Wednesday, 8 August 2012

So there I was...

...suited and booted, nice shiny cufflinks gleaming in the sunshine and wearing a watch I'd never seen before.

It was a confusing moment staring at that watch, I noticed first that it didn't belong to me, and second that it's face was blank. But that didn't matter, there were punter's screaming at me cause the 14.55 was about to go off.

"Give me a monkey on McGarth's nag!" the man croaked. Flecks of spittle spraying the glass window between us as he brandishes liquorice lace in one hand and a copy of 'How to beat the bookies' in the other.

The liquorice lace throws me, I dont know how to ring that up through the till. People have tried to bet with all sorts before: cigarettes, beer, even had a guy try to barter with a bag full of aluminium cans,  but never liquorice lace. I begin to explain that I do-

"nneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" The buzzer squeals in my ear. All bets are off, the horses are out of their stalls.

Only the buzzer doesn't stop, and there's no horses.

I turn and stare at the offending deep fat frier as a few loose fries float about the simmering tallow oil.


Bugger me if thats not an annoying noise. I push one of the eight buttons, the buzzing stops. I lift the fries from the vat, they smell great when they are fresh. I swing them over to the fry station careful to avoid staining my suit, bugger the Ajax.

"Cheese call till two!" Now I laugh. The guy in kitchen must be near blind because the punter at till two is a dirty old man with no teeth and nicotine stained fingers, definiely not 'Cheese call' material. Only when I turn back around there is no punter, offending smell and liquorice lace gone as well. And there, right where he was stood a moment before, is a bonefied Cheese call. Definitely scoring a 9/10 on the too hot for apple pie hottie scale.

"Are you the manager?" she asks in a very posh southern accent. I look at my cufflinks.  

Probably. I think.

"Because I have a problem with my subscription and I want to make a complaint!" Her words are venemous now. Two tills to my left the new start drops two shakes, thick red slush pooling on the floor. She runs off crying.

'Get a wet floor sign!' I yell. Worried the horses might slip and then there'll be a bloody law suit. Every one of these customers could be a 'mystery shopper' or the gambling commision...or the environmental health *gulp*

"What about my subscription!" The irate woman yells into her phone, her eyes boaring holes through the phoneline.

"Calm down Miss, now what was your post code?" I ask in my politest telephone voice as I speak through the microphone, only slightly freaked out by the sudden echo I hear in the headset I've been wearing all along.

"Post code! Post code! I'm from Canada!" she yells.

Of course she is.

I knew that.

"And I want to upgrade to the movie channels!" I press the button on the till as I say 'No Problem' its next to SuperSize me and MakeItLarge

"And I want the Crispy Chicken Caeser salad!" I panic because I think we've ran out but I smile at her anyway, she's definitely a Cheese call.

"And while your at it ill take even money on Dettori in the 16.45 steeple and for gods sake will you get me a security guard for tonight like I bloody asked!"

I know its all the watches fault...


(It starts to make sense from here...honest!)

If you are still reading, congratulations! You are now the second person to survive the dream that I had last night (with me being the first :P)

No word of a lie, I was trapped in every job I have ever worked, all at the same time dealing with just about every irate customer ive ever had to face.

Absolutely mental! I spent hours rooting about in the bookies safe looking for big mac sauce and then went to the McDs stockroom trying to find £10,000 to pay a punter with, didnt find either.

The up side?

I woke up safe in the knowledge that whatever work threw at me today would be tame in comparison, and indeed that seemed to ring true as I came home in a pretty good mood.

Since my last rather 'feelin sorry for itself' update I have actually been pretty productive. Ive polished three short stories, written two pieces of music, one with lyrics one with a 'hum along vocal' which will hopefully become lyrics in the future. Also managed to get a lot of the screenplay from my head to the hard drive and then from the hard drive to the same folder with all the other screenplay related stuff.

The Aeon One submission is finished, thank god! I was learning to loathe that last 300 word stretch!

And to top off the writing related update I proof read a book of someone I have no doubt is 'One to watch'. So good I read all 100k words in a weekend and only sent back 5 pages of thoughts. (Anyone who has suffered my crit before knows thats doing pretty well :P)

Now if you came from facebook, youll want to know about the other thing...the *cringe* thing. I think im just going to stop doing it in the morning.

Most of the time, I am a succesful flirt. That is to say, the girl laughs and I don't get hit ( her. There have been occasions where the girl laughs and the boyfriend hits me, but thats another story...) but a few mornings ago I found myself in one of those impossible : 'How the hell did I get here situations and how do I get out of it now that I've arrived'

The answer to both? I dont know. But it started like this:

She was attractive so far as train conductors go. Not too much make-up, nice soft tone of speaking, she managed to use the word 'idiosyncrasies' in a kind of girl!

My pre-coffee, no nicotine for a month brain starts to highlight talking points. Shes working on a train, you know about trains, your sitting on a train! No, I tell my brain. Eh, she's got black nail polish on, that means shes a goth, talk about Marlyn Manson! Nope. Ok, talk about making out, or sex! Girls like sex! I decide to ignore my brain and stick to the tried and tested method as she approaches, I'll tell her she looks nice, you like her outfit, she has nice hair. Anything to start a conversation and the rest usually falls into place...

She looks at me, slightest hint of a smile on her lips.

"Did you dress yourself?" I say boldly.

 ...I swear to god, you know that way when you say something and everyone goes quiet? Well everyone went quiet and then I said that, and then the silence got suffocating.

It actually took her to do the, hand on the hip 'what did you say' stare before my brain registered the problem.

Quick! my brain yells Recover, recover recover!

"I mean, did you brush your hair?" I say trying to add a boyish grin, which just makes it look like I am trying to be offensive. 'See yah!' my brain says as there is an audible intake of breath on the carriage and all the clever one liners I know jump off at Partick station.

"Ticket?" she spits. It takes me a look in every pocket twice to find it.

"Oops" I say instead of sorry as I hand my ticket it over.

"Dick" she mumbles as she scores it with a pen and storms up the carriage.

So, ontop of the 'quit smoking' rule I have also added 'quit flirting in the morning...with Scotrail staff' (the girl in Starbucks is too cute not to flirt with and im sure the one in Costa gives me extra shots of caramel :P)


Consider yourself upto date!

Dare to dream!



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