My so called life

[Luke K]

Sometimes, I feel like I'm living in the middle of a cheap sitcom. Ordinarily I'd embellish something like the following tale with some artistic license; white lies, exaggeration and so on. I assure you that I'm not making any of the following up, however. If I was, it would be a lot more believable.

My mission: travel to the next town, buy train tickets for the Eurogamer Expo next month, and pick something up for The Wife. Easy enough, surely?

Waiting at the bus stop I decide that of the two companies running services there I'd take the cheaper one, which handily also drops people off at the train station. The first bus to arrive, which runs largely the same route, is from the other company. The god of public transport decides to exploit my latent white southern guilt by dropping a Sikh into the driver's seat. He slows to the stop, sees that neither I nor the old lady waiting beside me have any intention of entering his vehicle, and immediately speeds off again - with what I am sure is a look that screams 'I spy racial and religious intolerance'.

The second bus is extremely late. So late in fact that, on the way to the next town, we pass the Sikh driver coming back. Naturally, he passes on the side I am sitting. I feel sure that he glares at me as he passes.

Dropped off at the train station, I am greeted by a farcical sight I did not expect. A queue of no less than twenty people snakes out of the tiny ticket office that serves the station. Well, if they're all buying one way tickets to somewhere better, good luck to them. I start the long walk up to Blockbuster to kill some time.

Why, what's this in the store window? They're looking for a sales assistant specifically for the games section? Must be knowledgable and enthusiastic about games. Many perks, including discounts and early access to new releases??!? At last, a desirable way out of my soul crushing factory job!

Excited, I ask at the counter. There is no information pack, but they do at least have application forms. Minimum wage? Hmm... I'll work the finances out when I get home. Perhaps I can scrape by.

I idly browse the stock, thinking about the position, and decide that I should ask about the hours.

10 - 15 contracted hours a week. *sigh* "I'm on 15 hours a week, but I work 35." Says a greasy long haired lad, unsuccesfully trying to sell me the job.

Dejected, I head back to the train station. Well, the comically long queue is gone; my day is looking up.

"I'm travelling to Earls Court Friday 1st October, returning Sunday 3rd October." I say to the chap behind the ticket counter.

Five long seconds pass while he regards me with a suspicious look.

"I'd like to buy a ticket." I say, helpfully.

"Oh, right." he says, and then tells me - with no sense of irony whatsoever - "I thought you just wanted me to know."

I laugh politely, wondering how he managed to scrape up enough intelligence to escape from the zoo.

Miraculously, the seats are booked and the transaction is completed in under a week. Shaking my head in disbelief, I walk down to the town centre.

I pop into Oxfam on the way down. A woman from work is also in there. As we don't know each other very well and only occasionally swap a few words, we carefully ignore one another.

I find a copy of the Spongebob Squarepants Movie game for PS2 for my daughter (honest) which will run on my 60gb PS3. I take it to the counter, where an improbably effeminate teenage boy is working the till. I hand over a five pound note, and find that there isn't enough change in the till. He asks me to wait while he gets some more.

After opening the door behind the counter, he goes to great pains to prop it open with a stepladder. I have absolutely no idea why he might want to do this, but watching him try to do so is mesmerising.

Stepladder in place, he disappears up some stairs. He returns with a handful of pound coins and a woman complaing about the store's lack of coinage. I thank him and take my leave.

Next stop: Poundland. A nice little game to play in Poundland is to see whose dignity is being despoiled by having their biography or autobiography available for purchase. Today: Daniel Craig.

This week, they have wireless Wii sensor bars. Although I have no need and no desire for such a device, I purchase one. Why? Because it's only a pound.

I then make my way up to Argos, where The Wife has reserved a clothes horse. Being something of a traditionalist I pay, and then wait for it to come down The Magic Conveyer Belt Of Wonder. It soon arrives, and my number is called.

It has no packaging as such. It is held in clear plastic, making the lavender coloured loveliness available for all to see.

"Is it okay for you like that?" asks the girl behind the counter. "We don't have any bags that big, but I can make a hole in the plastic."

I thank this female MacGyver for her kind offer, but assure her that I have the situation under control.

"Okay then, there you go." she says, buggering off without so much as the statutory corporate 'thank you'.

On the bus back home, I rest one of my arms on the metal bar by the seats. This proves to be a mistake as I notice, having alighted, that my arm now displays a vaguely tribal green tattoo.

After the day's adventures, I settle in front of the TV with The Wife. During one of the commercial breaks on Fiver, a deliciously cheesy trailer plays for a new show.

"He's your best chance. Your only chance. Christopher Chance."

