Weight Watchers

Pete Sortwell

I always have to stand next to the weirdos, on the Tube or in the Post Office. Even if I sit on a town centre bench I’m absolutely guaranteed to get a ‘class A’ nutter introduce themselves to me and talk about their latest medication. Tonight’s no different. I’m in the queue of Weightlosswatchers, sandwiched between the two most boring people this town has ever produced, and that’s saying something. They’d give an aspirin a headache.

‘It’s ridiculous. I mean, I haven’t even got a car and they’re charging me for the whole year’s insurance,’ the guy is saying.

‘I know, they make you sign up for a whole year, how do they know that you’ll keep the car for the full year? You should be able to cancel. I agree,’ his partner in boredom tells him.

It’s all I can do to point out that most normal people don’t smash their car up on the way for secret midnight McDonald’s on third party insurance. If you’re into late night driving to feed your burger addiction, at least go for ‘fully comp’. It makes sense if you think about it.

I don’t really want to be here. I’m compelled to be, though. The missus needs me here. She isn’t even that fat. A bit porky, but nothing that calls for all this. I don’t like clubs like this. Fat clubs are just sex clubs for bloaters. They just sit around jamming health bars up each other and licking jam rings suggestively. Barry told me he’d seen it when he looked through the window once. I’m not going to let any of these whales harpoon my missus though.

‘So I counted out seven chips and just added them to the Weightlosswatchers’ pizza,’ the bird behind me tells Mr Dull, causing me to offer her my place in the queue, which she readily accepts, but it doesn’t quieten her down. I consider sticking the pen I was given into one of my ears, just to cut out fifty per cent of the utter tripe these two barrels are compelled to share with each other.

It’s busy here tonight, at least seventy people. This queue is long, I should have come earlier. The wife’s sitting down now. She looks upset, maybe one of the lard arses has offered her a go on his banana. I’ll have to stop getting distracted by these two.