Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: THE UGLY TOURIST (07/09/15)
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TITLE: A Nasty Outbreak of SMS. | Previous Challenge Entry
By Danielle King
07/15/15 -
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Diane sighed, “Ah… dinner cruise on the Seine; elbow deep in fashion at Galeries Lafayette; Le Triangle d’Or…”
“Hope your pockets are lined with gold Di,” I smiled, “I can’t afford to lick the steam off the windows.”
It was Di’s idea to visit Paris. One mundane morning at coffee break, Trish declared war on her humdrum lifestyle. “Work a full shift, go home, cook, eat, nap on sofa and wake in time for bed… ”
“Sounds about right Trish,” I laughed.
“Hey girls,” Di piped up. “Let’s do something a bit risqué.” She had our full attention. Phew! Bless her; she’s not too bright with words.
So a long weekend in Paris it was.
The tour coach was full, mostly ladies but with a liberal sprinkling of, ‘Oh we always do everything together,’ couples. Fine. I was glad to leave mine behind to hog his sport channels.
Two seats in front a chap turned and flashed a row of perfectly aligned, dazzling white choppers at us. “Hi ladies, we’re Dave and Sue.” He looked about our ages, forty to fifty.
“Trish, Di and Bev,” I smiled, noting the designer stubble and Cartier specs. “Good to meet you.” A few pleasantries were exchanged, as you do.
The coach pulled in for a comfort stop. Most people headed for the smallest room, but we three stayed behind. Dave struck up a conversation about their love of travel and the escapades they’d had over the years. He had a captivating way of unfolding a tale and his droll sense of humour sent Trish and Di dashing off to join the queue for the loo.
They were OK people, Dave and Sue. Fun company, and Trish’s observation,
“Hmm... Dishy Dave.”
“Behave silly woman,” I giggled, though I had to admit, his facial features were arranged in reasonable order, and he had a certain charisma.
A meal was booked at the first ‘aire d’autoroute’ on surfacing from the Channel Tunnel. Dave stood up first.
Dave was a short man!
He carried himself well. Straight, shoulders back like a soldier on parade.
But he was a short, short man!
He knew the ropes. We watched as he swaggered across the forecourt. “Peculiar gait,” noted Trish.
“Like a sawn off John Wayne,” added Di.
Tsk! Girls, how very uncharitable!
Later, we returned to the coach in a far less jovial mood. “He’s upset my digestion,” I grumbled.
“I’m ashamed to be British,” declared Di. “The poor kid did her best. And then, he had the audacity to demand that the manager personally serve his table.” Trish shook her head,
“Yes, that was bad enough, but telling the French they should learn how to make a proper café crème?”
The lady sitting behind me leaned forward. “I know this man,” she whispered. “We did the Belgium tour last year. He’s an SMS sufferer. He can’t help it...”
“NO! Aw, poor soul. And we’ve judged him so harshly.”
“Is it contagious?” Di asked.
“Shush… hope not.” Trish wondered if it was genetic.
“God forbid it’s terminal,” I said, remembering Sue sitting with hangdog expression at the dinner table. Poor Sue, she must be well acquainted with his tantrums. What a martyr! But whatever, we needed to overlook his undignified behaviour.
Chinese whispers rippled around the coach. Dave appeared to be oblivious. Maybe he was still smarting at the indignity of the young waitress being unable to decipher his dubious ‘fluent’ French, albeit spoken with a thick Geordie accent!
It certainly explained the heated skirmish he’d had with our tour guide, who inadvertently gave him the incorrect seat number as we boarded the coach that morning.
I reflected upon my own good health. “We need to thank God daily,” I said rather loudly.
“There but for the grace of God… Sue, what exactly is SMS?” Trish asked.
I didn’t know. Neither did Di. Did anyone know? We’d best not ask lest he overheard us. We sat in silence for a while.
The lady behind must have heard the cacophony of beleaguered cogs spinning out of control. She tapped me on the shoulder and slid a scrap of paper onto my knee.
It read,
Diagnosis - Short Man Syndrome.
Symptoms -Loves to belittle people.
Outcome - Makes him feel six feet tall…
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Well written.
God bless~
It is a sad thing to see people who act like this. It seems to be those who have lowest self-worth who try to minimize the worth of others to make their own inadequacies less painful.
One thought that might make this shine even brighter: bring his ugliness out earlier in the piece. Maybe little hints that he's not all that he seems, and then knock our socks off with the truth of his character. Other than this, it's well written and shows how people's appearance can be misleading, disguising their truest self.
Good job.
Well done.