Post XLV

Just Screaming In the Wind

Here’s another one of those awkward social situations that I’m not familiar with. Oh yes, you thought my adventures with peculiarity ended with wrong bus tickets. What do you do when there are no available places to pee in a restroom? You walk in and you look around, but to your horror, all the urinals and cubicles are in use. You have to wait, but you’re already in the restroom, so you know that you’ll be stuck in a room full of peeing guys. To say that’s awkward is a bleeding understatement. But you can’t leave the restroom and wait outside. You’ll periodically have to check back in the restroom to see if something has become available. It gets worse. I only use cubicles. I can’t walk in and start banging on the doors trying to work out which one is empty, not to mention the fact that half of the time, people don’t even lock the doors whilst peeing. They sort of do this one hand on the door, one hand on the wall and hula hip thing to aim. So you have no choice. You’re stuck standing in the restroom looking incredibly creepy waiting for something to free up. And if you look like me, with long hair, weird face, glasses and a terrible fashion sense, you’ll almost certainly be arrested.

The Day After Tomorrow descended on the UK this week. No, I’m not talking about a poorly directed convention of awful actors tinged with the pungent smell of the hippy sensibilities of flower child Al Gore. No dudes, what I’m verbalizing is all rather more far out. You want proof of global warming? We went from seven days of plus 20 degree heat to, on the eighth day, three degrees, heavy snowfall, horizontal rain and winds tripping to a dazed out 30 miles per hour plus. And it’s been like that ever since the heat disappeared. What the heck is happening to us? It’s really frightening being in the middle of this. Well, at the very least, we can be grateful that there’s no Jake Gyllenhaal. I think that would be most un-cool.

I used to look like a hippy. I had my hair cut. I had six inches taken off the back. And it’s still quite long. But I tell you this, getting your hair cut if you’re a shy guy is the worst if you have to have it done in a salon. There’s conversations, awkward looks in the mirror, speaking loudly, conveying your message, having attractive young women wash your hair and pamper you with cups of tea. These aren’t buzzwords for someone whose borderline agoraphobic and rather inwardly focused. I’d rather dip my nuts in a bowl of glue than go to a salon. But I had to have it done. I was starting to look like a cross between Jimmy Carter and Vanessa Hudgens.

I like my new do. I mean, I can’t strut as well because I don’t have the long flowing locks I once had. But with the winds gusting, it might have been a blessing in disguise. It’s all right if you’re a woman with hair blowing in the strong North Sea breeze, but people don’t half stare at you if you’re a lad with long hair blowing in said breeze. It’s a horrible inconvenience, just one of many in life that women don’t complain about. They just get on with life.

I was sitting in the bus shelter outside our beautiful Town Hall. The shelter was rattling in the vicious winds. There was a women sitting next to me and her hair, like mine, was all over the place. It looked like every strand of hair was attached to little strings being pulled by a blind puppeteer having a fit. But she just sat there, occasionally looking at her watch, not at all bothered. But there I was furiously batting my hair away from my face like I was being attacked by wasps, whimpering as if someone was twisting my ice cold frozen nipples. Not to mention the fact that I was as blind as that puppeteer because the hair rubbing up against my glasses made them as frosty as the reaction to Frosty the Snowman’s leaked ‘A Frosty Night’. It wasn’t a great day.

However, it’s Easter so I shouldn’t be moaning. It’s a happy time with chocolate and yet more chocolate, and maybe some hot chocolate before bed. But it’s not just about chocolate. It’s a religious holiday celebrating chocolate and the resurrection of Jesus. It’s why we eat eggs. New life. Whilst chocolate is clearly commercialism, the idea behind those eggs is still there. I hate commercialism. It’s ruining our culture. But we shouldn’t be too mad. At least Easter brings people together and makes people happy, which I suppose is the original message of the day. Hurrah. Maybe commercialism hasn’t taken us over just yet. We still free, man.

‘Be obscure clearly’, said the late, great American writer E. B. White.

Peace Out :|:

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