Hello readers. How are you today?
Today is a good day as I have finished work early and have the rest of the day off... and have decided to spend my time blogging for you lot. Yes, I am that kind.
Have you ever had one of those awkward moments in which you can't understand what someone is saying, and you ask them to repeat it and you don't hear it again? It seems to happen to me a lot, I don't know if I have bad hearing or I just seem to make a habit of associating myself with mumblers, but I just frequently don't catch what someone is saying. And like I heard a comedian say once (I can't remember which one, perhaps one of you can enlighten me) there is a rule of three. You can apologise and ask them to repeat it three times and after that, you're pretty screwed and just have to pretend you have understood, which is always a bit of a gamble. I mean, if someone was telling me that they just found out they have a terrible bladder condition and I just nod and smile warmly I am not going to come across incredibly well there.
Anyway, on this particular hearing fiasco, I was working in an Italian restaurant and I had a big table of about 20 and the room was already very noisy. And I got to a young gentleman and asked him what he wanted to drink and he told me and I noticed he had a bit of a lisp. Then I asked what he wanted for his mains. And I have absolutely no idea what he said. And now I felt just awful, but I had to say "Beg your pardon" as I had no idea what he had said. And he said it again. Nope, not a clue. Now I decided that the rule of three actually diminishes to two when the person you are talking to has a lisp, as you don't want to come across as if you are mocking them in any way by getting them to repeat it. So I asked one more time, "I'm really sorry, it is so loud in here, I missed it again, what was it?"
Still didn't have a clue. With a shaky hand, I made a squiggle on my pad and nodded, smiled, and moved onto the next person. Got back to my till and panicked. What on earth was I going to do now? I tried process of elimination. It didn't sound like pasta or salad, so it was probably a pizza. In the end I chose a pizza that was the right amount of syllables and put the check on. The pizzas came out. I watched apprehensively as another waitress put the plates down one by one. She got to the mystery order. My heart was thumping. And...nothing happened. He just started eating. I checked later on, there were no complaints. So, did he just decide he liked whatever I brought him and didn't want to make a fuss? Or, as I like to believe, did I just somehow manage to get the right pizza in a choice of 15?
So, if you find yourself in a similar situation to me, my advice is, just have a bash at a guess and see what happens. You could end up saying the completely wrong thing and look like a total buffoon, or you might get it right. Either way, I'm sure it will be most amusing.
Tuesday 22 November 2011
Friday 11 November 2011
The Missed Stop
'Allo 'Allo.
Today's blog is an unfortunate account of how stressful train journeys can be if you're blonde and have no common sense. (Also, just thought I'd let you know spell check is underlining 'blog' in red as an incorrect spelling. On a blog page. ...I thought it was amusing anyway.)
So, this fateful day, my friend and I had been out all day in Leeds together looking for costumes for a show we were putting on, and were heading back to York. We were chatting away as females like to do, the train pulled up, we got on, still nattering. And we were on this train for a good twenty minutes until we heard an announcement for a stop that we didn't recognise. Thinking it strange, we had a peek outside and saw we were at the wrong station. Realisation dawned on us; we had gotten on the wrong train. The doors starting bleeping; get off the train now or else! So my friend and I hurriedly shuffled our way down those ridiculously narrow aisles to get off. But then, to my horror, I realised I had forgotten my suitcase full of costumes which I had hauled into the baggage area above the seats. I legged it back to retrieve my bag, but my friend did not see I wasn't behind her and got off. As I got to the doors they closed in my face. I pressed the open door button, panicked. The train ignored me. And as the train started to pull away taking me to some unknown destination, the last thing I saw was my friend's distraught and bemused face...
I managed to change trains back to Leeds at the next stop, goodness knows where I was. I also enjoyed the comments of a man who witnessed what had occurred, who stated; "She's a bit of a bad friend isn't she, running off and leaving you like that."
Getting to places has never been my strong point. But at least my persuasion skills and sad face have been fully practised and perfected on many ticket inspectors and train conductors. It's amazing what magic wide eyes and feigned innocence can work. Remember that if you ever find yourself on the wrong train.
Today's blog is an unfortunate account of how stressful train journeys can be if you're blonde and have no common sense. (Also, just thought I'd let you know spell check is underlining 'blog' in red as an incorrect spelling. On a blog page. ...I thought it was amusing anyway.)
So, this fateful day, my friend and I had been out all day in Leeds together looking for costumes for a show we were putting on, and were heading back to York. We were chatting away as females like to do, the train pulled up, we got on, still nattering. And we were on this train for a good twenty minutes until we heard an announcement for a stop that we didn't recognise. Thinking it strange, we had a peek outside and saw we were at the wrong station. Realisation dawned on us; we had gotten on the wrong train. The doors starting bleeping; get off the train now or else! So my friend and I hurriedly shuffled our way down those ridiculously narrow aisles to get off. But then, to my horror, I realised I had forgotten my suitcase full of costumes which I had hauled into the baggage area above the seats. I legged it back to retrieve my bag, but my friend did not see I wasn't behind her and got off. As I got to the doors they closed in my face. I pressed the open door button, panicked. The train ignored me. And as the train started to pull away taking me to some unknown destination, the last thing I saw was my friend's distraught and bemused face...
