Mocking the afflicted…

This morning on the way to work I saw an old colleague who suffers from a condition called Petit-Mal (little fits). He was hit in the head by a hockey puck ten tears ago and, as a result, periodically blacks out mid-conversation; staring into space for 4-5 seconds before finding his way back to the original conversation.

He reminded me that whenever this happened (to my eternal shame) I would interject with an entirely new conversation e.g.

‘FOUR HUNDRED MILLION POUNDS!’ or

‘WHERE DID YOU HIDE THE BODY?’ or

‘SAY THAT AGAIN YOU SON OF A BITCH!’

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