I went into the mall today.

People cut in front and I say, “sorry.”

A toddler trips me up, and I say, “sorry.”

A woman rams me with her pram

And I say, “sorry.”

Someone shoves me from behind,

And I say, “sorry.”

Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, is all I utter.

No one seems to acknowledge my existence,

Or say sorry back.

Or smile.

Or nod in acknowledgment…

…it’s just, they’re bloody rude.

“No worries,” do I hear? No!

“De rien,” Est-ce que j’entends ? Non!

I’m sorry I’m invisible to you,

Je suis désolé, je suis invisible pour toi.

It’s not that they can’t see me, feel me, hear me, touch me…

…it’s just, they’re bloody rude…

… c’est juste qu’ils sont vraiment impolis.

I run for the lift

Then they smile as they jab the “Door Close” button.

They smile when my shopping falls out of the bottom of my bag.

They smile when I trip up the escalator

They smile to each other, but not at me.

Nod knowingly to each other, but not at me.

Acknowledge each other, but never me.

…it’s just, they’re bloody rude.

If this anecdote annoys you, then I’m sorry.

If this tale offends you, then I’m sorry.

If you don’t speak French, I’m sorry…

It’s just, I’m bloody rude.

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