Geezers

Guesting today is Jack Collins, a globe travelling, fast talking, Somerfield party food eating, skinny jeans wearing, geezer humour victim. Catch up with his travel blog at digitalpostcards.blogspot.com.

Just to clarify - a geezer is not a volcanic, water-spurty thing from Iceland. A geezer is someone who uses the phrases: "facking mastard!", or "You mappet!". The geezer's interests are: 1) birds, 2) tinnies, 3) Kasabian, 4) being a cunt. The geezer can be identified by his: A) awful tattoos, B) geezer mullet, C) A tendency to end every single sentence with: "yeah?"


Interaction with such fellows is unavoidable. However, I have personally had the misfortune of working in recruitment, a profession which is as packed full with geezers as the sun is packed full of burny bits. My colleagues had all of the standard attributes, but additionally possessed a brain-achingly twattish arrogance about them. Strutting around the office with their fat ties, and smug grins, believing they were "facking mastard" humans, because they had gotten the most IT professionals hired that day. Erm, wait a second Lock Stock! You haven't actually done anything. The candidate has done all the work, attended the interview and answered the questions to get the job, which incidentally is far more interesting than your profession. You have pushed a few buttons, and opened your cockney gob, yeah?

Recruitment is a geezer minefield. However, some of my most infuriating geezer encounters have occurred elsewhere. Once, a particularly burly arse-cheese actually stopped mid phone conversation (presumably when discussing "tits and arse and Millwall FC") and aggressively asked me: "How tight are your jeans mate, yeah?" Erm, very tight sir, thanks for asking and showing an active interest. What are you doing? At no point, repeat at no point, should you approach a stranger and make any kind of comment, positive or negative, in regards to their clothing. I would never approach a south-london rude boy to politely inform him that unfortunately the price tag is still attached to his baseball cap and that he looks like "a mappet". And by all accounts, I would never consider walking up to you, you gravy dribbling, white-collar-on-a-blue-shirt wearing, prize-winning turd of a primate; and tell you that your replica football jersey is particularly tight when stretched across your ever-burgeoning beer-belly, yeah?

Another geezer favourite which should be dispatched to oblivion is the following exchange-

Geezer: "Lookout mate, you've got something on the back of your heel."

Me: Oh, really (turning around, bending my leg slightly, and looking at my heel)

Geezer: Ay, ay sailor! Waaay! Hahaha etc.

What the fuck is that? That is not a joke. Oh right I get it: sailor = homosexual (your favourite object of derision). But how is bending your leg a sign of homosexuality? Just stop it. And please do not combine your violent geezer-laugh (an apocalyptic combination of both coughing and guffawing) with a heavy-handed slap on my belly. Don't touch me with your greasy, fake-tanned hands. My shirt, unlike yours, is actually all one colour: white. Hands off you fucking gorilla, yeah?

Annoying isn't it? Yeah. Jack Collins