SUNDAY STORY CRIME PAYS

SUNDAY STORY ?? BITCHCOIN

I was crossing the domed airport lobby of Heathrow, aiming for a uniformed official so as to ask a question regarding my upcoming flight when a family of wide-bodied folks parked in my path, their luggage tumbling around their calves. Road blocked by a landslide of flesh. Mama methodically rocking her girth, two rotund kids and an extra large dad.

The dad stopped directly in front of me and to his face I demanded, ‘Please move out of my way.’ To which he replied, ‘You can go around me.’ I did not say the bitchy comments swirling in my mind including how much longer it was going to take me thanks to his eating habits.

England has changed a great deal since I lived there one hundred years ago. Firstly, in my day, fat was for Americans, now it’s a British thing too. 

Secondly, while I’ve read about the increase of laws, reading is abstract. Being in it is palpable. There is a tension borne of the cameras recording your every crime. And I committed a series, including pressing the horn in the car of a friend which I was advised against as it results in gargantuan fines. Merely speaking your mind to another individual can result in arrests and jail.

When I was shoulder to shoulder with my enemy I said clearly and loudly enough for him alone to hear, ‘Fatty.' 

The huge man went berserk, screeching, ’What did you say,’ ‘Did you hear what she said?’ ‘You say that again!’ 

I never turned to look at whomever was making that dreadful racket behind me. I was focussed on the security guard. 

While I plodded innocently away, distancing myself from this angry lout. I reached the safety of the uniformed guard and enquired about my ticket.

Yes, I know I was rude, I was bad! Maybe possibly a criminal offense. But if satisfaction is a currency, BitchCoin let’s call it, crime does pay.