THE COCKNEY COKE HEAD
People always ask me why I have a problem with cocaine. Not a problem in the sense of shoving it up my hooter, but more a case of being visibly annoyed when I'm in a place when it’s happening around me. I have to confess; I think it’s a fucking horrible drug. The vibe you can pick up when in a place where it’s going on is strong, a nasty vibe that seems to be detectable to those not on the drug itself. 'The Coke vibe' as it’s been described by others, stinks. That uneasy feeling you can pick up in a bar or pub when it is going down is nasty. That’s the best descriptive word for it: Nasty. Nasty, nasty cocaine.
It’s the way people talk when they are on it, aloof, offensive and smug. They snort white lines in filthy toilet cubicles for their own pleasure on a night out, completely unaware of the annoyance they cause others. Coke and wankers go hand in hand, if you ask me, horrible fuckers, the lot of them. Ecstasy makes you dance, weed make you mellow and booze makes you talkative.
Cocaine makes you cuntish.
I had little experience with the drug of choice for arseholes, until I met 'The Cockney Coke Head'. He had the body of pig and a huge head. His head was HUGE. It resembled a medicine ball perched on the shoulders of an Oompa Lumpa . He looked like a fucking cunt. He WAS a fucking cunt.
Where to begin this rather vile specimen? Was it the nasty, racist misguided patriotism that lurked in this thick skulled sorry excuse for a man? The lack of basic listening skills he sadly didn’t have, that is, unfortunately, required for the basic art of conversation? Maybe the fact he seemed to deeply resent the slightest hint of intellectual prowess I may or may not have indeed possessed at the time. I personally think it was his illusions of grandeur that made this 'geezer' a truly horrifying experience to have to deal with. He was a white bread piece of shit from Bermondsey that believed he was above me. People who are aloof quite frankly piss me off. They always have. But nothing is worse than a man who is thick as pig shit trying to outsmart you and succeeding when your guard is down. Revenge is indeed a sin, but sometimes in life, it happens to preserve ones dignity... and preserve ones sanity. The path of the righteous man, as Samuel L Jackson would say.
I first met Darryl around the time Spurs sold Justin Edinburgh to Portsmouth.
Darryl had come into my work environment as a senior manager and immediately made an impact, but not in a good way. He was convinced he was step above all of us. Any opportunity to speak to this man was met with a curt reply of ‘yeah-ok-yeah-right-fine-yes-yep-good’ each one worded reply cutting you off as your sentence was being finished. He had absolutely no faith in what you were saying without LISTENING to what you were saying first! Frustration doesn’t even begin to explain my exasperation with his below par communication skills. Any interaction was a painful, soul destroying experience.
So why did I have to interact with this moron I hear you ask? The world of 'Diamonds Bathroom Supplies' was a rather claustrophobic one. They believed that a team that worked closely together achieved together. Personal space was frowned upon. We always seemed to be in each other’s way.
I loved the company. I have to admit they were a good company to work for most of the time, but it did manage to attract some absolute scum bags. All manner of low lives have passed through the dark ranks of the mighty business at some point in time, each one trying to outdo the everyone else, boost their own status, try to convince themselves that their job is important. They want to convince you they haven’t failed in life. They want to convince themselves that their position in bathroom supplies is satisfying and fulfilling. They make a difference to this dark crippled planets progressive future and boost the struggling economy by supplying fat ladies with porcelain tubs to shit into. They make a difference! Don’t forget it, they certainly don’t! So next time you’re washing the root of your fragrant anus on a pristine white bidet just remember who had to treat their fellow workers with condescending contempt to supply you with bathroom equipment to keep your lower parts smelling fresh.
Darryl had been brought in from another branch by the cockney wide boy boss, Roy, who wanted him and Steve aka the good old boys to sort things out. Steve was an 'Oil Merchant' and coke head to boot. I didn’t like him either, but my main vitriol was fuelled by Darryl. He was a class A cunt in my eyes. Everything about this big headed arsehole annoyed me. The way he looked at you with contempt. The way he constantly picked his nose when writing an email or ordering stock. It was disgusting.
His sinus was a source of frustration for all his work colleagues. So much blow had shot up his hooter over the years that it was leaking, causing him to sniff and snort and it made everybody cringe in pure disgust. He of course was fucking oblivious to daggers being thrown at him. He didn't even get the hint when a colleague lost control one morning.
'For Fucks sake Darryl! Pleeeease. Spare us!' Mark yelled, slamming his fist against the teak wood desk in frustration.
If he wasn't snorting, his finger was knuckle deep inside his monkey shaped skull. Spending a few minutes in the office and hearing him was a vomit inducing experience. I would often miss breakfast if I knew we would have to share the office together. I had come close to vomiting once before as he started up the nasal freak show. I'd rather go hungry feel stomach acid burn the back of my throat! Eating in the staff room was a like a game of roulette. If he was already in there, I would double back and hit the chicken shop across the road.
I couldn’t bear to be near him. The big round face, those beady eyes and his sinus straight from the bowels of hell. I often wondered about the bacteria harboured on his fingers. Sometimes I would wonder in amazement how far that finger could go up into his nostril. Up to the knuckle certainly, he could probably go up