I had to stay late at work tonight. There were some people who wanted to view the hall, and could not make it before 7.30pm, so I offered to hang on for a couple of hours because I’m rather nice. Typically my appointment turned up late, which made me feel like my good nature was being stretched. Additionally, it transpired that there were so many different people arriving for the viewing that it took ages to get them round the hall, as they’d keep stopping to chat and debate between themselves about their proposed event in punishing detail. I certainly did not foresee myself leaving work after half eight, but that’s exactly what happened.
In the end, I had to drop subtle hints by passing odd comments such as, “Oh well, better push on, otherwise my dinner’s in the dog.” just to hurry them up a little.
The Chinese whisper effect of “dinners in the dog” comment soon morphed around the collective and was soon being interpreted that my wife (who I haven’t got) had thrown my dinner in the bin. Should this strange assumption that I was married been taken as a compliment? I can’t really tell. At least I do not visibly exhude an air of being lonely and desperate I suppose. Or maybe I do, and that’s why they’d assumed I was married.
I am rubbish at the whole being complimented thing anyway. Never been able to trust them, to be honest. When I finally got the gaggle to the door ready to leave, one of them commented, “You look like you’ve lost a bit of weight since I last saw you.”
Now – although probably well intended - that’s actually the worst possible thing you can possibly say to a chronic hypochondriac! Rather than interpreting this as a good thing, I immediately started questioning why the comment had been chosen. My gym regime has slackened of late. I have been eating more desserts than ever. I’m drinking Guinness like a fish (not that fish drink Guinness- it would be like cannibalism with all them finings). What could possibly have bought on such weight loss? The only rational explanation I could think of was that I was succumbing to some sort of terminal illness.
At least it gave me something to dwell on when I finally got back home.
Mon 9th Mar 2009
We’ve been asked to ensure our offices are manned at all times throughout the working day, so there is always someone to answer the phones.
Well, durr!!
It seemed an odd and unnecessary request. I share mine with 2 other colleagues, which means there is always perpetually at least one person in the office at all times. I took mock offence in the underlying implication that we must be frequent ‘skivers’ and ‘deserters’.
“I didn’t mean it like that…” he stuttered, “I’m just saying.. One of you could go off for dinner… and sure, there’d still be two of you here to keep an eye on the phones. But what if both of you needed the toilet? The office would be unmanned then wouldn’t it?”
You’ve got to admire this attempt of justification, but it didn’t make the statement any less bizarre. Are two of us really that likely to head off to the toilet at the same time? I suppose it is possible, but in reality it’s neither very likely nor practical. For starters, how would it work exactly? Assumedly one would sit down on the porcelain first, then the other would have to try and aim their spray of urine into the hole between their legs. This seems like a difficult skill to master. And I for one have neither the time nor inclination to bother trying. Even if I could manage such an action, I’d probably just keep it to myself rather than inviting a work colleague to join me in a tandem toilet trip. I’d rather be accused of being a deserter than a pervert.
Well, durr!!
It seemed an odd and unnecessary request. I share mine with 2 other colleagues, which means there is always perpetually at least one person in the office at all times. I took mock offence in the underlying implication that we must be frequent ‘skivers’ and ‘deserters’.
“I didn’t mean it like that…” he stuttered, “I’m just saying.. One of you could go off for dinner… and sure, there’d still be two of you here to keep an eye on the phones. But what if both of you needed the toilet? The office would be unmanned then wouldn’t it?”
You’ve got to admire this attempt of justification, but it didn’t make the statement any less bizarre. Are two of us really that likely to head off to the toilet at the same time? I suppose it is possible, but in reality it’s neither very likely nor practical. For starters, how would it work exactly? Assumedly one would sit down on the porcelain first, then the other would have to try and aim their spray of urine into the hole between their legs. This seems like a difficult skill to master. And I for one have neither the time nor inclination to bother trying. Even if I could manage such an action, I’d probably just keep it to myself rather than inviting a work colleague to join me in a tandem toilet trip. I’d rather be accused of being a deserter than a pervert.
Sat 7th Mar 2009
Got taken to a shop on an industrial retail park today. The shop was called ‘Sports World’. I had never been to ‘Sports World’ before. For it is not the type of shop name that I’d presume to have much relevance to me.
For some reason (possibly due to its moniker), I imagined ‘Sports World’ would sell ‘Sports’ from around the ‘World’. Or at least various equipment from the ‘World’ of ‘Sports’. There was a little bit of sporting equipment – a few balls, and some other bits and bobs. But not much. At least not enough to justify a name called ‘Sports World’.
Mostly, ‘Sports World’ sold a range of clothes and footwear. The type of clothes and footwear sold at ‘Sport World’ were those I see most commonly adorned by people who populate the queue in the pasty shop ‘Greggs’, with their tracksuits and their trainers and their pale greasy faces.
To be honest, those people do not look particularly indulgent of a ‘World’ of ‘Sport’. Is the name ‘Sports World’ actually supposed to be ironic?
Given such logic, and liberal license, maybe Greggs could rename themselves ‘The Health Food’ shop.
For some reason (possibly due to its moniker), I imagined ‘Sports World’ would sell ‘Sports’ from around the ‘World’. Or at least various equipment from the ‘World’ of ‘Sports’. There was a little bit of sporting equipment – a few balls, and some other bits and bobs. But not much. At least not enough to justify a name called ‘Sports World’.
Mostly, ‘Sports World’ sold a range of clothes and footwear. The type of clothes and footwear sold at ‘Sport World’ were those I see most commonly adorned by people who populate the queue in the pasty shop ‘Greggs’, with their tracksuits and their trainers and their pale greasy faces.
To be honest, those people do not look particularly indulgent of a ‘World’ of ‘Sport’. Is the name ‘Sports World’ actually supposed to be ironic?
Given such logic, and liberal license, maybe Greggs could rename themselves ‘The Health Food’ shop.
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