Bogey or Booger? You pick.

During a conversation with colleagues at work today, the subject moved to bogies [boogers].

This is indicative of the level of maturity we share.

It strikes me as odd that of all the things in the world to have a different word attributed to it, solidified nasal discharge would never have been on my list.  Now, for a change, I’m not saying the UK word is better than the US word.  In fact, they’re both a bit strange.

The UK word. ‘bogey‘ is also another word for one stroke over par in golf, or an enemy in an aerial dogfight.  Having “a bogey on your tail” means an enemy is coming up behind you and you’re in trouble…or a toddler got a bit too close to the family dog.

The US word ‘booger‘ is another word for…well, nothing actually.  Booger isn’t anything else, so by definition this word should be THE word for our beloved congealed snot balls.

I think that’s the one we should pick (groan).

Now, since living in Las Vegas I’ve noticed a distinct difference in the quality of my nose candy.  In the UK they were slimier, wetter and more malleable.  In Las Vegas they come out like a large piece of tree bark and can be used to saw logs in half.  This is useful when you’re shy a bread knife.

Obviously this is due to the lack of humidity in the Nevadan air compared to Blighty, but I do miss rolling them up and flicking them at people.

Now I just use them as a shiv.

bark-bogey

Sleep, snot and testicles…a normal morning’s commute.

This morning’s blissful snooze on the train was disturbed by a man stood right next to my seat.

It wasn’t because his junk was unnervingly close to my shoulder, threatening to bump into me every time the train driver applied the brakes; it was because he kept sniffing.

Very loudly.

It sounded exactly like someone sweeping the road with a very hard bristled broom, using short and ear piercingly sharp strokes.

“Shhhhnniiiiifffschhkk!!”

Every 12 seconds, for around 35 minutes.

That’s 175 times I just wanted to punch him or shoulder barge his balls.

Eventually the train driver did it for me.

(shudder)

broom up ass

 

Miss taken identity

I’d been on the train about 20 minutes this morning when a guy got on and sat opposite me.  He was short, dumpy with glasses and was wearing a big anorak.  To be honest, he looked like Benny Hill.

I sat there for a while with my eyes closed in an attempt to get some sleep.  However, I could feel a bat in the cave and desperately needed to pick my nose.

The train stopped again at another station and I open my eyes briefly to see if any women had joined Benny and I before donning my mining helmet.

No women. Just Benny watching something on his tablet.

In went the finger.

Oh yeah, that’s it; that’s what I’m talking about.  Don’t run away.  Where are you going? Come to daddy.  Come on you little fucker….

I opened my eyes again for a second to see if there were any disgusted females around.

Nope, still just Benny.

On I went, like an 80’s ZX Spectrum classic prequel to Jet Set Willy.

(Nerd reference)

Once I was done I settled back in my seat to comfortably drift off to sleep.

After a few minutes I was woken by Benny and his rustling anorak, which was officially the loudest coat I’d ever heard.   As he stood up to remove the deafening apparel I got a face full of boobs.

Boobs?

Holy shit, Benny was a Jenny!

He…sorry, she then sat back down and went back to his…sorry, her tablet.  I decided it was probably best to close my eyes and continue to ‘sleep’.

In all fairness I could be forgiven for mistaking Jenny for a man.  She had short man-hair, a stocky man-like build, unflattering jeans with big man style boots and, when the guard announced that our train was being terminated due to technical difficulties, an ability to let out a massive “Farkin’ ‘ell, what the fark’s that all abaat?” for all to hear.

I suppose it had to be loud to be heard over her coat.

She didn’t care.

She had balls.

benny hill

Posh nosh

Picture the guy opposite me on the train. In his late 40’s, got the whole jeans and sensible jumper/shirt combo going on. Imagine a slimmer Richard Curtis and you’re pretty much there. He’s reading his iPad so I haven’t heard his voice, but I suspect there’s a private school tone to his voice. The sort of guy who has children called Tarquin and Felicity, and whose wife is probably shagging the gardener as I write this.

A posh twat basically.

So why am I telling you about him? No particular reason; he’s just grating on me a little bit by what he’s doing.

Firstly, he’s covered in biscuit crumbs, like a gibbon with a packet of digestives. I understand that they can be crumbly, but for god’s sake man, brush them off. But no, instead he continues to wear them whilst opting to frequently slurp his coffee like a child with a bowl of soup. I have nothing against slurping hot coffee as it’s hot and therefore a full on sip will burn the lips, but this guy’s been at it for ages. The coffee is cold…like his wife.

This is not helped by the fact the train has stopped due to a signalling failure and we’re all plunged in that uncomfortable, awkward silence usually reserved for full elevators. A whole carriage full to the brim with people and all you can hear is ‘cough’, ‘sniff’, ‘rustle rustle’ (newspapers)….oh, and ‘slurp’.

Tensions are high. I might flick his nose.

Speaking of which, here’s the other thing he’s doing that I’m not keen on. He’s picking his nose. Thats right, picking his nose!!

This isn’t simply scratching it, no; he’s really digging in and mining for the green stuff…all with his little finger. Mmm, nice.

He then starts to roll his findings between his little finger and his thumb. Mmm, nice.

Once he’s finished excavating, he begins to slowly, but purposefully, flick it. Failing at first (due to stickiness no doubt), but persevering nonetheless. It’s at this point he reverts to wiping it off, either on the seat or himself.

Hang on, are they actually biscuit crumbs?

Also, as I starting writing this he reached into his satchel (yes, satchel!) and produced a banana. He then proceeded to eat it which ordinarily wouldn’t be worthy of mention, but remember this; we’re on a deathly silent train that isn’t moving.

He begins to munch the banana (insert private school joke here), and as he chews he does it with his mouth open so he sounds like stirring stodgy porridge.

I may beat him to death with the skin.

Lord of the sniff/sith (sorry, bad attempt at a pun)

Another commuter observation…
The guy opposite me is really heavy breathing through his nose. It’s like a heavily nostrilled Darth Vader.

How the guys next to him is sleeping is beyond me…oh, hang on; headphones.

Good call.