This evening's late-night telesales call was a bit weird. I swear I didn't mishear her.
*Ring ring*
Telesales lady: "Hello good evening I'm Rachel calling from Inland Revenue and Customs *breath* thank you for your time it won't take a few moments *breath* I'm just calling to ask you to complete a short survey about the demons people carry around with them-"
Me: "-You know what... I really don't have time for this. Goodbye." I put the phone down very quickly.
'The demons people carry around with them'? Seriously? Either that was a bogus call, or Inland Revenue and Customs have fallen in with a dodgy crowd.
Tuesday, 26 February 2013
Thursday, 21 February 2013
Fail Breakfast
 |
| Save the biscuits first! |
Put too much milk in my coffee, balanced the tray perfectly to the table, set it down on a wobbly table, and heard the people next to me go 'ooooh...' as I spilled everything. Great start to the morning!
Wednesday, 20 February 2013
Short Stories: Wolf Whistle Interrupted
I had another one of those moments that could only ever happen to me.
Today, I made a conscious effort to improve my appearance- that is to say, I never don't put any effort into my appearance (unless I'm ill with a stinking cold, but then there's no hope for any of us, is there?), but lately I've been feeling a bit 'blah' and decided to go that extra mile to perk myself up in the morning: use a special eyeliner, don a spring coloured blush, force my flyaway babyhairs to submit with a pretty bobby pin, wear a dress... simple but effective tricks.
Later on today I was walking up the street towards the office, having gone out for a walk at lunch time. It was freezing cold and windy, and when it's freezing cold and windy, my nose streams like a tap. The bin men were doing their rounds, and they were burly blokey-blokes and rather a lot of them: but I didn't want to cross the road in case it looked like I was intimidated by them.
So I strode past in my heels, head held high, dress fluttering and waist-length hair flowing in streams in the wind. I heard the wolf-whistles begin.
Literally *just* as the first few whistling notes sounded, my nose gushed suddenly, and I broke all composure to scrabble for a tissue up my sleeve to blow my nose: and proceeded to make a wretched extended noise like an elephant trying to blow out a cork lodged in one of it's nostrils.
As I ended with a final violent snort, staggering at the effort, I glanced up to see the blokes staring at me, aghast that this small woman could have made such a noise. Then of course I made myself look like a complete loon by doing what I always do in an awkward situation: laugh like a drain.
I carried on laughing as I walked by- I didn't hear the clattering of bins for quite a few moments, so I assume they just carried on staring at me in disbelief.
~Fin~
Today, I made a conscious effort to improve my appearance- that is to say, I never don't put any effort into my appearance (unless I'm ill with a stinking cold, but then there's no hope for any of us, is there?), but lately I've been feeling a bit 'blah' and decided to go that extra mile to perk myself up in the morning: use a special eyeliner, don a spring coloured blush, force my flyaway babyhairs to submit with a pretty bobby pin, wear a dress... simple but effective tricks.
Later on today I was walking up the street towards the office, having gone out for a walk at lunch time. It was freezing cold and windy, and when it's freezing cold and windy, my nose streams like a tap. The bin men were doing their rounds, and they were burly blokey-blokes and rather a lot of them: but I didn't want to cross the road in case it looked like I was intimidated by them.
So I strode past in my heels, head held high, dress fluttering and waist-length hair flowing in streams in the wind. I heard the wolf-whistles begin.
Literally *just* as the first few whistling notes sounded, my nose gushed suddenly, and I broke all composure to scrabble for a tissue up my sleeve to blow my nose: and proceeded to make a wretched extended noise like an elephant trying to blow out a cork lodged in one of it's nostrils.
As I ended with a final violent snort, staggering at the effort, I glanced up to see the blokes staring at me, aghast that this small woman could have made such a noise. Then of course I made myself look like a complete loon by doing what I always do in an awkward situation: laugh like a drain.
I carried on laughing as I walked by- I didn't hear the clattering of bins for quite a few moments, so I assume they just carried on staring at me in disbelief.
~Fin~
Saturday, 16 February 2013
Cooking Up a Storm
My status update from Facebook, 16th February 2013 (late this afternoon):
Today was one of those rare completely free Saturdays. Usually I have someone to see or somewhere to go or both, but today was supposed to be a day to recharge my batteries. Too bad I had too much energy to burn and too many ideas in my head.
