Tuesday, 18 May 2010

A nerd's favourite food is... cheese.

Yes. YES! I have something to say. A few things. I don't know how to tie them all nicely together so what I will do is just list them and perhaps separate them with a good space. I could even number them. Yes, I will number them. No one will get confused that way.

1. My favourite loopy customer came in today! Right towards the end of my shift, when I thought all hope was lost and I was doomed to yet another measly four hour shift putting in minimum effort for my minimum wage and acting all nice but secretly hating everyone and everything, but mostly everyone. I said hello when he stumbled in, but he did not hear me. Or maybe he did, but he didn't care. I left him to it for a minute or two before I clocked his crutches, bound in that fantastic tell-tale candy stripe tape, and realised just who had awkwardly shuffled into my life. I persevered with conversation, but he really wasn't very interested in what I had to say. I don't blame him, I am very rarely interested in what comes out of my mouth, only what goes in (I do mean food, you know). Like a paedophile working in a sweet shop, he blurted out "Which one is the lemon one?" so I showed him what I sold him last time. He was right in my personal space before I knew anything and I definitely nearly fell over. This story's getting boring. Anyway, I weighed some soap, he bought it and I did a massive smile. Yes!

2. I always see people selling the Big Issue in town. Well, I guess a lot of people see them, I'm not special. They always seem to change, though, as if selling the Big Issue is a one day fast track to being a hotshot success and probably owning a magazine, or even a newspaper. There are only a few that I recognise as being long term Big Issue sellers: 1. Girl with ponytail who is always up really early in the morning. 2. Her boyfriend who has dark hair and looks a little angry (come on now, you would be too) and 3. Placid man who looks like he has taken lots of valium before going to work and currently has a broken arm. I wonder why they have been selling it for so long when there seems to be quite a fast turnover of vendors. I have come up with some (numbered) solutions. 1. They are really bad at selling the Big Issue, probably because it sucks. 2. They are really good at selling the Big Issue and they are on a special wage to shift those magazines because everyone knows that it sucks and it will never get sold otherwise. 3. They LOVE selling the Big Issue, even though it sucks. Who cares, the point is: don't buy the Big Issue because it sucks. It's the biggest pile of gobshite I've ever fucking read and I'd rather buy a homeless person dinner than have to torture myself reading the shit they're peddling. If homeless people were allowed to sell Heat or Hello magazine then society would be a much better place.

3. Earlier on I saw a woman with THE fattest ass in the whole world. She was kinda tubby overall but her butt hung off her back like a truck off a cliff. It was its own entity. I just don't understand how someone can get so big exclusively in one place. Maybe she wanted to be more ghetto or she wanted to keep her legs trim, but either way she must've wished all those calories onto her colossal backside and figured she'd deal with it later. Now she's dragging it around like a mortgage and all that extra movement's making her chin swing like a clock pendulum. Somebody get this woman a wheelbarrow! Christ, I am horrid.

4. A big camp man came in. Upon arrival, he immediately announced "Hello! I would like a present for my mother's birthday. She's got hair like a troll. It's disgusting." Well, what do you say to that? What a guy.

5. I went for a lovely walk to the bank and to get milk for the shop, during which I caught a woman from Holland and Barratts smoking! That deceitful old bint. I should've known all this herbal remedy shit was a hoax. I wouldn't be surprised if that other horrible bastard who works there is on heroin. He might as well be, he never gives you the right change. The whole world is on a shitslide to doom. DOOM.

6. On writing the mild introduction to this load of trollope, I learnt that I have been spelling 'separate' wrong all my life. So much for my A in English. So much for going to Uni this September. Why has no one told me this before?