Is Murder Always Wrong?

A thought that comes to me on an alarmingly regular basis.

A sense of alarm only superseded by my therapist’s reaction when I told her I was thinking of writing a blog about murder.

She certainly got her money’s worth that session.

But she needn’t have worried.

That is, until she unwittingly decided to walk at a snail’s pace in front of me one day. Alas, I made the unfortunate discovery that she was the archetype of the victim I had in mind.

Slow walkers.

That’s not a typo - stand down, Jon Snow.

Yes, slow walkers deserve termination.

My old man once said, mid-dump, “If you can’t shit, then get off the pot.”

Flex. Anyway, his advice stuck — as did the stench — and so did the lesson: time is of the essence.

Quick interlude to apologise for that image. We’ve been working with Keith Palmer ahead of comedy school — he told us to add detail so the audience feels like they’re there with you.

Where was I?

Right. Slow walkers.

In the fast-paced world we live in, I find it incredibly arrogant that you’d feel comfortable taking things at your own pace. Grow up.

There are things to do, places to be, people to see. So get on with it - or at least fuck off out of the middle of the pavement. Please.

Another tangent. Like much of my life, I’ve suddenly realised I’m shouting into an echo chamber. So let me add a dash of SCA seasoning to make this digestible.

Marc recently taught us about mess finding, aka uncovering problems.

If I had it my way (hypothetically), you’d find plenty of “mess” along my commute, from all the slow walkers I’d slain that morning.

I personally think that’s understandable, given my earnest daily endeavour to get to my desk an hour before our 9:30 a.m. town hall. Read into that what you will.

Especially those of you from an agency — I work REALLY hard. None of this work-life balance on my watch.

I suppose I’m saying I wish slow walkers didn’t exist. Marc — that’s a well-defined problem.

I might be unhinged, but at least I’m learning.

By the way, I did check mid-flow to see if I was alone in this thought. Turns out Gen Z agrees with me — and they don’t agree on anything.

Anyway, I’d best stop writing. I’m holding up the queue in Waitrose, and my therapist keeps calling me — she must have found my mess.

Oops.
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