And when I have a lot of energy, a lot of ideas and even the slightest amount of free time, I can usually be found in the kitchen.
The morning saw the creation of jam sandwich biscuits, followed by a loaf of banana bread. Then I scaled and cleaned out some trout for dinner. However because I had rather a lot of energy and knew I was being a little ambitious in my culinary adventures time-wise, I sort of whirlwind-ed through the kitchen in a cloud of flour and goo... resulting in the above Facebook status.
Damn though, scaling fish is some serious business.
Today was one of those rare completely free Saturdays. Usually I have someone to see or somewhere to go or both, but today was supposed to be a day to recharge my batteries. Too bad I had too much energy to burn and too many ideas in my head.
And when I have a lot of energy, a lot of ideas and even the slightest amount of free time, I can usually be found in the kitchen.
The morning saw the creation of jam sandwich biscuits, followed by a loaf of banana bread. Then I scaled and cleaned out some trout for dinner. However because I had rather a lot of energy and knew I was being a little ambitious in my culinary adventures time-wise, I sort of whirlwind-ed through the kitchen in a cloud of flour and goo... resulting in the above Facebook status.
Damn though, scaling fish is some serious business.
Saturday, 9 February 2013
Eternal Weirdo Magnet
Have I ever told you about the guy who called himself 'Ace'?
In my first year and a half of university I worked part time as a silver service waitress (you might think that this would be a potentially disastrous job for someone with such an artful knack of knocking things over but I was actually pretty decent at it). I got to work at some cool events, like at Twickenham rugby stadium during a big England-vs-Somebody match, the Cheltenham races and the like- I can't remember everything I went to, this being seven odd years ago. Neither can I remember particularly enjoying the events because when you work in catering you're so rushed off your feet you can only concentrate on your job and nothing else.
One particular event that still stands out in my mind though was when I served in a box at the Tottenham Hotspur football grounds. I barely noticed the match because I was so busy looking after the family in the box (no big loss though, I don't even like football), I only vaguely took note of the slightly rude nature of the family (again no big deal- you get a lot of that when you're a waitress, silver service or not), but I did notice this one guy following me around- a fellow waiter.
I'll never know why he fixed his scarily determined sights on me. At first I thought it was just a coincidence that he went into the kitchens and came out at the exact same time as me, every time. I continued to think this right up until the second half of the match, when 'my family' had settled down and I went to stand outside- and he was there, waiting for me, having apparently followed me all the way to my box.
I can't for the life of me remember how the conversation began, but it was only a few pleasantries into the conversation until we introduced ourselves. This was how he introduced himself:
"You can call me Ace."
Not 'My name is Ace'. Not even 'My name's ___ but my friends call me Ace'. Just 'You can call me Ace.'
A few more pleasantries, and suddenly it became Speed Dating 101. The creepy version. Here are a few questions that he literally rattled off in quick succession at me that I can remember:
"How old are you?" (I'm not even kidding you, this was his very first question).
"Are you from around here?"
"Where do you live?"
"What are you doing tonight?"
"What's your number?"
I considered giving him a fake number, until he told me he'd ring it then and there so my phone would have his number on record- so if I'd given him a fake one, he'd know right away as we both stood there.
Touché, 'Ace', touché.
He was also really tall, and really broad. Just slightly on the intimidating side. So when he said he'd come find me after our shifts to chat more, and I said thanks for the offer but I needed to get home quick, and he said not to worry and he'd be there to meet me in a flash, and I said firmly that I'd be going straight home, and he said he insisted and would be there waiting for me, I got a little nervous.
I made sure I'd cleaned up in record-fast time, and was eternally grateful that 'my family' hadn't made a mess of the box so there wasn't much for me to do, so I was able to dash out before 'Ace' got to my box. Once I was out, I checked my phone, marked his number as 'DO NOT PICK UP' (because if I'd merely deleted it I'd forget it was him and pick up if he ever called), had a laugh with my friends about it and promptly forgot about it.
A few months later I was in my student house with my two housemates and a friend (in fact one housemate and the friend were Lucia and Peter who got married recently), I got a call from the catering agency. Or so I thought.
"Hello, Natasha? This is Ace! How are you?"
"..."
