Before I begin I'd like to make it clear that in my humble opinion
there are two kinds of hippies; you've got the
beatific benign
peaceful individuals who innocently search for a better world. I'm
all for them. But then there's the
skanky mean disagreeable kind.
The elitist hipper-than-thou lesser hippy or hippy wanker. One
example of the latter species would be the long-haired cock-knocker I caught trying to steal my
studded leather belt at a Hanoi Rocks concert. Another example will follow shortly..
So there I was, walking down the street in the early evening.
Minding my own business, as ever. I was approaching a
bus-stop so I slowed down and calmly negotiated my way around the people standing there. Looking down I subliminally registered a group of school- kids, a couple, and some older people.
"
Ere, White-Man" someone shouted. I looked up, this skinny white,
streak of piss,
Captain Beaky-nosed, mature student type was leering directly at me.
"
You're losing your hair White-Man" he whined.
I gave him a look that said: "
Jesus, are you a nutter?"
He was, after all, standing outside a school that predominately
serves black students, at a bus-stop where he was surrounded by
black people. It seemed a strange place to launch a
Nazi recruitment
drive.I was content to ignore him however, there is no immediate maniac
shortage here in sunny South London. Why, just the other night
between 10:40pm and 6:16am the following morning I counted 13 sirens
and two police helicopter pursuits. Criminal types notwithstanding,
a lot of methadone clinics and mental health facilities are situated
in Camberwell and we can't cure `em all.
"
White-Man, move with the times." He rapped.
I realised then, as I walked past him, that he wasn't on a racist
tip, he was referring to
Robert Crumb's famous White-Man character.
The archetypal 50's straight blue-collar American desperately
repressing his savage desires. That pissed me off, I've been a fan
of Robert Crumb since I was 14, what did this sub-elemental harpoon-
nosed gonk have to tell me about Crumb's work that I haven't already
learned from long years of diligent study at the feet of the master.
I stopped, turned around and walked back to the hippy / mature
student type.
"
You're moving too fast, White-Man." He free-styled, but quieter
now. More cautious.
"
Have you got a cigarette?" I asked.
He shook his head meekly.
"
Have you got a roll-up?" I asked.
"
I wouldn't give you anything." He said, recovering slightly.
"
Right," I said, "
so you're not my friend, that means you can't talk
to me that way. What the fuck have I done to you that you should
insult me?"
"
You're too white White-Man," he grooved, "
your giving off White-Man
vibes."
He had a macrame shoulder-bag with a laptop shaped bump in it. I
really felt that he owed me something. His big Jackdaw shnozzle was
pointed directly at me. He looked exactly like the kind of wretched
front-line hard-core political activist whose entire skanky raison
d'tre is to have a better MP3 player than you.
"
Listen," I said, "
I'm not a racist, but I am a white man. What are
you?" That stumped him.
"
What are you?" I said, I was getting angrier.
"
Don't give me your problems." He whinged, clutching hold of his bag
and skiving swiftly away. He was hot-footing it off to another stop
or hiding around the corner where I couldn't see him. I turned around again, there was a middle-aged black lady standing by the bus-stop, she was looking at me. I said "wanker" by way of explanation. She nodded and we shared a smile as I went on my way.
Ah well, nine times out of ten I'd have ignored something like that
and let the pain of the slight fester away in me for hours
afterwards. But, every now and then, it's good to give a little
something back to a bully. These damn cosmic soul vampires who cannot take pride in themselves.
T. Mandrake
2006
