Next customer please

Why, at the supermarket checkout, are some people reluctant to put their shopping on the conveyor belt behind yours without a having plastic divider to separate the shopping?  Are they afraid I’ll maliciously buy all their shopping and take it home?

Their solution seems to be to create a Grand Canyon sized gap between my shopping and theirs. 

Perfect.  It makes more sense than simply adding a divider once one becomes available.

Also, what about when it’s a ‘self service’ checkout? 

I’m pretty confident that I’ll know when to stop scanning my items.  I won’t accidentally buy your tampons, microwave cheeseburger, budget bread and extra large condoms.

Oh wait, those last ones are mine.

 

checkout divider

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A quick shout out…

To all you commuters who like to change direction on a whim right in front of me, often two or three times, causing me to either bash into you, do a Matrix style maneuver around you or change direction entirely, often two or three times, thus perpetuating your retarded inability to fucking walk in a fucking straight fucking line….

To all you pricks who stop right at the top of the stairs in a station to decide your next life choice, causing me and the hundreds of unstopping masses to practically fall over you; resulting in us almost making the fucking choice for you….

To all you tedious twats who are simply stood still until the moment I’m literally about to walk past you, at which point you decide to walk out directly in my path resulting in me virtually FUCKING YOU UP with a full on body slam….

To all you meandering rimlickers who get on the train and then stop in the aisle to put away your train ticket, or change the track on your iPod or locate your disappointing genitals, unaware that the rest of us are stuck behind you,followed by not rushing to move or apologising when you do….

To all you shitbiting fuckers who sensibly stop in a doorway to sort out your luggage because it somehow seems the least obstructive place to be, despite the fact everyone uses doors to get into and out of places…

And to all you festering cockwarts who desperately try to get In front of me whilst walking and then, once you’ve succeeded, choose to either slow down to the speed of fuck all or stop altogether, making me wonder why you so desperately had the need to push in front of me, or breathe in and out for that matter…

To ALL of you absolute fucking bastards on my daily commute, may I just take this opportunity to say….

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Phlegm fatale

On the London Underground this morning I was watching a woman sat down, meticulously adjusting her hair in a small hand-held mirror.

This little bit back there; this bit brought forward etc… 

She was being very thorough and at one stage appeared to be struggling to get one part of her hair to go where she wanted it to.  This may be because the train was being jostled left and right vigorously, but it’s likely because gravity actually exists.

Suddenly she stopped and looked up, like a deer hearing a twig snap in the quiet wood or that realisation that you’ve probably left the iron on at home.  She was motionless, looking directly forward with intent and concern at no-one in particular.

“Atchoo!!”

She sneezed into her hand.  The hand she then re-applied to her hair.

I always thought sneezes were unpredictable and unintentional, but her (now ‘gravity defying’) hair would suggest otherwise.

snot hair gel

Grand theft awful

Just seen a woman in HMV ask for a copy of Grand Theft Auto 5 (certificate 18 I hasten to add) for her son who couldn’t have been older than 7.

She was told they’ve completely sold out.

The little fucking spoilt brat then completely LOST…HIS… SHIT!!

Makes my blood boil

The office I work in is very modern and contemporary.  We have funky red sofas, LED TVs dotted around on the brilliantly white walls and more glass and steel than an episode of Buck Rogers.

One of the contemporary and modern fixtures we have is a tap in the kitchen that provides boiling hot water…on tap.  It’s perfect for making a brew quickly and so it should be; I believe it cost around £2000.

And yet we still have a kettle.

Eh?

I’ve lost count the amount of times I’ve walked into the kitchen, said hello to the idiots waiting for the kettle to boil, made my drink with the tap and then said goodbye to the idiots still waiting for the kettle to boil.

I ask them why they’re not using the tap and I get inane answers like:

“The tap doesn’t get it hot enough”

Really?  So the billowing steam coming off the water suggests it’s lukewarm does it?  I dare you to run your hand or genitals under it.  No?  Why not?

“It’s just what I’m used to; the water tastes better from the kettle anyway”

Bullshit. 

If anything, the tap tastes better because it’s filtered and it stays hot rather than being boiled over and over and over again.  And besides, who really gives a smoking shit about the flavour of the water, considering you’re infusing it with whatever shit you’re drinking.  And you’re probably making it wrong.

https://headinablender.wordpress.com/2013/03/28/fancy-a-cuppa/

https://headinablender.wordpress.com/2013/04/04/you-fcoffee/

And what’s more frustrating is when they simply look at me and shrug.

What can I say to that?  There’s no reasoning with stupid.  I hate smashing into a wall of pillock.

But above all this; above all the reasons and blank faced idiocy there’s something I’ve observed that really grits my shit. 

Once they’ve made their hot drink, they put it in the microwave to get it hotter.

I’m sorry, hotter??

How fucking hot do you need it to be?  Surely when it’s bubbling away like a witch’s cauldron it’s not wise to introduce it to your soft fleshy insides?  No, of course it isn’t, which is why they proceed to sip it very gently, blowing on it to cool it down.

What?  Sorry, what?  I just don’t get it.

Yesterday I challenged one of them as he took his drink, now at the temperature of the sun, out of the microwave.  I asked him why he was subjecting his already piping hot beverage to microwaves and he simply replied with, “it wasn’t hot enough”.

He then started to sip it tentatively and carefully.

“Don’t you dare blow on it”, I subtly warned.

“What?” he asked stupidly.

“Why make it hotter just to blow on it to cool it down?”

He looked at me blankly, as if this somehow hadn’t occurred to him.

“What’s the point in zapping it in the microwave if you’re making it too hot to drink?”

“Erm…” he intelligently replied.

“Don’t you dare blow on it, or slurp it” I continued, “I want to see full on sips with full on lip contact”

He did exactly that, wincing the whole time as he fought to hold the microwave-hot ceramic handle of the mug.

Even the Americans don’t do this.  That’s how bad it’s got.

Right, I’m off now to start a fire in my garden so I can cook my dinner using random sticks as skewers, rather than utilise my fully loaded kitchen with gas cooker, oven, pans and utensils.

Because, you know, it’s just what I’m used to.

monkey shit pc

A rosy outlook on life

Earlier today one of the lovely ladies on reception at work offered me a small chocolate chip from her bag of granola. 

Being on a diet (of sorts), I declined. 

At this point she paused for a second, held it closer to me and said in the most serious face she could muster, “actually it’s a rabbit poo”.

This immediately caused me to grin and I replied with, “well in that case, I’ll have one.  I prefer rabbit poo anyway as they’re more nutritious and full of fibre”.

The other lady on reception looked at me in disbelief; mouth open and nose wrinkled.

“Why are you like that?” she asked, slightly bemused.

“Like what?” I asked innocently, knowing what she meant.

“Like that; saying you’d rather eat rabbit poo”.

“Because”, I replied, “it’s funny”

What’s even funnier is the fact that I know she’s reading through my blog today.

rabbitpoodog

It’s all in the voice

The woman on the table across the aisle from me has done nothing but whine on the phone about the delayed train we’re sat on.

I can’t see her because of the rather ‘stinking of booze’ mountain of a man sat directly next to me chugging wine from a selection of mini bottles in his satchel, but she’s really getting on my tits.

I imagine from her chavvy voice that she’s a bit grubby with lank greasy hair scraped back from her fat, spotty, fuck ugly face.

I look over.

It’s a little skinny man in a suit.