Commuting is the pits

Posted on Oct 30, 2013 by headinablender

Body odour on the London underground should be punishable by death.

Or a bath.

As soon as the acrid stench filled my nose (and those of the other sardines packed in the tin with me), the very attractive, tall blonde to my left looked at me and I suddenly realised she may think the niff is coming from me.

Don’t get me wrong here…I’m a happily married man, but that doesn’t mean I’m content with this woman thinking I smell like an armpit.

And it was a STRONG smell; the type that had been fermenting for a long, long time.

So I did what anyone would do in a situation like this, I held my fist under my nose in a theatrical attempt to indicate it WASN’T me. Basically I was miming “Pheeeuw! What is that noxious smell? It’s clearly not me as I’m attempting to mask it. See, I’m very obviously attempting to mask it with my fist and the inside of my jacket, so it’s obviously not me!”

Everyone was shiftily looking around trying to figure out who the culprit was, like some kind of silent game of Cluedo.

Luckily, whenever the train started moving it wafted the fetid stink through the carriage like a stagnant curry fart under a disturbed duvet.

I think it was Professor Pong, on the tube, with the empty can of deodorant.

Or the blonde.

No parking!

Posted on Oct 24, 2013 by headinablender

This morning I was greeted by this…

Some inconsiderate prick thought it was a good idea to park their car right across my garage.

My first instinct was to get in my car and sound the horn until the fucker came out and then punch them in the face, but it was 7am and I didn’t really want to wake the whole neighbourhood. I was angry, but that didn’t excuse me being an annoying wanker about it.

My second instinct was to kick or scratch their car, but considering my vehicle is the only one blocked in, it would’ve pretty obvious who had done the damage and I didn’t want to risk them retaliating.

It’s not like I could move my car and hide it afterwards.

This is also the reason I resisted squatting on the bonnet and laying a hot fresh pie on their windscreen.

Shame, because the first one of the day is usually the meatiest.

And if they didn’t retaliate I could be slapped with a fine for criminal damage, which is always fun.

So instead I was terribly British and paced back and forth, muttering under my breath, and shaking my head in a misguided belief that it would somehow flush out the culprit…which it didn’t.

Instead I was left feeling more helpless and frustrated than a handcuffed pervert watching porn.

I was also angry that my four minute drive to the train station was going to result in a thirty minute uphill walk on a very, VERY cold October morning.

All I could do was take a photo (to send to my boss showing that my reason for being late is in fact genuine – not that I’m a cynic!), close my garage, lift their wiper blade up in defiance and begin my tedious walk to the station.

I would’ve left a note under their wiper blades but annoyingly I didn’t have time to go back in the house to write it. If I left immediately and walked at the blistering pace of an angry woman, I might just be able to make the later train.

I did, however, do the one thing that I thought might make me feel better; the one thing that may help ease my suffering and give me a sense of comfort. I posted it on Facebook.

Within seconds I got the affirmation and acknowledgement I was so clearly craving, with lots of advice on a variety of vindictive things I could’ve done to teach this parking penis a lesson. My favourite comment was this small poem…

Dear driver of the black car

Who do you think you are?

Don’t you find it bizarre…

You park but wander somewhere far?

Now my mate can’t access his car

Better this note, than my fucking crowbar!

Brilliant.

The customer is(n’t) always (b)right

Posted on Oct 22, 2013 by headinablender

You know when you call a company and the automated voice explains that your call may be recorded for training and quality purposes? Well, I’m the person who listens to those calls.

Here is an interaction between one of our sales team (let’s call her Sandy) and a female customer.

Woman “I’m interested in getting some information about a holiday to Dubai”

Sandy “Let me check that for you, what date are you looking to travel?”

Woman “I can’t hear you very well, you’re very faint”

Sandy “Ok, give me one second”

* loud and crackly sounds of a telephone headset being furiously fumbled with and adjusted*

Sandy “Is that better?”

Woman “Yes that’s a bit better”

Sandy “Oh lovely, ok so what dates….”

*interrupted by the customer*

Woman “No, I still can’t hear you that well”

*fumble, crackle, fumble*

Sandy “How’s that?”

Woman “You’re still quite faint”

*fumble, fumble, crackle, fumble*

Sandy “OK, IS THAT ANY BETTER?” (She’s almost shouting now)

Woman “Yes, that’s a bit better”

Sandy “OK GREAT, SO WHAT DATES….”

*interrupted by the customer*

Woman “Hang on, I’ll just turn my radio down”

Proof that stupidity still lives amongst us.

Hal E. Tosis

Posted on Oct 21, 2013 by headinablender

Holy shit…the guy opposite me on the train has breath that can cut through steel…and my skull, via my nasal cavity.

‘gip’

(Swallow)

Toys, taxis and tourettes

Posted on Oct 11, 2013 by headinablender

I’ve just been for a wander in London, mostly to get out of the office for some fresh air and to stretch my legs.

My travels took me to ‘Forbidden Planet’; a Mecca to geeks up and down the country, selling all sorts of film, gaming and comic memorabilia.

