I like to think I’m one of the easier humans to co-exist with on this planet; I leave enough personal space, don’t cut queues, and always give up my seat to someone more in need. Therefore, I have plodded through life without much conflict
– until now.
Something remarkable has happened since taking up my job as a tour guide; I seem to be upsetting strangers for the first time. And in turn, I’m being freely yelled at on the streets. It’s something that my skin hasn’t quite formed a thickness for.
My first attack was in February. It was freezing, and my tour group and I were standing outside a college, waiting for a porter to open the gates. We had been waiting outside for five minutes when the porter finally surfaced from his desk with a handful of keys.
And I said, in the bubbliest tone possible, “Oh lovely! Are you opening now?”
And he went….mental.
“JUST WAIT!” he bellowed, “YOU ARE A VISITOR LIKE EVERYONE ELSE!”
Well, I was flabbergasted.
What could possibly have sparked off such a reaction? It was dramatic, and I thought that perhaps the poor porter must have had something else going on – like his goldfish had died.
What is worse, though, is that my group saw the whole thing, and that’s the issue with this job. Having an audience following you around is fabulous when everything is going smoothly, but not so fabulous when you’re being yelled at.
And so, this brings me to my latest attack, which I am going to title:
Angry Lady with Lanyard.
It was a hot, hot day, and I had a group of 50 people I was touring around the city; it was also day one of womb week. (The last point has nothing to do with the story except to give me more sympathy).
Before I go any further, I need to explain a little backstory. The worst review I’ve had to date was a four-star. The reviewer said I was a ‘fantastic guide’, but I was sometimes ‘hard to hear’. After this, I did a bit of research on projection and became more conscious of being too quiet.
Back to the hot day with my group of 50. I found a patch of shade between The Clarendon Building and The Bodleian Library to present my Hertford College section. I had just finished my Bullingdon Club story, which includes my carefully crafted Boris Johnson impression, and was moving on to talk about Hertford’s pet cat, Simpkin IV.
“Simpkin IV lives here, Simpkin IV is….”
Suddenly, a lady with a lanyard emerged from nowhere. She stood right in front of me with tightly crossed arms, and a deep, deep frown.
My initial response was to apologise before I even knew what I had done wrong. I guess I hoped she would laugh, rub my head, and say something like, “Oh, you little guides,” and walk off, but she didn’t….
“I CAN HEAR EVERY SINGLE WORD YOU ARE SAYING FROM UP THERE!” She points to the second-floor window of the Bodleian. “I AM TRYING TO WORK AND IT’S VERY DISTRACTING!”
“Sorry,” I mumbled again, and she marched off – back to her Bodleian cave.
I turned to see the group of 50 strangers staring at me like a class at school when the teacher has just told you off.
I swallowed and it felt like a marble going down my throat. Then I leaned in and whispered, “Simpkin IV is a cat…”
I thought about the angry lady and her swinging lanyard for a few days afterwards. It does take a special kind to want to embarrass someone like she did, but those feelings aside, there was part of me that felt a little proud –
She heard every word from the second floor!
Well, that’s my projection mastered then.
THE QUACK 