Chim-Chimney-Chim-Chiminey-Sitting-Next-To-Me

Why must people sit next to me? Okay I sit outside in a public place anyone can come by. But there is this woman whose name I don’t know so she shall be now hence known as Butch, I think that is a good explanation of her looks as well. On my first day of work she came by and just started talking to me about her fiancé and how he is sick. I had no idea who she was, or who she was talking about, I only knew that she had something to do with the Evening News because she was wearing the same fetching yellow jacket as me. So I told her it was my first day, as an explanation to why I might not understand what she was going on about, to which she retorted that she knew it was my first day. The conversation pretty much ended there.
Now I thought today was going to be nice; the sun came out, I had Fox mints (which always remind me of Dartington) instead to clove, and I was just starting on a new book. When Butch as if I was a whey munching miss she intruded on my tuffet. She just sat there… next to me… for two hours. Not saying anything, just sitting there. I mean I’m being paid to sit out in the cold and read a book. Why? Surely some one must have something better to do then sit on some cold pavement for two hours. It wasn’t even like we talked about anything. She said some stuff about selling papers, how she doesn’t like the sun or hot weather, how she can’t find a Valentine’s Day card with the word fiancé, she has a key to all the disabled toilets in Norwich, could I give her a piece of paper for her to sit on before she gets piles, and some racist remarks about some Chinese people. This (luckily) did not take up two hours of conversation. I tried setting up some lines of communication: Norwich won in football, why I don’t like them building a Tesco on Unthank, and the historical and sociological impact of the great fire of 1871 on the burgeoning Nation and the reproductions still felt today; nothing, not a response. Besides after the remarks about the Chinese family I thought it best to keep my attention to my book.
Now I can keep a stony silence in comfort with the best of them, if it wasn’t for the fact that she is a chimney. She wouldn’t stop smoking. Ahh the joy of working out in fresh air…NO. Smoke-smoke-smoke, right next to me, for two hours. It was killing me, my throat hurts, I smell, yuck. She wouldn’t stop, except to take a swig of Diet Coke. My only comfort is that if modern science is right and I continue to look both ways before crossing the street, she should die long before me.

My question I put out to the public is this…why have I become something to do in Norwich? People actually seek me out to sit next to me and hang out; like I’ve become the Goth pavilion on the Riverwalk in Naperville. In the words of Jerry Seinfield “Who are these people?”

My final thought: How can you be racist in Norwich? I can count on one (non-webbed) hand the amount of ethnic minorities that go by me in one hour. It can be days before seeing some one from the African continent (and I do mean the continent – we are talking the Middle East too.) Yet in the span of one hour I counted 15 people that had serious physical or mental problems that were obvious. Such obvious problems it would be like asking the Elephant man if he has “some sort of deformity?” I don’t even want to tell you how many of them talk to me, or new hobby - stare at me – oh that’s fun creepy lady I don’t want to make eye contact for stupid amounts of time because you look like you want to eat my spleen. Did I just answer my own question?