Here’s the story of trolleys, a dot-to-dot, and being naked.
DAMN ALL TROLLEYS ON EARTH! I have never been so damn embarrassed in all my life, all because of that God forsaken trolley. I don’t know about the rest of the world, but you have to put money in the trolleys (shopping carts) you get in the UK, in our supermarkets and other such places. A pound coin to release it from a chain of trolleys. I say ‘chain’, I don’t really know what you call a group of trolleys. A bastard? It’s to deter thieves from stealing them and to encourage people to put them back in the trolley bay. If you’ve never been to the UK, people leave trolleys in the car park all the time because they can’t be bothered taking it back, and as for stealing one – everyone’s done that. It’s one of the UK’s oldest traditions. But they are so damn hard to force back into the chain. You have to ram them so hard to force it to connect to the one in front, and I’m only little. I was standing there for a good 20 minutes ramming a trolley into the one in front over and over again, and nobody came to help. I had an angry, and may I say, very beautiful, group of young mothers around me just stood there, laughing. “GET IN, YOU METAL GIT!” So embarrassing. They don’t even need the locks! People just nick them anyway. Eventually, a lovely young woman gave me a pound coin and took the trolley. I don’t know if she managed to get it in after her shop, but regardless, the whole situation was ridiculous. They need to scrap it for a new system, I reckon. Bring your own trolley. I can just see it now. People towing trolleys behind their cars on the way to the supermarket…
It wasn’t helped by the weather. It’s important to know that when I tell you I, a 26-year-old, was sat in my room naked doing a dot-to-dot drawing. Now, I know that might sound a smidge weird. Perhaps. But it is so damn hot in the UK. Imagine how the penguins would feel on – whichever pole they live on – if, suddenly, they woke up one morning and it was 100 degrees Celsius. They’d probably melt. That’s exactly what I’m doing. Melting. I cannot put into words how toasty it is. I just wish global warming would hurry up and flood this town. I’ve always wanted a swimming pool. It’d be lovely on a week like this.
I got the dot-to-dot drawing book for my birthday this week, Doctor Who themed. I love some Doctor Who. Hey, you’re never too old for a dot-to-dot. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle. Some things you never outgrow. I also got one of the New York skyline. It’s two yards long. It may take me a while, readers. Maybe until my 27th…
My birthday sponge cake was lovely as well. I had candles and everything. And I got a new screen protector for my tablet plus a new cable for it. The fun never stops around here. It was a red cable. I know, a red one! What a kook I am.
Sadly, the screen protector wasn’t the wisest choice of birthday present. I sat there for a good couple hours taking it off, cleaning the screen, reapplying it, and so on. I mean, I don’t know why they don’t just give the screens of these devices the things the screen protectors offer. Waterproof. Shatterproof. Explosion proof. Yes. It actually said that on the box. I don’t know about you, but if I was in an explosion, I’d be least worried about the state of my screen protector and more worried about the location of my missing limbs…
I was treated to dinner this week by the boss of the place I’m working at. One of the lads finished last week and the boss likes to treat those leaving to a nice dinner. He also bought us pizza couple of weeks ago. It’s like being back in school. Except I get fed here.
It was a difficult decision, readers. As you know, I’m extremely shy and suffer from some social anxiety. If you go out to dinner with me, you can be assured that you’ll get little more than a polite nod and the occasional ‘smile’. I say ‘smile’. My ‘smiles’ look rather more terrifying than a smile should. I look like a demented clown, when I smile…
The sheer notion of going out into a public place such as a restaurant in a social situation just horrified me. The boss knew I wasn’t happy about the situation. I kept telling myself. ‘Nope, you’re not going, you’re not going.’ All day at work, I sit there nice and quiet and I never say a word. I keep to myself. Put my headphones in and let the gentle screaming tones of heavy rock drown out the world around. It’s like yoga that, for me.
