The hardship of hearing

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.

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.

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.

The Alcohol Related Fail (Part One)

Now, before I give out the wrong impression here, happy readers, I do not make a habit of getting very drunk. Mainly because when I do, the following embarrassing events tend to occur. However, it was Freshers week at uni, and alcohol seems to be a good way to forget that you are stuck in a strange place with people you don't know trying to pretend you are having the time of your life.

So, one night I am at a house party with my friend, and I make the terrible, terrible mistake that is to mix drinks. I don't have a lot of memories of this night (clearly I killed off a few brain cells) but the ones I do have are quite amusing. For instance, I remember going to the toilet and finding it quite a stressful ordeal having to figure out how to undo my jeans. This should have been a warning sign.

My friend decided I was a bit too merry to be, well, speaking to other individuals. So she kindly took me home, sadly not before I left a nice 'leaving present' on their doorstep. I do recall being incredibly surprised that I was sick, as I was convinced I was fine and taking me home was nonsense because I wasn't even drunk, not really, and even asking;

"Was that me?"

For any normal student this alone would be embarrassing enough. But not for me. I was feeling a little queasy when I got to the top of the stairs, and insisted on sitting down for a bit on the toilet. My friend decided this wasn't a bad idea (I expect she was also a little merry herself). So sit down I did. I still don't quite know how this happened. I don't know if it is the angle I sat down at, or I am much heavier than I look, but I broke the toilet seat. I have a very vague memory of my drunken self standing up and seeing blurry, black shards in the toilet bowl and stating; "I broke it".

And my friend replying in a slurring voice; "Yes, never mind. It's only a toilet seat."

In the morning, body aching, head pounding, I was little impressed to see the state of the toilet and my other housemates' bemused expressions. But what can I say? When Squids party, they party hard. But before you invite me over for a wild, crazy night, just make sure your bathroom is sturdy.

Shoes are not always our friends

Harro :)

Today, aunt Squid is going to tell you a funny little story proving that mums really do always know best.

I came home one day and saw my darling mother in the kitchen. I went in to go and have a chat with her (because I'm just nice and friendly like that) and proceeded to take my shoes off and leave them in the kitchen doorway. Now, for those of you who don't know my mum, she is a bit of a clean freak (when I say a bit, I mean  you can see her eye twitch when you put a cup down on a table without a coaster. Goodness knows what inner turmoil takes place in her head when her children are inconsiderate like this).

So, mum being mum, she asked me to put the shoes away. And me, playing annoying daughter role, said I'd do it later.

Mum's face twitches ever so slightly.

"You ought to put them away."
"And I will."
"If you leave them there, someone might trip over them."
"No they won't. You can clearly see shoes there, no-one is going to trip over them."

This went on for a little while, and then we got distracted chatting about cars and dead plants ("I swear I did water it when you and dad were on holiday!") and the shoes were forgotten. I turned to go and watch TV, and on my way out of the kitchen, what do you think happened? I tripped and fell on my own shoes. Mum was literally GLOWING with smugness. I was shamefaced. I refused to admit that she was right at the time, as I was embarrassed at how successfully I  managed to set myself up for a fall (gettit? gettit?). But I think its about time.

Mother. You were right about the shoes. You were right about needing to take a coat. You were right about needing to put sun cream on. You were right about the journey taking longer than Google maps suggested. But you know what makes me feel better? You are the one who made me. You are the one who managed to produce a child that is possibly the ditsiest human to ever walk the earth. Ha.

The Locked Door Conundrum

Hallo munchkins,

                                 I hope that all those unemployed young people out there (1 in 5 fifteen to twenty-five year olds according to my sources..) aren't getting too bogged down with all the applying and working for free and shizz. Here's a tale from one of my work experience experiences to cheer y'all up...

I'd just started work at a theatre in London. As I have mentioned in my previous blogs, I am not great at coming across as calm and confident when I first start work, mainly because I am not calm and confident when I first start  work. And when I feel a little apprehensive, I tend to do stupid things, which naturally I would never do in any other context... ahem.

On this fateful day, my boss left me alone to work in the office as she had meetings all day. She  left me a key to get into my office, which on previous days was unlocked when I arrived. So in the morning I toddled along to reception, smiled my most confident seeming smile, picked up my key, no problem.. However, when I got to my door, I realised the lock was silver and small, whereas my key was big and fat and rusty gold. Baffled, I gave the lock a few jabs anyway. It definitely didn't fit. Most perplexed, I headed back to reception.

"Erm, are you sure this is the key left  for me? It doesn't seem to work."
"That's the only key I have here".

She must have given me the wrong key. Sheepishly, I texted my boss informing her I was having trouble getting into my office. She told me not to worry, she'd come back at lunchtime and help me out. After killing some time eating chips I didn't really want in the cafe, my boss came back. I handed her the key, and off we went to the offending office. My boss put the key in the lock, giving me a confused look. It was at this point I realised that there were two locks on the door, the silver one that I had seen, and a few centimetres below this lock, a large, glaringly obvious gold lock. How.did.I.not.see.it.???

Oh dear me. My poor boss had come back from her meetings and all because I had failed to lower my gaze. She thought I just hadn't been able to turn the key in the lock properly. I'm not sure which is worse, that she thought I was too much of a spazz to be able to unlock a door, or that I had tried to get a key into a lock which it clearly didn't belong in, whilst failing to see the big gold lock that was practically screaming; "It's me, you idiot!"

So if you don't have a job yet and are having to tick that evil 'unemployed' box on a regular basis, take comfort in the knowledge that you definitely have more common sense than I do, and can use said common sense to identify and operate keys to open doors.

The Cheese Sandwich Fail

'Ello. :)

This week I am on work experience at a primary school (Miss Goodyear, he hit me, Miss Goodyear, can I sit on your knee? Miss Goodyear, why is your name so weird?) and all these memory pockets I had tucked away are all starting to unfold. Remember the little plastic chairs and handwriting pens, and white boards and pens that you just wanted to write on all the time because it felt so satisfying?

Anyhoo, this memory lane trip is when I myself was an infant and my mum used to promise me 'a bedtime surprise' (food) if I went to bed. Sometimes my surprises were very ambitious, such as crisps shaped like an animal, but some nights (I'm guessing when mum couldn't be bothered) it was just food on a plate. This night I had a cheese sandwich, standard. Only problem being I fell asleep before I ate the sandwich. Now you may think this story isn't so bad, I forgot to eat a sandwich, that's not so embarrassing. The thing is, I fell asleep ON my sandwich. And when sandwiches get hot (say, when they are stuck beneath a six year old) they tend to melt. Yeah. You see where this is going.

So, in the morning, to mum's horror, she finds a child with cheese that has moulded and set in her hair. Yes, that's right, I had a cheese head. Literally, stuck. Mum tried everything to try and get it out; washing, brushing, pulling. In the end she just had to cut a big chunk of my hair off. This story reminds me of those videos when children fall asleep and land face first in their food. Only I had to take it to that next level.

My family still find this story very amusing. However, if I do become a teacher, and a child comes to my classroom with a big chunk of hair missing, I shall solemnly bow my head to that child in sympathy. For being the one with hair filled with cheese is no amusing matter.