I Tell Lies So People Like Me

I Tell Lies So People Like Me

My endeavours to come to terms with WHO I AM is not going well. Seriously, I think I may have a problem. Yesterday, a customer came in and asked me how Lit. Theory was going and you see, Lit. Theory was not going, it wasn’t even thinking of going. Lit. theory was something I got a taste of in first term last year, on another course, and it was a taste which I did not like and so decided to run far, far away and take Irish literature instead where I could write about catholics; pedo priests; bad fathers; crying mothers, and damaged childhoods – much more my scene. But when this lady asked me how it was going, I was touched that she remembered I was going to take it and I remembered how excited she was because she had studied it too and had loved it and so…I LIED.

Me: Yeah, yeah, it’s going fine…how-are-you-how’s-your-son-nice-day-isn’t-it?

Customer: What is it you study in Lit. Theory now?


Customer: Because back in my day, it was all post-struchsdfkhjgkjhgsdfkhjgism (I’m pretty sure that’s what she said).

Me: You know, it’s pretty much still that…what – what you said.

Giggles – hers slightly less hysterical than mine.

Customer: Fascinating stuff, such big minds…

Me: Too big I sometimes think.

Customer: Yes, yes, quite!

Oh dear, I thought a Glasgow tutorial room was the only place that I feel like a complete and utter idiot (and also around my family’s dinner table and sometimes with my friends and in a museum and whenever a cat looks at me), but now it’s in the Spar too. Although, I guess I bring it upon myself with all this lying to please people I barely know, but surely, it has to be done? I couldn’t have said “Oh, I didn’t take it because I thought it would be too difficult and too boring and I’m too lazy and you could probably sum up the entirety of Lit Theory by saying that everyone is horny, scared of their father, and completely constructed by their society”, could I?

Could I?



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