I passed a couple with their young son who was holding a life size replica of the portal gun from Aperture Laboratories, made famous by the game ‘Portal’. Awesome!

As I got nearer I heard the dad telling the boy that he couldn’t have it. This is fair enough, but the kid was already holding it in his arms. At least tell the boy BEFORE you’ve watched him carefully pick it up off the shelf and hold it lovingly in his arms like a puppy, you turd.

He pleaded with his dad, but the answer was no.

“How about a foam sword son?”

“How about you suck my hairless balls dad?”

I mooched around the shop for a bit, dribbling over Star Wars stuff, before heading back out into the rain.

As I got to Tottenham Court road I saw a woman in a suit hail a taxi from the kerb. She threw her arm up like an enthusiastic pupil answering a classroom question and the cab pulled over sharply. She hop, skipped and jumped the deepening puddles towards the taxi door only to stop, turn back and shout “for fucks sake!” at the top of her lungs.

This turned a few heads.

It seems three Chinese students had beaten her to the taxi, and as it sped off she angrily attempted to hail another one. This time she looked less like a pupil and more like a Nazi.

To top all this off I saw a skinny little man with a massive beard waiting to cross the road; shouting and arguing with the traffic lights, the pavement and the corner of the pub. Despite it being one of the busiest cities in the world, there didn’t seem to be anyone else needing to cross the road at that moment.

Weird.

Remember to use your ‘inside voice’, ok?

Posted on Oct 10, 2013 by headinablender

A couple of mornings ago the guy sat next to me on the train uttered loudly “for fuck’s sake!” whilst reading an email on his phone.

Sigh.

What was the point in that? Hmm? What did that achieve?

Nothing.

Well, I say nothing; it DID achieve a certain sense of awkwardness which was nice.

What EXACTLY was the reaction he expected from me?

I have no idea what the correct etiquette should be when all I really wanted to do was tell him to shut the fuck up because it’s early and no-one was interested in his tedious bid for attention.

But seriously, what do you say in a situation like that?

I suppose I could have turned to him with a face of deep concern and said “Oh my god friend, what’s wrong? What’s happened? Are you ok? Do you need me to do anything? Oh god it must be terrible whatever it is!”, whilst gently stroking his face and sporting a quivering bottom lip.

I suppose I also could have tutted, rolled my eyes and said “bad news eh?” in a knowing ‘we’ve all been there mate’ kind of way.

But I was wearing headphones so I opted instead to ignore him because he was a prick.

Blind leading the blind…

Posted on Oct 8, 2013 by headinablender

Does anyone else see the irony in this?

Mis-carriage

Posted on Oct 8, 2013 by headinablender

This morning the much coveted front carriage of the train was inaccessible and the doors weren’t working.

It is much coveted because the exit at London Victoria station is at the front and saving ourselves an extra few metres at the end of the journey is just SO important.

As a small group of us collected by the door, the allocated ‘pusher of the door button’ (which is never discussed or agreed, but still the responsibility somehow falls to one person and never disputed) started prodding away only to find that nothing was happening.

The driver had to lean out of the window and tell us, as we continued to stand there watching the ‘pusher of the door button’ moronically repeat her duty over and over, that the carriage was out of order due to a broken window and we’ll have to use the carriage behind it.

That would explain all the yellow and black striped tape covering the window. I was actually looking forward to it blocking out the sun to be honest.

There was the slightly squelchy noise as all eyes rolled in unison before we grudgingly, but with a slightly awkward walk/run, made our way to carriage number two.

What was interesting*, as I took my seat, was the fact that my fellow commuters then tried to access the front carriage from the inside, moaning and tutting when the doors were inevitably locked. It was almost as if the train company KNEW they were going to attempt that.

Clever train company; they thought of everything.

Asking these creatures of habit to find a seat in a different carriage is like asking a man to stop touching his penis or a woman to change her mind.

Possible, but not without a little drama and upset.

You know when a dog takes forever to pick where they want to lay down, and then when they do eventually make a decision they circle and circle and circle until they either finally lay down or get shouted at to lay the fuck down?

It’s the same with commuters.

*fucking annoying

Crapham’s junction box

Posted on Oct 7, 2013 by headinablender

The guard on the train has just announced that we will not be stopping at Clapham Junction because the station has had a power cut and the lights aren’t working.

It doesn’t affect me but it clearly affects half the carriage as they all let out a very angry and very audible sigh, in perfect unison.

To be honest, I’m now feeling a little faint from the sudden increase in carbon dioxide.

Granted it’s almost 7pm and its starting to get dark, but as we passed through Clapham Junction it was sumptuously lit up by surrounding houses and street lamps.

Apparently the closure is for health and safety reasons.

I’ve just seen the guard lock himself away for the exact same reasons.

The last leg

Posted on Oct 4, 2013 by headinablender

Its bad enough that I have to change trains ONE stop before my stop, but its even worse when the connecting train is delayed.

But they don’t just tell us it’s 30 minutes late.

Oh no.

They say its 10 minutes late, and then when the 10 minutes is nearly up they add on another 5 minutes and then another 10 minutes etc…until the train finally fucking arrives.