"Slim Chance." I say.

"No, he's put on some weight." says The Wife.

"Fat Chance." I say.

Cue canned laughter and applause.

Credits roll.

[Riff]

You forgot to mention the homeless man who tries to expound upon the virtues of life, while smelling of cheap whiskey and stale urine.

[Rustynuts]

Lol I like it, that was an interesting read. Do you keep a Diary?

[Luke K]

(09-12-2010 10:06 PM)Rustynuts Wrote:  Lol I like it, that was an interesting read. Do you keep a Diary?

Fortunately for all involved, no.

[KrazyFace]

I like it, and I belive every word of it too! Can I tell you about one of my days?

Okay, as some of you know, I've just started up my own barber shop and three days in and the dip-sticks that are the general population are never far away to ruin your day. It was around eleven O'clock in the morning before I saw my first customer on this particular day, three hours of doing sweet fuck all had already passed me by when this old fart pulls up in his new-model-Jag...

He gets out of his car and locks it while keeping the key in his pocket (the first sign of dick-head-ery) and saunters into my shop. He looks at the price list and sucks through his teeth.

"Ooh, you'll never make any money like that son" He says in a derogatory tone while keeping his eyes firmly on the O.A.P price in the middle of the list, then continues on saying "I get my hair cut up the toon for £3.50"

£3.50!? Three fuckin' measely pounds I think to myself while watching him for signs of age induced mental strain. But I'm outta luck, this guy's just a chancer. I know that because he's standing too straight to be over 60, the lenses in his glasses are too thin for him to have a real issue with his eyesight. I put him down as a wanker on the verge of 56, who has the confidence to complain like an old fucker, but his posture says otherwise. I tell him I feel five pounds is a perfectly acceptable ammount for an O.A.P's cut, and that I certianly would NEVER make any money if it were less. He squints at me in offence, looking to see if I'll back down and 'match his price' but I know his kind. He's the kinda guy that makes my father look generous, the kinda guy that complains in restaurants so much that he gets a free meal and gives himself a bonus if he can make the waitress cry, a real nasty (on purpose) toilet-misser, but also the kinda guy who likes people with guts. So I say "Sorry, but I'm a busy man and if you don't have enough money for this place..." Knowing full well that by insulting this rich tubby shit magician's wallet he'll protest his worth.

He sits down in the chair to prove he's not some pennyless pleb off the street and I ask him what he'd like. "A haircut" comes the reply. Obviously! I didn't think you'd come here for spare elbow skin for your nutsack, "Would you like a lot off, or just a touch?" I ask. Adamant that he's going to make this hard for me he says "Something the wife would like". Hrmm, what WOULD his wife like, a rogering with a spikey rubber dildo? A break away from this sly, beer-bellied, shit crimper perhaps? Or maybe she'd like me to shave all his hair off so she can get a good sound when she slaps him across his head? I suggest the standard No.4 back-and-sides and he agrees.

"I wasn't going to come in here at all you know" He says after about five minuets of silence. No doubt five minuets being long enough for this fat handed tampon's mind to think of another insult for me and so I ask the obvious question "Really, why not?"

"Well, the name above the door isn't very welcoming. Do you know who Sweeney Todd was?" He asks this as if I'm a five year old that's just crapped himself and should know better, and before I can draw breath he answers for me "He used to slit folks throats as soon as they walked through the door!". This guy thinks he was a REAL PERSON! "Actually" I say quickly, "He would usually get them in the chair first, and when they felt comfortable..." I make a slicing gesture with my open scissors across my throat. For the rest of the haircut, he dosen't say a word.

Soon the haircut is finished, and as he gets up he asks how much he owes me. "Well, you said you were a pensioner right?", "Yes" he replies and pulls out a fiver. "Would you mind showing me your bus pass please?" I ask in the most polite voice I can conjure. "I uh... I don't have a bus pass" he says, thumbing through five or six credit cards in his wallet. "Why not, you are over sixty right?" I say while feigning mild confusion. "Here!" He says while thrusting a tenner into my hand, "It's fine boy, you can keep the change".

The man walks out of my shop with what looks to be a strange kind of grin upon his face, and I'm sure, never to return again. Ah well, you gotta love the general public! Who's next?

[Luke K]

If your business is struggling, I imagine it's because you're killing/terrorising your customers.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

[Ian D]

I'd only find the name of your shop worrying if a bakery sprung up next door.

[KrazyFace]

Actually Ian, I was gonna give away a free "meat" pie with every haircut. It's hard to explain why without wearing out my PS3 pad at the moment but if I'm bored enough on Monday, I might explain...