boringvsfunny

Which side of me will win?

Cheer up, cough

It was light outside when I finally stopped coughing and got some sleep this morning. I think I got 1-2 hours in all, which is why I am in a cranky mood today. Like Oscar The Grouch. I called all my Facebook friends, absolutely all of them, ‘fucks’ for failing to tell me how to upload a pic to my Twitter profile within three minutes of my asking them. It’s been that kind of day. The wrath of the Spoon Of Justice was felt repeatedly today. The Spoon Of Justice is a tool used to discipline people at work, almost exclusively Dave, who sits next to me. If you don’t know Dave, you will. His character will emerge from these blogs gradually like a patch of thick fog from a swirling sea of mist.

I was in a shitty mood from the moment I woke up, and stomped around the flat, asserting out loud that I hate everything and that everything should be subjected to ‘fuck’, whatever that’s supposed to mean. I wasn’t saying, “Everything should be subjected to fuck!” I was saying, “Fuck everything!” I worded it like that so as to be boring or funny. One of the two, surely.

I’m very tired.

I saw that it was raining and decided that I would therefore catch the bus to work, which afforded me an extra 15 minutes of much yearned-for snoozing, so I got dressed, reset my alarm and got back into bed. Pretty sure I’d just nodded off when the alarm went again.

I dragged myself out of bed and onto the streets of Boscombe, which is where I live, obviously. It should be obvious now, anyway. As I passed Charcoal Grill 2 I saw the X3 bus approaching and ran to make sure I caught it, spurred on by the knowledge that my favourite bus driver would be at the wheel.

I swear this driver is brilliant. He is such a cunt.

You know how we’re always being reminded that stereotyping is a bad thing? Well, am I the only one whose response to this is to absolutely revel in real people actually living up to stereotypes? I doubt it.

I love it when one of my German friends says something like, “I vill buy ziss vun bekoss it iss zee German vun so I know it vill be better.” Or when a ticket office attendant on the Paris Metro does that downturned mouth and shrug thing that I previously thought only British people impersonating French people did, just because I wanted to pay for my 2 Euro Metro ticket with a 10 Euro note, and am not French. I won’t be reading that sentence back to see if it makes sense. Not in the mood.

I also love it when bus drivers live up to their stereotype of being miserable sighers and tutters with nothing but a barely contained contempt for the general public. This guy that drives the X3 that passes through Boscombe just after 9 every morning is the ultimate bus driver stereotype. Yes, even more so than the legendary Waxy Slap, who used to drive the X46 and 146 Cambus routes circa 1995. That probably wasn’t his real name.

This driver on the X3, who sadly doesn’t yet have a name, surpassed himself last week. As I stepped onto the bus, the conversation went like this…

Me: Return to the Square please.
Driver: (tut) Two pounds.
Me: Two pounds?
Driver: Yeah, two pounds (sigh)
I put down two pounds. He issues the ticket, which is a child’s fare.
Me: It says ‘Child Return’
Driver: (tut) That’s what you asked for, isn’t it?(sigh)
Slight pause
Me: I’m not a child.
Driver: (hurumph) Well, I wasn’t looking at your face, mate.

I’m not a dwarf either. I’m 6’2” with a fairly deep voice. I didn’t point that out though. I just let him tut, sigh, hurumph and I think he maybe even let out quiet ‘fuck’ his way through the process of cancelling the first ticket and issuing another. All with that classic bus driver manner that expresses, in no uncertain terms, that it is all the passenger’s fault.

Brilliant. What an absolute pillar of tradition British life.

Anyway, when I got into town I bought some medicinal Irn Bru then went to work. At work, work things happened. Many work things are confidentional… what the fuck? That’s not a typo, that a brainfuckedupo. Shit like this has been happening all day. I swear I saw a sign directing motorists to ‘Choppers Parking’ today. I actually saw that S as a C.

I’m very tired. The Irn Bru doesn’t really help, I know. But it’s so orange, so sweet, so Scottish. Like Carol Smiley.

Um… what I was trying to say is that it’s probably best to avoid the minutiae of my working life, so as I don’t end up on the wrong side of a Non Disclosure Agreement. Non Disclosure Agreements can kill. Or more likely cause a lot of corporate sulking and stuff. Headaches all ‘round whatever happens though, especially for me.

So I was at work all morning, then left the office at 2 to go to Hospital. I saw a lady doctor, who examined me in my pants. They didn’t really fit her.

I’m going to have a course of treatment that will be a real fucking chore, so that’s my already bad mood slightly worsened.

I went back to work after my appointment, like some kind of jobsworth goody-goody and made my mood fouler yet, but only in ways that would inspire people with normal jobs to get the smallest violin in the world out and tell me to fuck off. There was also some tomfoolery involving a number of TV remotes and the TV I was trying to use, but they’ll… they’ll get theirs. You mark my words.

I walked home, getting loudly farted at by a motorbike on the way, which turned out to have dirty pipes, apparently. Then I pretty much sat down to write this when I got back, but not before I’d watched a couple of YouTube videos of Manowar’s latest UK show to lift my spirits, then faffed about trying to change my Twitter profile like some kind of illiterate poopy-brain to plunge them right back down again.

I’m very tired *cough*

Haha! Do a Google image search for ‘cough’. It looks like a gallery of images that have had cocks Photoshopped out of them.

See?

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