If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it is rude people.
Take the other day, for example. We were at Wicksteed Park, enjoying a late-summer’s day, when my daughter decided she was going on the rollercoaster.
Not being a huge fan, I decided to hold the bags while my husband went with her.
I sat on a bench, minding my own business when all of a sudden two men came along with a woman I presume to be the second man’s wife.
The first bloke sat down at the other end of the bench, leaving very little room for anyone else. This left Mr Rude and the lady standing in front of me.
Now any normal, polite gentleman would let his wife sit down before him, but no, not this man.
Instead of offering her the seat next to me, Mr Rude decided he was going to have it for himself.
He plonked himself down in the tiny space between me and his friend, and actually ended up almost sitting on my knee; his bottom perched on my thigh before his body finally made contact with the bench.
Of course this meant he was sitting so close to me that our bodies were actually touching, and since extreme bodily contact with complete strangers isn’t my cup of tea, I decided to move.
I extracted myself from the bench and at that point, Mr Rude turned to his wife and said, “There you go, you can sit down now.”
I couldn’t believe it. Did he deliberately squash me because he knew I’d leave? I think so.
What a rude individual, not only for sitting in my own personal space, but for also not allowing his wife to sit down before him.
All I can say is, I’m glad I was raised the right way, with manners and respect for others.
It’s just a pity the same can’t be said for Mr Rude.