I'm sat in this fucking probation waiting room again. I seem to spend half my life sat waiting for Judith.
‘Just take a seat, Simon,’ says the receptionist, ‘Judith will be out in a moment.’ Fucking lying bitch.
Every bloody week it’s the same. Now I have to sit here next to this middle-aged bald man who is trying to justify his sexual perversions.
‘I swear she looked sixteen …’ he starts to say.
‘Look, Noncey, I may look and smell like I ain't washed in a week, but I am NOT one of your lot! If you don't fuck off with your kiddie fiddling bullshit, I am going to put my boot in your balls, CCTV or not. OK!’ I tell him, deciding not to beat around the bush.
‘Err, err I was just ...’ he starts.
‘Shuuut it,’ I snarl, which he does.
We sit in relative silence until he starts sniffling, attracting the attention of the receptionist. The bitch gives me the evil eye and picks up the phone. I’m a petty shoplifter, not a sexual deviant like him. He hurts kids and I’m the one judged for making him cry? I hate it here. Why should he get a chair, and a coffee, and the right to sit next to me? The only chair he should get is an electric one.
Hang on a minute! Where's my fucking coffee?
Behind the door leading to the interview rooms, someone curses and it sounds as if they have dropped some files. ‘Oh, damn and blast!’ The muffled voice is Judith. I prepare to stand and smile as she opens the door, holding a folder and loads of paperwork, all crumpled up. She doesn’t even look at me. ‘Brian, come through, please,’ she says, and old Noncey Bri stands up and greets her.
‘Hang on. I had an appointment ten minutes ago, ‘I protest.
‘Yes. Well. I’m running behind today. You will just have to wait,’ she replies.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ I say.
‘I heard that, Simon.’ Judith informs me in a tone I know so well.
‘Well, I didn’t say it in sign language,’ I reply, in my pissed off sarky voice. I’ve been waiting to say that for ages and I feel quite proud of myself for slipping it in. Shame no one is around to hear it except for Noncie and Judas.
‘Anymore of your abusive behaviour to me, the staff or other clients, and I will have you removed from here and you WILL be breached Simon,’ Judas tells me, no doubt making herself feel a little more powerful than she looks walking off into the sunset with a paedo.
I opt for wobbling my head from side to side and mouthing what she has just said by way of reply.
I’m left for a few moments to regret not saving my great joke for when someone else was round to hear it, but I am not alone for long. A couple of young chavs bowl in, throwing about the ‘init bruv seen seen’s’ Those chav twats are forever giving me shit. These two poor excuses for tracksuit enthusiasts are from my estate and immediately they turn their attention disorders towards me.
‘Si, Si, what up, son?’ the one with his own name tattooed on his arm says.
Son? I ain’t your fucking son, mate! I fingered your mum at school, I think to myself. ‘Hello Mickey,’ I say.
‘What the Fed’s got you for this time? I know it ain’t no kiddie porn, you can’t afford a pooter, innit ha-ha,’ he says, earning himself some knuckle love from his mate, Trevor. From what I can see, Trevor is lucky to even see me with the way his eyes point. He’s ginger, too, and a future serial killer if ever I saw one.
‘Nicking,’ I reply, keeping my eyes away from the evil ginger. It’s hard when you can’t tell where they’re looking. I opt to stare at the wall.
‘Seen, seen. What you get away with?’ Mickey asks me.
‘I don’t wanna talk about it’.
‘Oh. My. Days,’ Mickey says, forgetting he is not, and never has been, black. ‘You got busted nicking cheese again, didn’t you!? Oh, you retard! When will you learn, you fucking crack ’ed?’
‘No, it wasn’t cheese, actually,’ I lie.
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