Diary of a Grumpy Old Git (15 page)

Jez saw that I was scowling and asked what the problem was. I didn’t want to go into the whole Trevor thing so I pretended I’d accidentally deleted a file.

‘Take a chill pill, buddy,’ he said. ‘It’s not that big of a deal. See the bigger picture.’

Why are all the phrases about calming down so fundamentally annoying that they have the opposite effect? If Satan exists, I have no doubt that he spends his time concocting them. ‘Could
you keep an eye on the lake of fire for me? I’m off to combine the words “chill” and “relax”.’

I completed my coffee shop loyalty card this morning. Finally getting the tenth stamp made me feel like I’d really achieved something. But then I felt so revolted with
myself that I ripped the card up and threw it in the bin. Is this what counts as achievement now? Never mind defeating fascism or putting a man on the moon. I got £33 worth of coffee for just
£30. Big deal.

I’ve had it with loyalty cards now. I’m not touching one again. With that dangerous distraction out the way, I’m sure my true purpose in life will become clear.

Jez mentioned something about Jo’s party today. This was the first I’d heard about it. I wanted to ask Jo about it, but I thought it would be embarrassing if I
wasn’t invited. And why should I be? She wants to hang out with people her own age. She doesn’t want an ancient git like me skulking in the corner and reminding everyone of their
mortality.

I can’t believe I’m fretting over whether I’ve been invited to a party or not. Whenever Sarah said we had to go to one, I used to pretend I had a headache so I could stay in
and watch TV. She’d even sometimes trick me into going by asking how I felt before revealing that we were off to some horrendous social gathering or other.

Well, now I can stay in and watch all the TV I want, and I find myself wanting to go out and speak to people. This would infuriate Sarah if she knew. I’ll be sure to mention it if I ever
see her again.

It turns out I was invited to Jo’s party after all. The invitation was sent on Facebook, which I hadn’t checked for a couple of days. I had a momentary stab of
delight when I discovered this, but this was soon swamped by my usual self-loathing. I couldn’t believe I was happy because someone had invited me to their party. Am I fifteen years old? Gee,
it looks like I will go to the prom after all. Pathetic.

I accepted the invitation and went out to get my hair cut right away so I wouldn’t have time to dread it. I was about to pretend I had a doctor’s appointment when I realized there
was no point. If you come back to work with shorter hair, it’s pretty obvious where you’ve been. Anyway, if Josh gets on my case I’ll tell him that I worked through the
weekend.

There was no queue in the barber’s on a Wednesday afternoon, so I plonked myself straight down in the chair, asked for a little off the back and sides and gritted my teeth. Whenever I get
my hair done, I’m convinced that it looks so weird that strangers in the street will point and laugh, and then no one notices at all.

That’s pretty much what happened today, except that someone did notice. Jo noticed. That’s a good sign, right?

I tried to save a Word document today, but my laptop said there wasn’t enough memory. I turned it on and off again, deleted as much as I could from the hard drive and
updated the operating system, but nothing worked. It looked as though I was going to take it to Graham the IT guy.

I usually search online for help with computer problems, as I hate asking IT guys for help. It’s one of those things like going to bed before eleven or buying slacks that makes me feel
like I’m crossing a line into old age. I used to see Steve calling Graham into his office to ask him how to underline words and attach files to emails, and I swore I’d never degenerate
into such technological senility.

But today I had no choice. There was something wrong with my computer, and it surely wasn’t too much to ask the person we employ full time to look after them to help.

I was worried Graham might see how long I’d spent googling Scrabble hints, so I deleted my history before walking down the corridor to his foul-smelling room. There was a poster on the
door that read, ‘Keep Calm and Turn it Off and On Again’. I knocked, and braced myself to be patronized.

Graham was playing a game where he had to shoot terrorists in an airport. He paused it, and I handed him the laptop.

He bashed the keys, using shortcuts instead of dropdown menus.

‘I see you’ve deleted your history, you dirty old sod,’ he said.

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I was ashamed of how long I’ve been spending on Scrabble websites.’

‘Course you were,’ said Graham. He did a crude wanking mime and said, ‘Ooh, I got a triple word score.’

I smiled in a shameful effort to stay on the right side of him until he’d fixed the laptop.

After a few more minutes of clattering around, Graham said, ‘The hard drive’s screwed’ and handed me a new laptop.

I walked back to my desk in astonishment. Could it be possible there was someone even lazier than me in the office? And that all you have to do to survive as an IT guy is adopt a sarcastic tone
that scares everyone off and then dish out a new computer if they ever go to see you? I’m in the wrong line of work.

Not that I’m complaining. This new computer runs Scrabble about four times faster.

I started fretting about my wardrobe today. The only clothes I own are the white shirts and black jeans I wear to work, and the blue jeans I wear as a treat on weekends. I
wondered if something more exciting might be required for a party, so I stopped off at one of those clothes shops that plays loud music.

As soon as I stepped into the shop, a man wearing a baseball cap at a strange angle asked me if I was looking for anything in particular. I told him I was just browsing, but he insisted on
following me round and saying, ‘That would look really good on you, I’ve got one just like it at home’ every time I went near something. At least those electrical store guys piss
off when you tell them to.

I found myself buying a red hooded top with Japanese writing on it just to shut him up. I don’t even know what the Japanese characters mean, but I’m guessing they translate as
‘gullible twat’.