A Feud Filled Thursday

Thursday last week was to be a good day. A half day from work, an attendance with Don Pasquale at the Opera in the evening (I’m not a huge Opera lover, but I enjoyed it a lot), and to travel back in time to some degree (well, 6 years or so, to be precise) as I would see my old school play in the infamous Leinster based competition known as “The Leinster Rugby Senior Cup”. For those of you not to au fait with this competition, it’s actually quite a big deal at school level and taken very seriously. Having always been a proud supporter of my school, in many ways, and not just in rugby, it was with resounding pride that I would get to go sit amongst the present students (all kitted out in black and white – and no, I do not have a penchant for young boys...thanks for asking) and teachers (still dressed as I remember them) and support the team on the pitch with my lungs.

Before the game there is the obligatory drink in Kielys – a great way to meet up with old friends and teachers, and to be finally treated as an equal by said teachers – by sharing a drink with them. As I have said, it was almost like stepping back in time to be surrounded by guys from my old class, and the older/younger classes. At one point I even found myself hiding a cigarette from one of the teachers passing by and referred to him as “Sir” from pure habit. Or maybe from respect. Or most likely, as always, never wanting to be seen as a “bold boy” – I am just that weak!

But of course, stepping back in time, along with the positives, such as meeting an old Prefect of mine, and some guys I had even prefected over, there are also the harrowing negatives of bumping into the past. Before I even stood in the pub before the game I had walked in behind a past pupil that was but one year ahead of me, and though I had always harbored a certain degree of hatred towards this particular guy I thought it might be possible that considering we were now no longer students in school, but equals in the real world, he might show me a certain amount of courtesy. This positive feeling was to be short lived as I walked in behind him where he not once, but twice, neglected to hold the doors for me entering the plush Donnybrook pub. Almost immediately the feelings of sheer angst filled my bones and I was once again “back in school” hating this twat. I’m fairly sure, even if he were to read this rant he wouldn’t know it was he that I was referring to, but I’ll give him a hint, should he by chance get a glimpse of my rant ; he was/is/always has been of average build, height, handsomeness, intelligence, humour and general demeanour. Overall, a pretty ignorant fellow that was always sat snugly amongst “the hards” of his year, and was generally the one who came out with the most undercutting remark that followed a pretty meek insult that was initially being laughed at – but never instigated an insult of his own – he was just that much of a lame twat. He also has a nickname that was actually not so much a nickname, but rather a sound you might make should you stub your toe. I’m all out of hints, and quite frankly, I couldn’t give two fucks if he should stumble across my web based rant ... if only he’d held the door for me...the ignorant-annoyingly-average-prick.

Yes, my day was filled, from there on, of catching sight after sight of this ignorant sap and feeling the same repugnant feelings I’d once held, and truly had thought, would have left me by now. It just goes to show that, like love, true hatred never dies. And for that, I feel almost sad, and somewhat to blame. Perhaps I should have tried to spark up a conversation and listened to his self-praising bullshit? Although, I do find it hard to stomach the sound of one patting their own back. And I know, by now after having years of not commenting on his abysmal behaviour towards me for the five years I had to endure it, I’d just have to make some kind of smart remark that would spoil any positive conversation that might occur. For you see, I have this inability to keep my mouth shut when I’ve been wronged, and if I’ve even had a whiff of a drink, shit, I’m going to take you apart if I think you deserve it. Luckily, I wasn’t drinking, and fortunately, that conversation never came to pass – it would not have been pretty, but in short, here’s how I think it might have gone;

INT. KIELYS PUB – DAY

ME: Hey man...err...how are you?

PRICK: Fine. Doing well. I drive an Audi.

ME: Ehm, good for you...

PRICK: What do you drive?
ME: I don’t.

PRICK: Ha. (Sips his Heineken)

ME: Hey, you remember all those times you said horrible things to me in school and I couldn’t respond because I’d have taken a beating?

PRICK: Ha. Yeah. Funny times.

ME: And all the times you bunked me at the tuck shop? (*To bunk is to skip*)

PRICK: Yeah. (Irritatingly sips his drink again)

ME: Oh you do?

PRICK: Ha. Yeah. Anyway, I’ve...

ME: Just a second. Can I ask, why did you do all that?

PRICK: Uhm. (Beat) I don’t know? ... Because I felt like it...and didn’t like you very much...

ME: Oh. Well, is there any chance of an apology seeing as we’re grown ups now?

PRICK: (Sips his pint and smiles) No.

ME: Okay. Thanks.

I would then have calmly proceeded to picking up the nearest chair to hand the second his back was turned and put it across his neck and shoulders. Sure the legal costs overall would be expensive, but when you weigh it up with the amount of counselling I’d need to rid myself of the angst I feel for this muppet, well, somewhere along the line I reckon it’d average out.  

And what’s the message behind all this, other than I can’t allow a feud between myself and another go, even if they aren’t aware of said feud?

...

Next time, please hold the fucking door for me, dickhead.

(P.S. My school won their game, and will progress to the semi-finals ; perhaps this conversation will occur next time...)