I managed to change trains back to Leeds at the next stop, goodness knows where I was. I also enjoyed the comments of a man who witnessed what had occurred, who stated; "She's a bit of a bad friend isn't she, running off and leaving you like that."
Getting to places has never been my strong point. But at least my persuasion skills and sad face have been fully practised and perfected on many ticket inspectors and train conductors. It's amazing what magic wide eyes and feigned innocence can work. Remember that if you ever find yourself on the wrong train.
Tuesday 1 November 2011
The Mystery Box
Oi! You! Read this. It's funny.
Now we've just had Halloween and given significant amounts of sugar to small children ('cos we all know how calm and un-irritable it makes them) and soon it shall be bonfire night. So I thought I'd tell a bonfire related tale of amusement, you know, 'cos its nice to fit in around calendar themes and that.
So, a few years ago, we held a community bonfire night extravaganza in the small town my family and I used to live in. We would all gather together to supply food and drink and a straw ragged man for the bonfire. And, we all used to club together to get fireworks (except me as I was only seven and so had no monies to speak of).
So, this year we are all huddling round the fire, and the stars are crawling out of their shells, and we're all swaddled in lots of layers and everyone is excited. And the fire works begin. I have always loved fireworks myself; I love the sound they make, especially those crackly ones, oof, amazing! And they are all shimmering gold like champagne. This year we had a few of the regular ones, the big ones that come down like sparkly umbrellas and the ones that shoot up impressively but then just seem to evaporate without any big climax. However, this year, dad and some of his friends had decided to get a big box, which was covered in Chinese writing and we had no idea what it did. It cost a fair bit, and it was a big mysterious box, so we were expecting a fantastic finale of sparkle and crackle and pop.
So, dad lit the box and ran away abruptly. Everyone was silent in anticipation. BANG. Everyone jumped. Ok, perhaps that firework malfunctioned slightly. We continued to wait hopefully.
BANG.
We hear a dog whimpering.
BANG.
A child begins to cry.
BANG.
It continued to do nothing but let out obscenely loud bangs for a good ten minutes. By the time it had stopped banging, children and dogs were highly distressed and everyone's jump reflexes were thoroughly worn out. It was quite possibly the worst end to a firework display I have ever witnessed. Turns out all the box did was bang extremely loudly. I don't think my father was very popular that evening.
So, have fun on your bonfire nights, but let me advise you, if you are DIYing it, make sure you know it definitely does what it says on the tin, before your dogs age ten years over night.
Now we've just had Halloween and given significant amounts of sugar to small children ('cos we all know how calm and un-irritable it makes them) and soon it shall be bonfire night. So I thought I'd tell a bonfire related tale of amusement, you know, 'cos its nice to fit in around calendar themes and that.
So, a few years ago, we held a community bonfire night extravaganza in the small town my family and I used to live in. We would all gather together to supply food and drink and a straw ragged man for the bonfire. And, we all used to club together to get fireworks (except me as I was only seven and so had no monies to speak of).
So, this year we are all huddling round the fire, and the stars are crawling out of their shells, and we're all swaddled in lots of layers and everyone is excited. And the fire works begin. I have always loved fireworks myself; I love the sound they make, especially those crackly ones, oof, amazing! And they are all shimmering gold like champagne. This year we had a few of the regular ones, the big ones that come down like sparkly umbrellas and the ones that shoot up impressively but then just seem to evaporate without any big climax. However, this year, dad and some of his friends had decided to get a big box, which was covered in Chinese writing and we had no idea what it did. It cost a fair bit, and it was a big mysterious box, so we were expecting a fantastic finale of sparkle and crackle and pop.
So, dad lit the box and ran away abruptly. Everyone was silent in anticipation. BANG. Everyone jumped. Ok, perhaps that firework malfunctioned slightly. We continued to wait hopefully.
BANG.
We hear a dog whimpering.
BANG.
A child begins to cry.
BANG.
It continued to do nothing but let out obscenely loud bangs for a good ten minutes. By the time it had stopped banging, children and dogs were highly distressed and everyone's jump reflexes were thoroughly worn out. It was quite possibly the worst end to a firework display I have ever witnessed. Turns out all the box did was bang extremely loudly. I don't think my father was very popular that evening.
So, have fun on your bonfire nights, but let me advise you, if you are DIYing it, make sure you know it definitely does what it says on the tin, before your dogs age ten years over night.
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