual capacity to remember all the observations I make, there lurks the possibility that they are false. Not to worry though as I have no such capacity and my brain is focused on seemingly more important things, prioritising how the brie doesn't go with the apple, and the recurring thought that I should have been here earlier before the good food was taken from the shelves.
Usually, though, I kick the feeling that people watching is pointless, so, for the purposes of self-validation, I can belittle others without the grounds to do so. What a nob, I think, what a nob talking complete shit, as I look at the tall man with red hair gesturing wildly. He might win a noble prize, but in this instant, in my own perverse frame of reference, he is a nob. Yet another irony of people watching is that, despite you almost certainly not being able to recall any of what you saw the week that follows, if you are caught staring intently at your subject, by your subject, you will probably be remembered. Being caught in the act definitely gives your subject more information about you than the act itself gives you about your subject. I am never prepared for the situation and can never wear a face that says to the subject that I wandered off in thought and just so happen to have found myself looking at them. How embarrassing! No, I have an expression which says that I am both capable and culpable, that I am indeed a people watcher. Not a people watcher who brings it up casually in conversation, who says how much they love doing it at the bus stop or whatever, with the hope of seeing a man with an odd face or a woman with massive calves or something ridiculous and petty so that their conversational partner/s all laugh in response and exchange tales about how they saw a poor person with a stained anorak.
No, I look like a taboo people watcher, one who actually watches as opposes to glimpsing. I am clearly looking for something, which can horrify whoever catches me, and when pondering the above, I really don't know why it is that I do it. Of course though, I do. I do it for the sensation I described earlier, I do it to feel like I am more that the scum I am looking at. I do it because I am better, and I need to keep feeling that.
I have to leave now, unfortunately. The big shop doesn't do itself and being a student doesn't give financial room for impulse buys. ASDA's own not Robinson's. I stand up and am consumed by dread, falling into a hole that rapidly expands in my mind. I look down. Thank God. No skin showing, though I should pull my t-shirt down just in case. Don't fumble with the leftover rubbish- be calm, collected. Fight off the sweat- move for God's sake. We've practiced this before! Survey the room and map out a path. Follow it. You're out. I'm out. Who am I? F**king hell, save it for the long shower you can't wait to have. One existential crisis after the other. Bus stop. Don't have the time to watch anyone it's here already! Already! 3 minutes early, outrageous. I should complain, but I could never complain. I could never be the person who disrupted a system of other people designed to deal with complaints. Ironic. I wonder how many people don't complain because of their social insecurities and how much time this saves the department. Does such a department exist? It must. If it doesn't I simply must complain!
I smirk. What brought about this thought? A giant metal carrier of people pulls up at my feet. I worriedly glance at my arm stretched out, how inconvenient is subconscious muscle memory? This is why I wanted to complain. A lack of time for me to mentally prepare myself for the interaction ahead. I'm sweating now. Thoughts tumble through my mind like hundreds of rivets flying from a missile sunk ship. I must have the right change, annunciate clearly, and pick a seat. The doors open, he looks at me expectantly. I knew it would be a he before he got here. Is that prejudiced? We don't have time for this!
Step on, smile. I state my destination. He asks me to repeat. What have I ever done to him? Agony strikes deep in my chest as a surge rushes through it, its genesis being my stomach. I repeat. That's £1.00 for me with my student card that I have unknowingly retrieved from my overly organised wallet. Well done brain. I place my money down, grasp my ticket with a withdrawn, inward urgency and turn left. One hurdle done, but this, this is the high jump for me, friends. I have to find a seat now. Contingency plans. Can't stand, bus isn't quite populated enough and I don't want to attract attention. These people always have to look at something! Me included, try not to judge. Poor vision doesn't allow me to examine the seats further back, can't stride there to find there's no room and have to awkwardly turn on my heel. There are spaces at the front but they're too near the front, thus sitting there would incite the potential for an inevitable catastrophe, its inevitability hinging on the condition that an elderly/disabled traveller presents themselves at one of the stops between here and my destination. I'd have to move, grab my bag, all sorts of things could go wrong but the definite outcome is the thoughts of other people who, given that they're on a bus, really have nothing else to think about. What an idiot, didn't he see the sign that explicitly says that the seat is reserved for the elderly and disabled. I know this because I've had the thought before, and on the inside we're all basically the same. I silence the sweeping generalisation bell that chimes in my head. No time. I've stood here too long. Inch forward. Idea. I pretend to check my phone for some unimportant text, more time to think. The apes in front of me will understand, their screens could stop them from hearing screams, their illumination leads to their dehumanisation. I have surprised myself and though it's a little bit presumptuous, I will have to write that one down.
Look up from a lock screen and see your options, you've been here 5 seconds now. Too long. Too long. Shut up and think. There's a man I could sit next to but his thighs are large, overlapping onto the next seat. I look for more options, though he has been shortlisted. Old woman also available behind him, but I don't want to block her in, she's probably under the impression that, as a youth, I want to steal her belongings, then burn down her house with her in it. I'm sure I've heard that chime before. I also hear her hypothetical screams which disturbs me. Come on. 3 is the magic number.
It must be, my eyes dart right after a quick, perhaps not sufficiently convincing glance at my lock screen which may be visible in the reflection of the window. Must act fast, they could be on to me. Bingo, relatively attractive girl who probably has nice perfume on, so my nose is catered for, headphones in, minimal chance of conversation. Sensory perfection! Default window gazer position. What if she saw the lock screen though? In fairness, I could have been checking the time. Why would she ask? She won't, but she can think. Think such terrible things about me, who she won't remember. Just sit down. That's it, sit down and think about how much better your life will be than the imaginary complaints department cohort.
