I got called a hippie today. Maybe it was goddamn hippie freak? No, I think it was just hippie. By a Vietnam Vet who bore a striking resemblance to Mr Chopper so, you know, I kept a civil tongue in me head.
This was all because I was wearing daggy old trakky daks and bare feet on Bulwer Street. Well, first of all, yes, I had left the house dressed that way. But my morning's original purpose was simply to pick up The Antiquer and drop him in town so he could pick up his car and then he convinced me to whizz up to the 90% off second hand book sale to see if the shop was still open. It wasn't and the VV was there moving furniture. He told me my bare feet were an occupational health and safety issue. What if I stepped on a piece of glass and cut my foot? That would be a taxpayer-funded trip to the hospital right there, that would.
"If I cut my foot, I'd just go home and put some Betadine on it."
"Still taxpayer funded," he said.
Although it went against all my principles, I found myself saying, "What? I'm not on the dole, you know. I'm a student."
It was on the tip of my tongue to describe myself as a self-funded retiree but it was a beautiful day and I did so want to go on living.
Anyway, The Antiquer still took me out to lunch: bare feet, trakky daks and all. He cares not for society's approbation.
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