A tram was coming in the other direction, down Collins Street, which bing bing binged me as I ran across in front of it. Oops! I thought it was stopping at the tram stop, but it wasn't. I misjudged that, however, it was taking off, it was still a long way away from me, it wasn’t really a close call.
I slipped across in front of it and ran up the tram stop on the other side of the street, when I heard a voice. I didn’t really realise he was talking to me, I just kind of turned towards a voice.
It was a paramedic, who was riding a motorcycle up Collins Street, just as it happened. He said something to me, it was something smart, I am guessing, but I didn’t really catch it. It would have been along the lines of, “Dying to get home are we, mate,” or some such quip. It was tantamount to a telling off for what I had just done.
Groan.
Give some guy a uniform and a title and they think they are important. And to think, he would have been offended if I’d told him to fuck off. Self importance is sickening, and in epidemic proportions today, no matter what guise it comes in. Just turn up when you are called, little man, and perform the service for which you are paid, otherwise shut the fuck up.
Or, maybe I am just grumpy at the end of a work day.
Nyr?
Could be either.
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