Social Pariah
As the sun sets behind the Reichstag, my friends and I enjoy a pint of cold Berliner Pilsner and two courses of German fine cuisine. A young couple sit next us, hand in hand, gazing into each other’s eyes. I finish discussing the links between gentrification and a rise in post-modern sculpture in the city, then let out a mighty belch. What’s left of the Wall falls, and the romantic gentleman on my left, in a thick German accent implores me, “Come on, mate”. He shares a disapproving look with his other half and gives me a patronising thumbs up to show that ‘we’re still cool’.
I’m a student. This allows several otherwise reproachable activities; not shaving, not tipping, not washing, sleeping until 4PM, discussing 1960s American literature and still using the word ‘like’ every 7 seconds, having an entire wardrobe based around crests and nicknames – York University Sailing Club, Buttsy (long story) – and, of course, wearing exclusively bed clothes outdoors. However, when the choice of trousers is a pair of novelty scrubs, and the weather is driving rain, full frontal nudity becomes apparent. Sorry, everyone.
Fashion is tough these days. One will do anything to get by. One man’s rubbish is another man’s gold. One insecure kid’s faux pas is another kool (sic) kid’s ‘must have’ accessory. I am at a house party in Leeds kooling it up (sic again). I have my fitted purple t-shirt, my fringe is swept across my forehead and my skinny jeans are tight. Sitting on the stairs chatting, a partygoer in fancy dress admits he’s wearing girl’s jeans. I am not in fancy dress, but, when in Leeds… “Ha, yeh, I’m wearing my girlfriend’s jeans,” I reply. Everyone looks at my tight black jeans, “Are you wearing a thong too?” Everyone laughs. “No”, I mumble to no one in particular.
Have you ever been walking along, pacing to the beat, lost in your own headphone world? No? Well, you’re missing out. However, one should be careful about singing along, out loud, in public, without realising it. Walking back from work at two in the morning, I stop to get cash out so I can warm myself on some cheesy chips. “I wanna make love in this club”, I chirp. Usher had the right idea, I think to myself. The bloke in front of me disagrees. “Wha’”, he probes. “I was just singing to myself”, I apologise. “Ha. Are you a dick or sumthin’?” “No…I just want to make…err…love in this club.” Not true. But it scared him enough to turn back around.
This one is aimed at the Freshers. When you have that first seminar, and the tutor wants you to bond with the rest of the faces in the room, stay alert when asked to find out three pieces of information about the person sitting next to you. Listen. Even if, say, the girl next door but one to you, is far more attractive, and you spend the next five minutes staring blankly past your neighbour ignoring every hobby, county, or sibling count. When it comes to your turn to introduce your colleague, things get awkward. “Right, this is Kate…” Kate interrupts me. “Erm. It’s Alice, actually.”
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