After a pause that lasted for what seemed like forever, I hung up. At first I panicked and thought he'd contacted me through the agency- but the most likely situation is that my phone, an ancient Sony Ericsson, had switched the numbers. It had erased names from my phone while leaving the numbers behind before, so it's possible. In any case, I never heard from him again after that.
It's funny if you've read my blog up until this post, because you'll know that my luck with these sorts of encounters has not changed in the past seven years.
~Fin~
In my first year and a half of university I worked part time as a silver service waitress (you might think that this would be a potentially disastrous job for someone with such an artful knack of knocking things over but I was actually pretty decent at it). I got to work at some cool events, like at Twickenham rugby stadium during a big England-vs-Somebody match, the Cheltenham races and the like- I can't remember everything I went to, this being seven odd years ago. Neither can I remember particularly enjoying the events because when you work in catering you're so rushed off your feet you can only concentrate on your job and nothing else.
One particular event that still stands out in my mind though was when I served in a box at the Tottenham Hotspur football grounds. I barely noticed the match because I was so busy looking after the family in the box (no big loss though, I don't even like football), I only vaguely took note of the slightly rude nature of the family (again no big deal- you get a lot of that when you're a waitress, silver service or not), but I did notice this one guy following me around- a fellow waiter.
I'll never know why he fixed his scarily determined sights on me. At first I thought it was just a coincidence that he went into the kitchens and came out at the exact same time as me, every time. I continued to think this right up until the second half of the match, when 'my family' had settled down and I went to stand outside- and he was there, waiting for me, having apparently followed me all the way to my box.
I can't for the life of me remember how the conversation began, but it was only a few pleasantries into the conversation until we introduced ourselves. This was how he introduced himself:
"You can call me Ace."
Not 'My name is Ace'. Not even 'My name's ___ but my friends call me Ace'. Just 'You can call me Ace.'
A few more pleasantries, and suddenly it became Speed Dating 101. The creepy version. Here are a few questions that he literally rattled off in quick succession at me that I can remember:
"How old are you?" (I'm not even kidding you, this was his very first question).
"Are you from around here?"
"Where do you live?"
"What are you doing tonight?"
"What's your number?"
I considered giving him a fake number, until he told me he'd ring it then and there so my phone would have his number on record- so if I'd given him a fake one, he'd know right away as we both stood there.
Touché, 'Ace', touché.
He was also really tall, and really broad. Just slightly on the intimidating side. So when he said he'd come find me after our shifts to chat more, and I said thanks for the offer but I needed to get home quick, and he said not to worry and he'd be there to meet me in a flash, and I said firmly that I'd be going straight home, and he said he insisted and would be there waiting for me, I got a little nervous.
I made sure I'd cleaned up in record-fast time, and was eternally grateful that 'my family' hadn't made a mess of the box so there wasn't much for me to do, so I was able to dash out before 'Ace' got to my box. Once I was out, I checked my phone, marked his number as 'DO NOT PICK UP' (because if I'd merely deleted it I'd forget it was him and pick up if he ever called), had a laugh with my friends about it and promptly forgot about it.
A few months later I was in my student house with my two housemates and a friend (in fact one housemate and the friend were Lucia and Peter who got married recently), I got a call from the catering agency. Or so I thought.
"Hello, Natasha? This is Ace! How are you?"
"..."
After a pause that lasted for what seemed like forever, I hung up. At first I panicked and thought he'd contacted me through the agency- but the most likely situation is that my phone, an ancient Sony Ericsson, had switched the numbers. It had erased names from my phone while leaving the numbers behind before, so it's possible. In any case, I never heard from him again after that.
It's funny if you've read my blog up until this post, because you'll know that my luck with these sorts of encounters has not changed in the past seven years.
~Fin~
Sunday, 3 February 2013
Moments with Friends- Part 2
This is also actually a supplement story to the Romantically Challenged entry I wrote last year (the one where I tried to start a conversation with a nice-looking guy who worked in a chocolate shop by more or less asking him if he liked chocolate... yes, yes I know).
On that same day Lucia and I were perusing all the different flavours in that shop when another man who worked there came to educate us about chocolate.
"Chocolate is a journey", he said almost reverently at one point as he handed us a sample. Lucia and I stole a glance at each other, neither one of us sure if he was being serious or pulling our legs.
"Yes, you can really pick out different types of flavours," Lucia said bravely, subtly turning to me to give a half-shrug as I quirked an eyebrow back.
