Cigawretch

This evening I saw a man pick up half a cigarette off the floor and go one step further than https://headinablender.wordpress.com/2013/03/25/10-second-rule/

This man that wasn’t a tramp or a homeless person begging for change, but a regular well dressed man with a plastic bag full of fresh shopping.

He walked about 10 feet, put the shoe flattened cigarette in his mouth and I promptly threw up.

Ok, that’s not entirely true… but yuck nonetheless.

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10 second rule…

“10 second rule”

How many times have we heard this from those who have dropped something delicious they didn’t want to not eat?

In fact i’ve heard all sorts of variations ranging from 2 to 15 seconds, which makes me wonder if different germs travel at different speeds. Is the common cold slower that, say, diphtheria? And does the rule vary depending on location? I suppose the 5 second rule may apply to the pavement, whereas the 40 minute rule may apply to, say, my plate.

I remember these sort of situations growing up.  My parents would scold my brother and I for attempting to pick up something we’d dropped in an attempt to put it in back our mouths, accompanied by the phrase, “Don’t put that in your mouth, you don’t know where it’s been!”

Actually I do; the floor.

I never understood the difference between eating something I’d dropped and eating something that’s had a fly on it. Flies land on all sorts of shit, including shit. So how’s that different? I remember being told, “Oh it won’t kill you”.

If diphtheria is as fast as I think, it could.

And it doesn’t apply to everything you drop either. Drop a muffin and you’ll consider brushing off the grit, hair and other suspicious detritus and eating it, whereas a malteser can sod right off. No matter how much you blow on it…somehow it’s dirtier and more yuck than the cakey goodness of lemon poppyseed.

Now this brings me to the inspiration behind today’s incredibly overdue entry…

We won’t pick up a malteser, or a boiled sweet and we probably won’t pick up a sandwich either… and yet the other day I watched a guy drop a cigarette in the street, bend down, pick it up off the grimy, wet, footprint riddled pavement, brush it off, blow on it (clearly makes a difference) and then pop it in his mouth.

10 second rule.

Yet somehow this is deemed socially acceptable.  Pick up food and you’re gross; pick up a cancer inducing stick of death and you’re just doing the sensible thing.  Maybe it’s because they cost so much.  That said, I wouldn’t pick up and eat caviar I’d dropped on the floor… mostly because it resembles the crap on the floor you’ve dropped it in.

I once saw a woman drop a cigarette in a suspicious puddle on the dancefloor of a nightclub, pick it up, straighten it and then attempt to smoke it.  If that had been her drink would she have got on all fours and licked it up?

Actually, she probably would’ve… it was that sort of club.

But my point is, how come a cigarette is ok but some food isn’t?  If both have been dropped on the floor I know which one I’d put back in my mouth… the one that doesn’t slowly kill me.

Do you smell that?

There’s nothing worse than walking into a toilet cubicle after someone else has been in there. And when I say been in there, I mean ‘been’ in there.

Where I work there are 4 cubicles, all of which have motion activated lights. This makes me happy because I know that the ones with the lights on have recently been used and can therefore opt for one plunged into darkness.

However, some days you don’t get the option and today was one of those days.

I walked in and I could see that three of the doors were locked. The fourth and vacant cubicle had the light on. I walked in and my worst fears were confirmed; the water in the toilet was still moving and the cistern was filling up…this toilet had been flushed very, very recently.

Warm seat alert.

But it wasn’t the light or the swirling vortex of yuckiness that I noticed first; it was the wall of smell that hit me full on in the face, filling my nose and open mouth with the warmth of a sauna and none of the benefits. In fact, the action of opening the door caused a backdraft not unlike that of a fart under a wafted duvet. I gagged slightly as it burned my throat and eyes.

This time however, it took on a slightly different aroma than that of a rotting carcass dipped in gibbon shit. This time it also smelt of ash. Yes ash. So if you’ve ever wondered if a smoker’s turds smell any different, then the answer is yes. Why was this though? I mean, my shit doesn’t smell like any of the things I eat; although having said that I do sometimes detect a hint of coffee if I drank a lot of it that day. There’s sometimes a distinct smell of the brown stuff in the brown stuff.

This got me thinking about white dog poo. Remember those? They used to be hard, crumbly and exploded under car tyres. They were everywhere. You just don’t see them anymore so I once asked someone why that was the case, only to be told it had something to do with small quantities of ash that used to be added to dog food.

I’ve since learned it was to do with the fact that dogs used to have a higher calcium diet because they ate a lot more bones. However, due to BSE and other dodgy cock-rotting diseases that the press scared the shit out of us with, they don’t chew as many bones anymore (dogs, not the press). Plus the fact that laws on picking up after your dog have become more and more stringent in recent years. There’s nothing like seeing a dog owner picking up a freshly baked warm bum biscuit through a small, thin bag…especially when it hasn’t been baked fully.

Offering them a spoon to help scoop it into the bag never gets met with much of a sense of humour.

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Sex change?

I was all snug and comfy on the train this morning, starting to doze off.

However, two or three stops into my journey, a guy and a girl sat down behind me reeking of cigarettes and talking complete bollocks at a volume suitable enough to keep me and most of the 12 carriage train from sleeping.

Great.

But this isn’t about how loud they were or how pungent their aroma was….no, this is about what made me smirk when we all got off the train.

It seemed the deep, gruff manly voice belonged to the woman, and the higher pitched soft girly voice actually belonged to the guy.

He was also wearing more foundation.

No comment.

Barbedybarbedytoopedy-situation…

Irish grandma talking to her grandson on the train so loud the whole carriage keep looking at her. Have a guess who she’s sat next to. No, go on, have a guess.

Yep….me.

She stinks of fags and actually talks/shouts like a cross between Brad Pitt in Snatch and Keith Lemon doing Irish…

Habattydabbydattybatabaddafata​baddapadamatt-POTATO!!