A Runt's Rant: How is This Even Possible!?

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Honestly, I am sick and tired of this nonsense!

Regardless of the fact that I was still feeling weak, I decided to go out for a walk and a cup of coffee today because I hadn’t left my room for the past four days and it was getting a bid sad.

I decided to do so in my track suit because, for once in my life, I wasn’t feeling like going out in a suit.

So I sat in the nearest Costa and selected a table situated next to a respectfully dressed chap.

His friend soon joined him, at which point they turned around and commented on the horrific state of my hair, to which I replied:

‘Blame it on the barber, my fair...sir.’

I was quite taken aback by his counter- remark.

‘He must’ve been a Pole then! Ha!’

I shook my head disapprovingly and got back to my cappuccino.

In about fifteen minutes, two further gentleman joined their ranks and started discussing the fact that I had not shaved in days and that I should not have gone out in a track suit.

I decided to keep quiet for once.

At that point, one of the bulkier gentlemen, wearing a PINK shirt and a RED tie, noted that he had known how to dress properly since he was eight; I begged to differ, of course.

What they did next, however, was the last straw:

‘Bulgarians? Yeah, nasty bunch they are, best kept away from the UK!’, one of them pointed out, the other ones nodding in agreement.

I couldn’t believe it; I REFUSED to believe it. Recently, I managed to convince myself that such comments were not becoming commonplace and I was but imagining things.

Alas, I was no longer certain that that was the case.

I turned around and, somehow containing my anger and annoyance, asked the group with an almost painful politeness:

‘In what way are Bulgarians nasty? Would you be so kind as to elaborate?’

‘None of your business.’, I was almost barked at.

To which I simply replied that it was, indeed, my business as I had taken it as a personal offence, me being Bulgarian.

There was silence for a second; only a second, mind you.

‘Because they come to this country and offer to work more for less, taking jobs from honest English people! Most of them are labourers that do not, in any way, contribute to the general state of the economy!’.

‘Labourers?’, I smiled. ‘Well, I work in a law firm and can assure you that a fair number of my Bulgarian friends work in the banking, legal and media sectors. In fact, I had myself worked in all three.’

Many had maintained that such thoughtless racist comments such as the ones uttered by the group of people sat next to me were made by the uninformed ‘proletariat’ or ‘precariat’ as it was now called. What followed next, however, was like being hit by a wet towel; about twenty times in a row.

‘Ah, it’s all good, then’, one of them said’ We’re all colleagues. I’m a solicitor and those chaps are all bankers! No offence old chap, you’re all good.’

Ah, thank God it was all a joke, eh...?