Annoyingly I need to pick up some provisions from ASDA tonight which is practically a stone’s throw from the station I’m stood at.

If I’d known I was going to be stuck here for 30 minutes I would’ve walked to ASDA and got my shit to carry on the train for the ONE stop to my car.

But no…now I have to drive all the way BACK here.

Thanks Friday….you just had to get the boot in before the weekend.

Piss de resistance

Posted on Oct 4, 2013 by headinablender

Regular readers of my blog will remember I once ranted about automated doors and their ability to hinder the actual act of opening a door.

For those new to my blog, or those with the memory of a man under investigation for allegedly having sex with a goat, you’ll find the entry here.

Following on from this, I had another choice encounter.

Last night as I left the office, I paused for a moment as I could feel that slight tickle in my bladder suggesting there was a piss in my very near future. I was running late and, as it only takes about 20 minutes to get to Victoria station, I decided against draining the main vein until I was on the train home.

I could wait 20 minutes.

Fortunately, having walked for about 3 minutes towards the underground station, my tickle turned into a dull ache. Having consumed a litre and a half of squash in the last 45 minutes of the day I knew my bladder was not going to be filling up slowly.

I‘m now not sure I could wait 20 minutes.

I negotiated the shuffling morons, ticket barriers, escalators, platforms, trains and countless cases, bags and bell-ends to make it to Victoria station; by which time my bladder was really starting to hurt.

I walked as fast as I could to the platform where my 12 carriage toilet would be waiting. Unfortunately, ‘as fast as I could’ wasn’t very fast at all considering my bladder felt like it had swelled to the size of a small baby screaming for its mummy. If the station hadn’t been so noisy I would’ve been reported to Child Services.

I made it to the last set of barriers and was held up by some dickhead with a suitcase who couldn’t activate the barrier with his ticket AND walk forward with his suitcase at the same time. These skills appeared to be interchangeable, but not combinable. Interestingly it was the opposite with my foot and his arse.

My bladder shouted at me to use a different barrier and we were through. I walked to my platform like a wounded soldier on the battlefield and there in front of me was my train; my beautiful, beautiful train. What a magnificent sight. Tears were welling up in my eyes…at least I think they were tears. Are tears yellow?

I was starting to feel a little nervous at this point because a single knock from an arm swinger or one of the countless idiots I commute with and I would’ve basically unleashed yellow hell in my trousers.

I desperately scanned each carriage as I ‘walked’ down the platform; slaloming the directionless cretins who had just vacated the very train I was boarding.

There! A carriage with a toilet!

It was one of those automated toilets with the big curved door, but it would have to do. I frantically pressed the ‘open door’ button as I was beginning to tremble and sweat urine. The door started to rumble open at the speed of a tired sloth walking uphill through treacle whilst carrying a piano and wearing flippers.

As soon as the door had opened wide enough for me to fit through, I slipped inside. For the uninitiated, there are three buttons inside the cubicle that read ‘open door’, ‘close door’ and ‘lock door’. I pressed the button to close the door but it seemed the automated system hadn’t finished opening it and therefore I had to wait.

And wait.

It’s a big ol’ door.

Finally the door finished opening and I pressed the button again to close it. Well, I say ‘pressed’; it was more like ‘jabbed it 74 times in about 6 seconds’. The door then started to trundle slowly shut. It was slow. I mean REALLY slow.

It’s a big ol’ door.

Who fucking designed this? In fact, who fucking decided we needed an automated door on a toilet in the first place? It only serves to slow us down at a time when we’re probably in a hurry, like running away from zombies, hiding from the ticket inspector or….dare I say….needing the fucking toilet! Plus, being automated, we’re always left a little nervous that the door will suddenly and unexpectedly open of its own accord. Not what any of us want to experience, or see.

Also, these automated cubicles are massive. You could easily fit two normal cubicles in the same space. Two normal cubicles with two normal doors that open and close normally; and quickly.

Eventually the door came to rest and I pressed the ‘lock’ button whilst unsuccessfully attempting to open my fly. I was shaking so much from the pain that I resembled a person with Parkinson’s disease trying to thread a needle.

Finally I managed to free the beast and I did indeed unleash yellow hell.

Without going into too much detail, it felt like I was pissing out my soul. I could literally feel my body temperature drop and I believe I may have let out an “Oh yeah” at some point, but it’s unconfirmed.

It was emotional.

As I’ve said before, I bet Captain Kirk didn’t have to put up with this shit whenever he wanted to use the toilet.

(Insert Captain’s Log joke here)

What a swine

Posted on Oct 2, 2013 by headinablender

The guy opposite me on the train keeps oinking like a pig.

I’m serious.

I don’t mean a comedy cartoonish oink or a squeal, but that sound resembling a snort. Yes, that’s it, he’s snorting; three quick little snorts in a row every 10 or 15 seconds.

What the famyarding fuck?

He’s in his mid fifties with glasses perched on the end of his nose, reading some manuscript whilst wearing headphones. I don’t think he realises he’s doing it.

Thank god the next stop is mine. I don’t want to sty here any longer.