[Liam Neeson’s character (Brian) is on the phone to his daughter (Kim), seeing that his ex-wife is being held by armed antagonists] Brian: Listen to me carefully, Kim. Your mother is going to be taken. Kim: Dad, wait. Don’t you mean… twoken? Brian: Yes, Kim. Twoken. [both characters look directly at camera] [cut to black] […]
I was working the bar last night, and towards closing time, a young lady came up to order. She had some cool bright red top, a funky owl necklace, cute wavy blonde hair, and a very friendly face. She was the kind of person who makes you think “Yeah, we could totally be friends.”
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I just want to start by saying NOBODY DIED. NO ONE IS DEAD. EVERYONE IS OKAY.
Now, I was checking Facebook (because I’m meant to be packing for holiday and I needed something to help me avoid it) and I found a link that said R.I.P. [girl’s name]. I was intrigued (okay, amused) by the quastionably ‘posey’ photo that had been selected as the group photo, so I clicked onto it. It was a memorial page for a girl who had died a few days before. Now, being something of a stickler for grammar (and also, a heartless piece of shit), I started laughing to myself at some of the grammatical and spelling errors that were in the condolence comments.
Okay, when I say laughing to myself… I mean I was howling like The Joker and crying like… someone with a dead dog, I don’t know. Either way, I was laughing my fucking head off. Now, I later found out that the page was a fake, so don’t hate me too much… Although I didn’t know it was a fake when I was already laughing, so hate me a bit. Anyway, since it was, for some reason, a fake, I can share with you a short list of half quotes, and half points of interest, without earning too much derision… I hope.
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In an unusually pedantic mood, I decided to…
Actually, let me start again.
In a usually pedantic mood, I decided to wander around my bar today and point out all of the things that contained grammatical and/or spelling errors; which, as it turns out, was just about everything. It started to annoy me to think about how little people care. This is a place of customer-orientated business, and yet there is no concern towards the writing when sending out confirmation emails with typos, displaying menus with grammatical mistakes, or writing up specials with misspelled words. It’s a direct representation of the company itself, and while nine out of ten people around here don’t seem to notice or care, what’s the harm in ensuring that you please ten out of ten people?
After about half an hour of me grumbling about this, a couple of my co-workers asked me why I wasn’t an English teacher, which at first I didn’t read into too much, simply quipping that with them around, I basically was an english teacher; however, something moderately annoying then occurred to me.
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There’s a little charity competition thing going at work at the moment, where customers can pay £1 to ‘name the bear‘, and the best name entry gets to keep it. Anyway, I was having a peer through all the entries today, and some absolute ass hat has entered the name Serendipity. For a teddy bear. […]
It was a long night on the bar tonight, and with me to bear it was Simon, one of the new bartenders. I’ll cut this story short and get straight to the fun part. Before long we got bored enough to start playing ‘the cat game’, wherein you try to sneak the word ‘meow’ into serving a customer. Anyway, we started getting really brave with this, but no one was catching on; even when we were bursting out laughing at overhearing each other. Eventually, we decided to spice it up by just saying random animal names. It still didn’t work, because no one ever listens to the people serving them. Before long it was just a tirade of nonsense words and gibberish. This is how far it all got, and this is a genuine, exact transcript.
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While at work today, I saw a group of men watching the BBC news, which at the time was featuring the story of Julian Assange and his stay at the Ecuadorian embassy. The ‘alpha‘ of the group started running his inebriated mouth of about how terrible it was that Assange was still able to stay at the embassy, and how he ought to have been assassinated. I’ll take a wild stab in the dark and say that this man probably had no idea of the circumstances that led to Assange’s current diplomatic turmoil, but he was loudly voicing his opinion either way. Now Assange’s innocence or guilt in regards to the sexual assault charges in Sweden are of no concern to me, and as such, I have no opinion of the matter; however, hearing the utter ignorance in this man’s voice was really winding me up, and after a good ten minutes of listening to himself speak, he blurted out a sentence that I may never forget.
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Bobo got back to the tree after a long, hard day in the jungle. He wearily climbed the vines and entered his living room, exhausted. He saw his wife, bubbles, in the kitchen. The somber clanking of pots and pans couldn’t have drowned out the sound of his arrival, and yet she didn’t turn to […]
I was at work yesterday, as I obviously am most days, and we had the Olympics on the TV. I was serving a customer and I glanced over to see one of the men’s sprinting events. I noticed that the lady glanced over as well, so, seeing that the camera was zoomed in to a […]
So, I’ll try to make this brief… There may be a few tangents, and I’m really tired.
I was walking home from work tonight, exhausted after 13 hours shared between two jobs. It was about 11.45 at night and on my side of the street ahead of me was a pack of youths. I don’t know what the collective noun for hooded reprobates is really; a gaggle of chavs, a flock of delinquents? Anyway… I call them youths; it sums it up nicely, derogatory enough to convey my meaning, condescending enough to convey my sarcasm. I don’t know what age I was when I began to refer to ‘punk kids’ as ‘youths’, but I think it was around the time I once saw a 13 year with a cigarette who was so indifferent and unintelligent, that he tried to spit on the floor, as so many smokers do, and couldn’t be bothered to turn his head to the left or right, thus combined with the forward momentum of his walking meant he spat on his own shoe. Anyway, they were youths, and I decided to avoid them for some reason. They were drunk and loud and boisterous, and I couldn’t be bothered to be near them. I figured I’d just cross the street.
This is where shit went wrong.
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