It’s not that I don’t want to be nice and sociable, it’s that I can’t be. I don’t know where to start and when I think of something to say, I become convinced rather quickly that it’s the stupidest thing anyone’s ever said so I don’t say it. But the longer the week went on, the more guilty I felt about not going. “Come on, we want you to feel like a part of the team,” said the boss. Aww. I had to go after that. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
I sat there for an hour and said nothing. I looked so uncomfortable and out of place. It didn’t feel right. I wanted to go home and curl up into a ball, like I do most nights. I ordered a margarita pizza. “Ooh, you’re being adventurous there, aren’t you?” said the boss. Sigh. I just smiled and nodded. I’m a very picky eater. When people ask me what I eat, I always say the same thing. As long as the restaurant serves meat from a pig or a cow, I’m happy. All other meat on Earth tastes like garbage to me. You should’ve seen the scenes in the office when they were deciding where to go to eat. “Do you like chicken?” “No.” “Fish?” “No.” “Lamb?” “No.” “Spicy things?” “No.” “Foreign food?” “Is American foreign?” “Not really.” “Then no…”
I can be adventurous. Every time I go out for Sunday dinner with the family, I usually order steak or pork chops. One time, I ordered steak, chips and salad. Oh, yes. Salad. So you see, I can be saucy.
I don’t mean to be awkward. No awkward person does. Well, we get a little bit of enjoyment out of it. Everyone loves being an arsehole now and again. It’s one of life’s little pleasures.
My pizza came late. I am the slowest eater on Earth and I can’t eat a lot, so I hoped it would come first. Not 20 minutes after everyone else had finished. The restaurant didn’t charge us, which was nice. But I felt this immense pressure to eat it as quickly as I could. So I said to myself, ‘Ally – you have to eat real fast here – you take half an hour each morning to eat two Weetabix, but now your time to eat fast has cometh.’ It was a 12 inch pizza. I nearly fainted at the sight of that, I really did.
So I started gobbing it down. Well, I had no choice. The others had finished and they were looking restless. But the pizza was covered in several layers of piping hot cheese, not to mention the fact that it was as thin as paper. So you pick it up, you burn your fingers. I have a blister on my thumb off that pizza. And then it starts to crumble, sending a horrible cheesy mess hurtling toward the plate, but it all sticks together like a tangled web. You try desperately to get as much of it in your mouth as possible, your fingers on fire, stringy bits of cheese everywhere. You have to decide quickly which ones you can get in your mouth and which ones are lost causes. Then the reality hits. Your mouth is on fire. Oh, yeah. Hot cheese isn’t really the most edible thing in the world.
It goes without saying, but the next day, most of the skin on the roof of my mouth was peeling off. I hope you’re not eating.
The boss gave me a lift home, which was nice of him. A quiet car ride. On my part. He didn’t stop talking. I didn’t enjoy any of it. In fact, I can’t wait until this work experience finishes. My work is getting criticised a lot. I’m being made to go out into difficult social situations. I’m having to listen to Radio 1 all day, and that’s torture. You call that music? Bleurgh…
All too often we’re trying to be someone else and we rarely stop to appreciate who we are. People reading this might think that I’m in the wrong. That I need to change and accept kind offers from others. That I need to be less awkward, and, in general, less of a dick. Nope. I’m not changing. I don’t change for anyone or anything. I shouldn’t have to. Everything I’ve talked about today is a product of my introversion, and that’s a disease without a cure. It’s not like exposing yourself to spiders will get you over your fears. In this case, it just makes things much, much worse. If who you are, say at the office, isn’t to the liking of others, the fault is never with you.
I’m not ashamed to admit that I hate going for dinner with people. It doesn’t make me a bad person, it just means, in this instance, that I don’t like having the roof of my mouth burnt off because of sodding peer pressure. You should’ve seen all the skin I pulled out of my mouth this morning. I hope you’re still not eating…
As hard as life can be, it’s never that bad.
Although it can feel like the end of the world when that bastard of a trolley won’t go in…
American Silvia Donahue once said: “It’s only awkward if you let it be.”
Peace Out :|:
I’d love to hear your thoughts on this post. You can leave a comment and/or like this post below, or by clicking the title on the top of this post if you are on the ‘Archives’ page. Likes and follows greatly appreciated. Thanks.
Please feel free check out the latest posts from my other blog:
To Contrive & Jive
New Posts Every Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday
Click Here to Read the Latest Post