"It's interesting how chocolate from different origins works with different flavours: for example the truffles over there all work well with fillings, whereas this sort of chocolate is good enjoyed flat." He held out a bar of chocolate to indicate.
"What do you mean, 'flat?'" I asked, still in the world of flavours. Now both Lucia and the store assistant turned to look at me.
"...Flat?" The store assistant repeated slowly.
"Er- yes," I began, the feeling of realising I'd misunderstood something obvious- but still not knowing what it was- making my face slowly flush.
"It's a flat chocolate," he said, just as flatly.
"Yes. Um. Yes, but what does 'flat' mean?"
I saw Lucia grin out of the corner of my eye, realising that I wasn't actually asking about what the word itself meant, as the shop assistant looked at me like I was some kind of buffoon.
"It's flat. The chocolate is flat. See?" He held it out in the palm of his hand.
Flat. It had a flat shape.
The penny dropped.
"Ohhh I see! Haha, I thought you were talking about flavour or texture, like when a soft drink is fizzy or flat, and I was wondering if there was a chocolate equivalent of a flat drink, or..." I tailed off, embarrassed.
"No." He said, and simply walked off. I felt my face grow hotter and hoped that the other nice-looking guy hadn't overheard.
~Fin~
'What does flat mean?' Hah. In my defence, it's not that I'm stupid: it's just that I'm so clever that sometimes my tangled brain overcomplicates things unnecessarily- this has actually been said about me many times.
Funnily enough, this often ends up having exactly the same effect as being stupid.
On that same day Lucia and I were perusing all the different flavours in that shop when another man who worked there came to educate us about chocolate.
"Chocolate is a journey", he said almost reverently at one point as he handed us a sample. Lucia and I stole a glance at each other, neither one of us sure if he was being serious or pulling our legs.
"Yes, you can really pick out different types of flavours," Lucia said bravely, subtly turning to me to give a half-shrug as I quirked an eyebrow back.
"It's interesting how chocolate from different origins works with different flavours: for example the truffles over there all work well with fillings, whereas this sort of chocolate is good enjoyed flat." He held out a bar of chocolate to indicate.
"What do you mean, 'flat?'" I asked, still in the world of flavours. Now both Lucia and the store assistant turned to look at me.
"...Flat?" The store assistant repeated slowly.
"Er- yes," I began, the feeling of realising I'd misunderstood something obvious- but still not knowing what it was- making my face slowly flush.
"It's a flat chocolate," he said, just as flatly.
"Yes. Um. Yes, but what does 'flat' mean?"
I saw Lucia grin out of the corner of my eye, realising that I wasn't actually asking about what the word itself meant, as the shop assistant looked at me like I was some kind of buffoon.
"It's flat. The chocolate is flat. See?" He held it out in the palm of his hand.
Flat. It had a flat shape.
The penny dropped.
"Ohhh I see! Haha, I thought you were talking about flavour or texture, like when a soft drink is fizzy or flat, and I was wondering if there was a chocolate equivalent of a flat drink, or..." I tailed off, embarrassed.
"No." He said, and simply walked off. I felt my face grow hotter and hoped that the other nice-looking guy hadn't overheard.
~Fin~
'What does flat mean?' Hah. In my defence, it's not that I'm stupid: it's just that I'm so clever that sometimes my tangled brain overcomplicates things unnecessarily- this has actually been said about me many times.
Funnily enough, this often ends up having exactly the same effect as being stupid.
Saturday, 2 February 2013
Moments with Friends- Part 1
I wish I could write down every single special (in every sense of the word) moment I share with each of my friends to keep for ever and ever- it's possibly a bit late to start now, since so many have already been all but forgotten.
Like the time Ruthie and I bought some snacks and were deciding who's bag to put them in, and a total stranger (a guy, for the record) walking past quipped to Ruth 'Put it in yours, totally.'
Or another time when Siu Yen, Josh and I were attempting a trio self-photo when a guy suddenly jumped over the fence behind us, exclaiming 'Yeeeah picture time guys, this is great!', got his phone out and self-photo-ed himself with the three of us before disappearing. (All three of us assumed that the other two of us knew this guy. No-one knew this guy.)
Or the time Toria and I were at Sidmouth folk music festival and she pulled me out of being run into when I blindly walked into a circle of Morris men weilding sticks about to start dancing.
