Archive for September, 2013

Ti amo milky bars

Posted in log on September 19, 2013 by isidor

Ugh. Too many things to figure out while I am stationed in Liverpool. A sort of purgatory. But I like this blog, so I have to get back to drawing. For now, I only have a good story. A true, baffling episode of real life.
This weekend, I met some kids at the park.
It happened that this wild bunch of 10 year-looking girls approached me.
They insisted that I call the police because some random idiot had shouted racist insults at them (they were white, the insult being “milky bar”, I thought it was appropriate).
I insisted that generally police does not solve these issues.
They insisted that I do call.
I insisted that I do not call.
They insisted that I do.
I insisted that I didn’t even have my phone with me (which was true, how convenient! I can’t really come up with excuses like that on the spot).
I went to take a seat – I’d gone out after a long day at the office to get a breath of fresh air – and eat my salad.
They scurried up to my and examined the comic book I had with me, enquiring about the price, and as to why it has women in underwear in it (it was “Heartbreak soup”).
I kindly explained that us adults are free to do as we please and indulge in scantily dressed women.
They then asked what was the price of my salad.
It was from Tesco (really bad taste, I know, but I’d been working overtime every day), one of the girls knew the price exactly.
Then they asked where I was from.
I said I was from Italy.
Which prompted:
(here it comes)
“Is Italy in Greece?”
I didn’t move into that area, I was afraid to disturb a carefully laid imaginary geography that preserved their mental balance, and in any case they got me out of the impasse by proceeding with the interrogatory.
“How do you say fuck off in Italian?”
To no avail, I tried to convince them of the existence of many words in Italian, far worthier than an invitation to go and have intercourse with yourself (I’m still not sure of the precise meaning of that expression).
“How do you say fuck off in Italian?” (I’m not sure they’d heard a word of what I had said)
“Ti amo”
(oh, how perfidious of me)
“How do you spell that?”
“Tee-i a-em-o”
“HEY RICHARD” (shouting off in the distance to one from her flock)
My merriment at that point could have spoiled the whole thing, thankfully they decided they had enough of Italian lessons and went back to financial matters.
“How much are those shoes?”
(I wasn’t really wearing shoes, but my 10$ espadrille)
“How much is 10£ in Italy?”
I obliged with an approximate monetary conversion, from experience of my many times crossing the Channel.
“Can you buy a pair of shoes in Italy with 10£?”
I’m still not sure what that was about, but the conversation came to and end since I had terminated my salad, and it was getting cold. At this point one of them grabbed my empty boxed lunch, threw it on the ground, squashed it and started playing soccer with it. Appropriately, she was wearing the Liverpool FC uniform, just like many of her peers I’d seen prowling in the park.
I intervened with a comment about environmental safeguard and all that nonsense about not dropping things on the ground, let alone public spaces.
“Why not?”
That’s it, I was done for. I couldn’t really hope to come out of that situation. She then held the flattened plastic over a sinkhole, waiting for me to go and save it. I reached out – fell for it, worse than a whale rolling down a cliff. She let the thing go, down the drain.
Oh. Kids these days.

And then they pretended to run me over with their bicycles.