too shallow to merit storylines of my own

I have always maintained that in the movie in your head, you are ALWAYS the hero. Always. Any action you take is justified (including the shitty ones). Your own moral compass, however twisted, always points to your own personal north. I have also always thought that I wasn’t that hero, that maybe I was the interesting sub-character in someone else’s brain-sit-com, a Kramer to somebody’s Seinfeld, a Fonz too other peoples Richie; I thought I was too shallow to merit storylines of my own and my problems too easily resolved too merit a whole episode to myself. Don’t feel bad though; there is a certain liberation in knowing my role in life is one of pleasant diversion while other people concern them selves with the tougher more serious stuff. It doesn’t help that I have always associated myself with the freaks and the more interesting margins of modern cultures fringes, real characters with back story’s and motivations far more complicated than my own.

Tonight only confirms the fact that I live in fiction, a narrative that only a crack ridden sadist can enjoy. So I arrive bright face freshly shone, at work, on Christmas eve to a dead pub, my glorious boss tells me that I don’t have too work as long as I help clear up when he closes early, which is fine by me because it means me sitting with the girl I have accidentally started to fall in love with who finished work when I should have started; unfortunately she was accompanied by her friend. The night comes to an end and apart from being threatened by a six foot topless drunk arse it passes with me being charming enough to garner an invitation to Selly Oak with said girl and her friend.

Long story short, I end up kissing the girl and her friend disappearing. When, at the end of the night, we go looking for her, her friend turns up before shortly being bundled into a police van. I’m sorry if my description of the night is a bit of a blur but so is my recollection, the last thing I remember is the girl I like making me promise that I wouldn’t say anything (about her friend), meeting her sullen brother and talking to her mom on the phone. And even though her mom said she would give me a lift home I thought it prudent to jump on the bus as it passed.

Now I don’t know how anything stands, and I don’t even have her number. And her friend, as far as I know, is sleeping in a police cell for Christmas eve.

Is my life a sitcom gone wrong?