Or even the time Lucia and I spent a good amount of time hand-making dryad costumes for a 'The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe' costume party, painting on our faces and putting streamers in our hair and everything, when everyone else turned up looking normal (save for one rather half-arsed Lion and one guy who wore a box marked 'Wardrobe').
I think I need to start capturing more of these, starting from now.
Today, Siu Yen and I went on an afternoon tea cruise on the Thames. (Tea and cake on a boat- what's not to like?) We had about half an hour of a guided tour down the river just before food was served, and although a lot of other people were just talking through it, Siu Yen and I were paying attention. Mostly, anyway.
"Where's the dog?" Asked my friend.
"What dog?" I asked, frowning.
"He (the tour guide) just said: 'And on the right you'll see a wet dog.'"
"Siu Yen, I think he said 'wet dock'."
"Ohh! I did think that was a weird thing to point out."
Later on, we were trying to decide who wanted which macaron (there was a chocolate one, a vanilla one and a strawberry one): I find this sort of uneven rationing of food slightly irritating, and usually solve it with a game, wager or a song depending on the situation. Since neither of us particularly wanted one over the other, I went for a song. I pointed my finger at the closest morsel, and sang under my breath 'My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean', jabbing at each macaron with each syllable until the song had finished and I landed on the one that I'd end up eating.
As I landed on the final one ('Oh bring back my bonnie to ME') and plucked it from the tray, I caught my friend staring warily at me.
"Er... what?"
"What on Earth was that?" Asked my friend.
"What?" I asked again, macaron still hovering in mid-air halfway to my mouth.
"That song, what was it? It was a little creepy!"
"You've never heard of My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean? Old folk song, men going off to war, the women sing about it and the like?"
"Nope. But I'm glad it's 'Bonnie'. I thought you said 'Body'."
~Fin~
Like the time Ruthie and I bought some snacks and were deciding who's bag to put them in, and a total stranger (a guy, for the record) walking past quipped to Ruth 'Put it in yours, totally.'
Or another time when Siu Yen, Josh and I were attempting a trio self-photo when a guy suddenly jumped over the fence behind us, exclaiming 'Yeeeah picture time guys, this is great!', got his phone out and self-photo-ed himself with the three of us before disappearing. (All three of us assumed that the other two of us knew this guy. No-one knew this guy.)
Or the time Toria and I were at Sidmouth folk music festival and she pulled me out of being run into when I blindly walked into a circle of Morris men weilding sticks about to start dancing.
Or even the time Lucia and I spent a good amount of time hand-making dryad costumes for a 'The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe' costume party, painting on our faces and putting streamers in our hair and everything, when everyone else turned up looking normal (save for one rather half-arsed Lion and one guy who wore a box marked 'Wardrobe').
I think I need to start capturing more of these, starting from now.
Today, Siu Yen and I went on an afternoon tea cruise on the Thames. (Tea and cake on a boat- what's not to like?) We had about half an hour of a guided tour down the river just before food was served, and although a lot of other people were just talking through it, Siu Yen and I were paying attention. Mostly, anyway.
"Where's the dog?" Asked my friend.
"What dog?" I asked, frowning.
"He (the tour guide) just said: 'And on the right you'll see a wet dog.'"
"Siu Yen, I think he said 'wet dock'."
"Ohh! I did think that was a weird thing to point out."
Later on, we were trying to decide who wanted which macaron (there was a chocolate one, a vanilla one and a strawberry one): I find this sort of uneven rationing of food slightly irritating, and usually solve it with a game, wager or a song depending on the situation. Since neither of us particularly wanted one over the other, I went for a song. I pointed my finger at the closest morsel, and sang under my breath 'My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean', jabbing at each macaron with each syllable until the song had finished and I landed on the one that I'd end up eating.
As I landed on the final one ('Oh bring back my bonnie to ME') and plucked it from the tray, I caught my friend staring warily at me.
"Er... what?"
"What on Earth was that?" Asked my friend.
"What?" I asked again, macaron still hovering in mid-air halfway to my mouth.
"That song, what was it? It was a little creepy!"
"You've never heard of My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean? Old folk song, men going off to war, the women sing about it and the like?"
"Nope. But I'm glad it's 'Bonnie'. I thought you said 'Body'."
~Fin~
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