I just had the following dialogue on High Holborn, with a man who would be best described in modern terminology as a filthy, toothless, semi-retarded vagrant.
As follows:
HIM: Mate, have you got a spare cigarette?
ME: No I don't, sorry.
HIM: What?
ME: What do you mean 'what'?
HIM: I just saw you take one out of your carton.
ME: So?
HIM: So the pack was full. I saw you tear the wrapper off.
ME: So?
HIM: So you said you had none left.
ME: No, I said I didn't have one spare.
HIM: What's the difference?
ME: Alright fine, yes I have one spare. I actually have nineteen spare.
HIM: Can I have one?
ME: Absolutely not.
HIM: Why not?
ME: What do you mean 'why not'?
HIM: I mean why not?
ME: I don't have to justify myself to you. I don't even know you.
HIM: My name's Justin. Now can I have one?
ME: Sorry.....let's just hold up here. That's not an invitation to be 'mates'. I don't want to get to know you. And I don't want to give you a cigarette.
HIM: Why not?
ME: Because I don't even fucking know you pal.
HIM: Well I just told you my name's Justin.
ME: I hardly think knowing your name constitutes knowing you 'Justin'....
HIM: ....well how well do you have to know someone just to give them a smoke?
ME: I'm not going to lie to you Justin; the way this conversation has gone so far I'm beginning to think that even if I were to know you I still wouldn't like you...
HIM: ....maybe you should be more open-minded.
ME: I think it would be a sorry reflection of my station in life if I were to start taking life advice from a fucking tramp, thank you very much...
HIM: That was unnecessary...
ME: No it wasn't unnecessary, in fact would you like some advice Justin?
HIM: Not really...
ME: ....no of course you wouldn't. Otherwise you wouldn't be a tramp. But clearly following your own advice hasn't got you to be CEO of Imperial Chemicals just yet, so perhaps you'll agree that - for now at least - in the live versus success stakes I do appear to have the upper hand...
HIM: ....well, definitely in the cigarette stakes.
ME: Especially in the cigarette stakes. You want my advice? Get a fucking job Justin. Get into the shelter at St. Martin In The Fields - which is less than ten minutes' slovenly amble from here - have a shower, get something to eat and sort your fucking life out. Then you can buy your own cigarettes, and give them all away to tramps if need be.
HIM: You're a real prick, you know that?
ME: Welcome to the twenty-first century.
HIM: So can I have a cigarette?
ME: [Long, long, long pause]
HIM: Is that a no?
ME: Yeah, it's a no
HIM: If I go to that shelter will you give me a cigarette?
ME: Why? For energy?
HIM: It's a fair trade.
ME: You know what, fine. It actually is a fair trade. Here you go.
HIM: Thanks. Light?
ME: Fine. There you go. Anything else? My PIN number? The presentation I've been writing?
HIM: Fuck you.
ME: You're not going to the shelter are you?
HIM: It's pretty unlikely. Wait....is this cigarette MENTHOL?
ME: So?
HIM: I hate menthol [Throws it onto the ground and storms off]
ME: [Shouting] Oh I'm sorry....it turns out that beggars can be choosers....
Needless to say I'll be searching for a new place to smoke.
Your loving friend,
Action Squid
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